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Capitol. Before you is the Palatine where Romulus stood : beneath you are Cyclopean walls and the rock-hewn dungeon of one of the villages out of which the Empire sprang. On yonder hills Hannibal encamped. Through those gates marched the legions which conquered the world. There runs the Via Sacra, along which the victorious generals passed in triumph. The Forum in which crowds hung upon the eloquence of Cicero, and the spot where Cæsar fell pierced with wounds are before
There stretches the Appian Way, trodden by the feet of a prisoner from Jerusalem who was to win for his Master a nobler victory, and for himself a more imperishable crown than Romans ever knew. That vast pile is the Colosseum where Christians were flung to the lions, and gave their blood to be the seed of the Church. The Campagna around us is hollowed into catacombs in which they laid down their dead to rest in peace. There stands the arch where Titus passed bearing the spoils of the temple. Baths, temples, palaces, basilicas, attest the splendour of the Empire, and mark its decline and ruin. The records of mediæval anarchy may be read in battlemented ruins. And each step in the history of the papacy has left its mark in the ecclesiastical edifices around us, through its culminating splendours in the Basilica of St. Peter down to the column which celebrates the dogma of the immaculate conception, and the tablet which announces the infallibility of the pope.
Anything more lonely and desolate than the Campagna around Rome it would be difficult to
imagine. A waste of moorland stretches far and wide, covered with greyish brown moss and coarse grass. Its surface is broken up by a succession of hillocks, many, perhaps most, of which cover the remains of ancient grandeur and prosperity. Out of not a few of them rise crumbling walls and towers of various dates—the strongholds of turbulent barons, the villas and palaces of Roman senators and knights, or old Etrurian towns which had passed their prime before Rome rose to empire. Buffaloes and dove-coloured oxen wander over the waste or plunge into the morasses which lie between the mounds, to escape the stings of innumerable swarms of flies. Goats and goat-like sheep straggle here and there, guarded by wolf-like dogs, and tended by herdsmen, clad in sheep-skin jackets, their feet and legs swathed in filthy rags. The few human beings one encounters are livid in complexion, with sunken eyes and fever-stricken faces for the malaria exhaled from the soil is laden with the seeds of disease and death. Here and there a string of country carts may be seena few boards rudely nailed together and drawn by oxen or miserable horses_each one has a canopy of basket-work covered with hide, beneath which the driver crouches to escape the wind, or rain, or
Across this dreary waste travellers hasten to reach the city before sunset, for to breathe the air of the Campagna after nightfall might be fatal.
DESCRIPTIONS OF FLOWERS.
1.-Perdita and her Flowers.
Sir, welcome : It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' the day. [To Camillo] You're wel.
Sir, the year growing ancient,
... Here's flowers for you :
Now, my fair'st friend,
Shakespeare (from The Winter's Tale).
II.-Oberon and Titania.
Oberon. Hast thou the flower there? Welcome,
I pray thee, give it me.
Shakespeare (from A Midsummer Night's Dream).
III.-From Lycidas. Bring the rathe 4 primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Above his head