nciently the circus of Nero; and here
many of the early Christians, amid unutterable torments, yielded up
their lives. On the spot where they died have arisen the church of St
Peter and the palace of the Vatican,--now but another name for whatever
is formidable to the liberties of the world.

But beyond question, the spot of all others the most interesting in Rome
is the Forum. You look right down into it from where you stand. Whether
it be the eloquence, or the laws, or the victories, or the magnificent
monuments of ancient Rome, the light reflected from them all is
concentrated on this plain. How often has Tully spoken here! How often
has Caesar trodden it! Over that very pavement which the excavations have
laid bare, the chariots of Scylla, and of Titus, and of a hundred other
warriors, have rolled. But the triumphs which this plain witnessed, once
deemed eternal, are ended now; and the clods which that Italian slave
turns up, or which that priest treads on so proudly, are perchance part
of the dust of that heroic race which conquered the world. The tombs of
the Caesars are empty now, and their ashes have been scattered long since
over the soil of Rome. Of the many beautiful edifices that stood around
this plain, not one remains entire: a few mouldering columns, half
buried in rubbish, or dug out of the soil, only remain to show where
temples stood. But there is one little arch which has survived that dire
tempest of ruin in which temple and tower went down,--the Arch of Titus,
which has sculptured upon its marble the sad story of the fall of
Jerusalem and the captivity of the Jews. That little arch, wonderful to
tell, stands between two mighty ruins,--the fallen palace of the Caesars
on the one hand, and the kingly but ruined mass of the Coliseum on the
other.

As regards the Coliseum, architects, I believe, do not much admire it;
but to myself, who did not look at it with a professional eye, it seemed
as if I had never seen a ruin half so sublime. I never grew weary of
gazing upon it. It rises amid the hoar ruins of Rome, scarred and rent,
yet wearing an eternal youth; for with the most colossal size it
combines in the very highest degree simplicity of design and beauty of
form. To stand on its area, and survey the sweep of its broken benches,
is to feel as if you were standing in the midst of an amphitheatre of
hills, and were gazing on concentric mountain-ranges. How powerfully do
its associations stir the soul!