O TEMPORA! O MORES!

"The seeds of godlike power are in us still;
Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if we will!"

—Matthew Arnold

Poem.—The Watch of the Old Gods.

Poverty among the Ancient Romans.

Society in Rome under the Caesars. William Ralph Inge. Chap. iii.

The Private Life of the Romans. H. W. Johnston. P. 305.

The Ancient City. Fustel De Coulanges. P. 449.

Poverty among the Americans.

The Problem of Poverty. Robert Hunter. Outlook. Vol. lxxix, p. 902.

The Weary World of Human Misery. World's Work. Vol. xvi, p. 10526.

How the Other Half Lives. Jacob Riis. Chap. xxii, p. 255.

The Craze for Amusement among the Ancient Romans.

Society in Rome under the Caesars. William Ralph Inge. Chap. ix.

Readings in Ancient History. Rome and the West. William Stearns Davis. P. 194.

The Craze for Amusement among the Americans.

What New York spends at the Theaters. Literary Digest. Vol. xlv, p. 19.

Luxury and Extravagance in Ancient Rome.

Rome: The Eternal City. Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, pp. 524, 529.

Society in Rome under the Caesars. William Ralph Inge. P. 262.

Readings in Ancient History. Rome and the West. William Stearns Davis. P. 305.

Luxury and Extravagance among Americans.

Newport: The City of Luxury. Jonathan T. Lincoln. Atlantic Monthly. Vol. cii, p. 162.

Housekeeping on Half-a-million a Year. Emily Harington. Everybody's. Vol. xiv, p. 497.

The Passing of the Idle Rich. Frederick Townsend Martin. Chap. ii, p. 23.

Poem.—Tempora Mutantur.

Poetical Works. John G. Saxe. P. 98.

[SELECTIONS THAT MAY BE USED FOR THE PROGRAMS]

A PLEA FOR THE CLASSICS[2]

A Boston gentleman declares,
By all the gods above, below, That our degenerate sons and heirs
Must let their Greek and Latin go! Forbid, O Fate, we loud implore,
A dispensation harsh as that; What! wipe away the sweets of yore;
The dear "amo, amas, amat?" The sweetest hour the student knows
Is not when poring over French, Or twisted in Teutonic throes,
Upon a hard collegiate bench; 'Tis when on roots and kais and gars
He feeds his soul and feels it glow, Or when his mind transcends the stars
With "Zoa mou, sas agapo!" So give our bright, ambitious boys
An inkling of these pleasures, too— A little smattering of the joys
Their dead and buried fathers knew; And let them sing—while glorying that
Their sires so sang, long years ago— The songs "amo, amas, amat"
And "Zoa mou, sas agapo!" —Eugene Field