Christian martyrs met their
deaths under the persecuting emperors. The imagination runs riot while
trying to picture the tragic scenes that took place within its walls in
the presence of multitudes. It had a "bad eminence" all its own.

The Forum was in the early days the very heart of Rome, and all that was
great in it. It contained over sixty temples, public buildings, tombs,
triumphal arches, columns and great statues. Here Cicero and other
orators spoke to the people, and famous teachers made it their resort;
its name represented the thought and refinement of the age of which it
was the glory.

When I was in Rome I happened to be domiciled in a bedroom that had a
connecting door with another room of the same size. This door was of
course locked, the other room being occupied by an Italian. We had to
make a flying start for Naples at 5 A.M., and I got up at 4, in order to
shave, dress and breakfast in time to catch the train. I opened the
proceedings by starting to strop my razor on a big leather strop; the
door being quite flimsy, my Italian neighbor heard me distinctly, and as
he was trying to fall asleep he became very angry, jumped out of bed and
protested in loud and profane language. I paid no attention to his
protest and then he rang his bell long and violently. As I wanted to
make a respectable appearance at breakfast, I kept on stropping
diligently. This added to his indignation, and when the chambermaid
entered his den in response to the bell, he ordered her to go into my
room and stop the noise. She rushed toward me and intimated that the
gentleman was at the point of death--that he might die at any moment from
heart disease, unless he were permitted to sleep. I felt that a guest
had a right to shave in his own room, therefore I did not desist. My
irate neighbor then jumped out of bed and in his _pajamas_ ran downstairs
and brought up the manager, the cashier, the porter and a hall-boy. When
I opened my door the deputation implored me to cease stropping and start
shaving at once, and thus restore peace to the strained situation. I
explained that I was hurrying to the train and that this would be the
last of me; at which the Count rushed forward and grasping my hand,
exclaimed:

"Pardon, signor! shave all you like and do it now, but don't, for
heaven's sake, miss the train on any account, for if you commence that
horrible slapping again I shall make my way to the nearest mad house!"

Whe