edifice!  That alone, if nothing else remained of Pagan antiquity, would indicate a grandeur and a folly such as cannot now be seen on earth.  It reveals a wonderful skill in masonry and great architectural strength; it shows the wealth and resources of rulers who must have had the treasures of the world at their command; it shows the restless passions of the people for excitement, and the necessity on the part of government of yielding to this taste.  What leisure and indolence marked a city which could afford to give up so much time to the demoralizing sports!  What facilities for transportation were afforded, when so many wild beasts could be brought to the capitol from the central parts of Africa without calling out unusual comment!  How imperious a populace that compels the government to provide such expensive pleasures!  The games of Titus, on the dedication of the Colosseum, lasted one hundred days, and five thousand wild beasts were slaughtered in the arena.  The number of the gladiators who fought surpasses belief.  At the triumph of Trajan over the Dacians, ten thousand gladiators were exhibited, and the Emperor himself presided under a gilded canopy, surrounded by thousands of his lords.  Underneath the arena, strewed with yellow sand and sawdust, was a solid pavement, so closely cemented that it could be turned into an artificial lake, on which naval battles were fought.  But it was the conflict of gladiators which most deeply stimulated the passions of the people.  The benches were crowded with eager spectators, and the voices of one hundred thousand were raised in triumph or rage as the miserable victims sank exhausted in the bloody sport.

Yet it was not the gladiatorial sports of the amphitheatre which most strikingly attested the greatness and splendor of the city; nor the palaces, in which as many as four hundred slaves were sometimes maintained as domestic servants for a single establishment,—­twelve hundred in number according to the lowest estimate, but probably five times as numerous, since every senator, every knight, and every rich man was proud to possess a residence which would attract attention; nor the temples, which numbered four hundred and twenty-four, most of which were of marble, filled with statues, the contributions of ages, and surrounded with groves; nor the fora and basilicas, with their porticos, statues, and pictures, covering more space than any cluster of public buildings in Europe, a mile and a half in circuit; nor the baths, nearly as large, still more completely filled with works of art; nor the Circus Maximus, where more people witnessed the chariot races at a time than are nightly assembled in all the places of public amusement in Paris, London, and New York combined,—­more than could be seated in all the cathedrals of England and France.  It is not these which most impressively make us feel the amazing grandeur of the old capital of the world.  The triumphal processions of the conquering generals were