ow mounted invitingly before
him. The Pope not only overwhelmed him with projects for the decoration
of the Vatican but made him curator of all antiques which might be
discovered near Rome, with full power to direct excavations.

Returning to the Vatican from the walk during which we had encountered
Chigi, Raphael found awaiting him a letter from the Pope, announcing
that certain ancient statues had been discovered in the gardens of the
villa of Nero at Antium, (now Porto d'Anzio), and desiring him to
examine them and arrange for the transportation of the more remarkable
to Rome.

"Come with me," Raphael cried, "since you have nothing better to
do--pardon me, my friend--since such an excursion is exactly what you
would enjoy. We will ride to-morrow morning to Ostia and charter some
fishing craft there for the sail to Porto d'Anzio."

I accepted the invitation, glad to visit this favourite seaside resort
of the Roman emperors. Even before we landed we could see the ruins of
their villas deep in the clear waters of the bay, fish gliding through
arches and the seaweed waving its pennons from the walls. The cliff at
the back of the town presented a most impressive appearance, being
pierced by great arched openings like the portals of a Roman bath. And
such, indeed, they were, for on the promontory above had been the
gardens of the imperial villa, and from them staircases carven in the
rock descended to this subterranean chamber, which at full-tide the sea,
rushing through a long canal, once converted into a swimming-pool. The
great cavern had been dry for centuries, for the tides had piled their
own sandy dykes before it, and the vaulting had fallen bringing with it
a portion of the garden of the imperial villa and burying its statues
beneath the debris. It was here that excavations had been begun, and as
we entered the cave from the beach, our way was bordered by the
fragments of many a column and capital, by broken vases and by headless
statues.

But none of these attracted us, for in the centre of the chamber,
perfectly illumined by a shaft of light which fell upon it slantwise
from the chasm in the roof, was the most superb statue which our eyes,
nay, which any human vision had ever beheld.

Apollo's very self stood there, god-like in superhuman majesty, as
though he were an archangel who had alighted from his flaming chariot to
lift a threatening hand against the workers of iniquity.

I cannot describe the profo