, staring at me, and then snatching up his
portfolio and his hat, ran off and disappeared. I met the same man
afterwards walking along the Via Felice, and could not help smiling as
he passed: he smiled too, but pulled his hat over his face and turned
away.

I discovered to-day (and it is no slight pleasure to make a discovery
for one's self), the passage which formed the communication between
the Coliseum and the Palace of the Caesars, and in which the Emperor
Commodus was assassinated. I recognized it by its situation, and the
mosaic pavement described by Nibby. If I had time I might moralize
here, and make an eloquent tirade _a la Eustace_ about imperial
monsters and so forth,--but in fact I _did_ think while I stood in the
damp and gloomy corridor, that it was a fitting death for Commodus to
die by the giddy playfulness of a child, and the machinations of an
abandoned woman. It was not a favourable time or hour to contemplate
the Coliseum--the sunshine was too resplendent--

It was a garish, broad, and peering day,
Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears;
And every little corner, nook, and hole,
Was penetrated by the insolent light.

We are told that five thousand animals were slain in the amphitheatre
on its dedication--how dreadful! The mutual massacres of the
gladiators inspire less horror than this disgusting butchery! To what
a pitch must the depraved appetite for blood and death have risen
among the corrupted and ferocious populace, before such a sight could
be endured!

* * * * *

15.--We drove to-day to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, on the Appian
Way, to the Fountain of Egeria, and the tomb of the Scipios near the
Porta Cappena.

I wish the tomb of Cecilia Metella had been that of Cornelia or
Valeria. There may be little in a name, but how much there is in
association! What this massy fabric wanted in classical fame Lord
Byron has lately supplied in poetical interest. The same may be said
of the Fountain of Egeria, to which he has devoted some of the most
exquisite stanzas in his poem, and has certainly invested it with a
charm it could not have possessed before. The woods and groves which
once surrounded it, have been all cut down, and the scenery round it
is waste and bleak; but the fountain itself is pretty, overgrown with
ivy, moss, and the graceful capillaire plant (capello di venere)
drooping from the walls, and the stream is as pure as cryst