Ovid
accordingly notices, as one amongst the familiar images of daybreak,
the half-burnt torch of the traveller; and, apparently, from the
position which it holds in his description, where it is ranked with
the most familiar of all circumstances in all countries--that of the
rural labourer going out to his morning tasks it must have been common
indeed:
"Semiustamque facem vigilata nocte viator
Ponet; et ad solitum rusticus ibit opus."
This occurs in the _Fasti_: elsewhere he notices it for its danger.
"Ut facibus sepes ardent, cum forte viator
Vel nimis admovit, vel jam sub luce reliquit."
He, however, we see, good-naturedly ascribes the danger to mere
carelessness, in bringing the torch too near to the hedge, or tossing
it away at daybreak. But Varro, a more matter-of-fact observer, does
not disguise the plain truth--that these disasters were often the
product of pure malicious frolic. For instance, in recommending a
certain kind of quickset fence, he insists upon it as one of its
advantages--that it will not readily ignite under the torch of the
mischievous wayfarer: "Naturale sepimentum," says he, "quod obseri
solet virgultis aut spinis, _praetereuntis lascivi non metuet facem_."
It is not easy to see the origin or advantage of this practice of
nocturnal travelling, (which must have considerably increased the
hazards of a journey,) excepting only in the heats of summer.
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