fly, he was pressed hard by the fierce swordsman. His great height and
length of arm still continued, however, to give him no despicable
advantages; and steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, he
repelled him successfully for several minutes. Sporus now tried, by
great rapidity of evolution, to get round his antagonist, who
necessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so doing, he lost his
caution--he advanced too near to the giant--raised his arm to strike,
and received the three points of the fatal spear full in his breast! He
sank on his knee. In a moment more, the deadly net was cast over him,
he struggled against its meshes in vain; again--again--again he writhed
mutely beneath the fresh strokes of the trident--his blood flowed fast
through the net and redly over the sand. He lowered his arms in
acknowledgment of defeat.

The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning on his spear,
looked to the audience for their judgement. Slowly, too, at the same
moment, the vanquished gladiator rolled his dim and despairing eyes
around the theatre. From row to row, from bench to bench, there glared
upon him but merciless and unpitying eyes.

Hushed was the roar--the murmur! The silence was dread, for it was no
sympathy; not a hand--no, not even a woman's hand--gave the signal of
charity and life! Sporus had never been popular in the arena; and,
lately, the interest of the combat had been excited on behalf of the
wounded Niger. The people were warmed into blood--the mimic fight had
ceased to charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrifice
and the thirst of death!

The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed: he uttered no prayer--no
groan. The people gave the signal of death! In dogged but agonized
submission, he bent his neck to receive the fatal stroke. And now, as
the spear of the retiarius was not a weapon to inflict instant and
certain death, there stalked into the arena a grim and fatal form,
brandishing a short, sharp sword, and with features utterly concealed
beneath its vizor. With slow and measured steps, this dismal headsman
approached the gladiator, still kneeling--laid the left hand on his
humbled crest--drew the edge of the blade across his neck--turned round
to the assembly, lest, in the last moment, remorse should come upon
them; the dread signal continued the same: the blade glittered brightly
in the air--fell--and the gladiator rolled upon the sand; his limbs