At 'beautiful Vienne,' Martial boasted that his works were read with avidity.

Farewell to the dismal, blood-red phantom of martial renown!

He was young, well-spoken, witty, and skilled in all martial and manly exercises.

And then he inquired, with martial frown, "Americans, must we go down?"

Then girt him Beowulf in martial mail, nor mourned for his life.

Not the martial roll of marching, nor yet a threatening note of savage hate.

Now”––and her eyes grew a bit scornful––“I am angry with Martial, instead.

Nasmyth fancied that she was really angry with Martial, and that he understood her attitude.

I wonder if you were very much astonished at what you heard about Mr. Martial?

Martial says somewhere, Be merry to-day, depend not on to-morrow.