al pillar of the Council of 1870 on the Janiculum, but the
intention was never carried out. So abundant was marble during the
first two centuries of the Empire, that it was nothing accounted of.
Every temple, palace, and public edifice was built of it either in
whole or in part. The tombs that lined the Appian Way on either side
for fifteen miles had their brick cores covered with marble slabs; and
their magnificence must have impressed every visitor who entered the
Imperial City through this avenue of architectural glory shrouding the
decays of death. It is obvious, then, that by studying the history of
the conquests of Rome, the student can ascertain at what period a
particular kind of marble was introduced from its native country, and
the proximate date of the building in which this marble had been used.

It was a fortunate circumstance for the preservation of the precious
marbles of Rome that Christianity laid its cuckoo egg in the nest of
the Pagan city. When the capture of Rome by Alaric gave the final blow
to heathen worship, by the overthrow of the ruling classes, who alone
cherished the proud memories of the ancient faith, the greater number
of the temples were still standing without any one to look after the
edifices or maintain the religious services. The Christians were
therefore free to take possession of the deserted shrines; and they
speedily transferred to their own churches the columns and marble
decorations that adorned the temples of the gods. Many of the precious
stones that once beautified the palaces of emperors and senators were
employed to form the altars and the mosaic flooring of the memorial
chapels. Almost all the early churches were constructed on or near the
sites of the temples, so that the materials of the one might be
transported to the other with the least difficulty and expense, just
as the settler in the back-woods of America erects his log-house in
the immediate vicinity of the trees that are most suitable for his
purpose. And the striking contrast between the plain, mean exteriors
of the oldest Roman churches--rough, time-stained, and unfinished
since their erection--and their gorgeous interiors, with their forests
of columns separating the aisles, and the series of richly-sculptured
and brilliantly-frescoed chapels, all blazing with gold and marble,--a
contrast that reminds us of the surprising difference between the
outside of a common clumsy geode lying in the mud, and the sparkli