letter upon the
Prefect, but will rather accompany the two friends upon one of their
evening walks on the charming shores of the Gulf of Neapolis.

After an early c[oe]na, they wandered through the city, and out of the
Porta Nolana, which was still decorated with some half-ruined reliefs,
illustrating the victories of one of the Roman Emperors over the
barbarians.

Totila stood still and admired the beautiful sculpture.

"Who can be that Emperor," he asked his friend, "on the car of victory,
with the winged lightning in his hand, like a Jupiter Tonans?"

"That is Marcus Aurelius," said Julius, and would have walked on.

"Oh, stay a while! And who are those four prisoners in chains, with the
long waving hair, who drag the car?"

"They are Germanic Kings."

"But of what family?" asked Totila. "Look there, an
inscription--'_Gothi extincti!_'--the Goths annihilated!" and, laughing
loudly, the young Goth struck the marble column with the palm of his
hand, and walked quickly through the gate. "A lie in marble!" he cried,
looking back. "That Emperor never thought that one day a Gothic Count
in Neapolis would give his boast the lie!"

"Yes, nations are like the changing leaves upon the tree," said Julius
thoughtfully. "Who will govern this land after you?"

Totila stood still.

"AFTER US?" he asked in astonishment.

"What! You do not think that your Goths will endure for ever amongst
the nations?"

"I don't know that," said Totila, walking on.

"My friend, Babylonians and Persians, Greeks and Macedonians, and, as
it seems, we Romans also, had their appointed time. They flourished,
ripened, and decayed. Will it be otherwise with the Goths?"

"I do not know," answered Totila uneasily. "I never thought about it.
It has never occurred to me that a time might come when my nation----"
He hesitated, as if it were a sin even to express the thought. "How
can one imagine such a thing? I think as little about it as I do
about--death!"

"That is like you, my Totila."

"And it is like you, Julius, to tease yourself and others with such
dreams."

"Dreams! You forget that for me and for my nation it has already become
a reality. You forget that I am a Roman. I cannot deceive myself like
most men; it is all over with us. The sceptre has gone from us to you.
It was not without much painful thought that I learned to forget that
you, my bosom friend, are a barbarian, the enemy of my country."

"But it is not so, by the li