in the palace of the Cæsars, and showed to strangers the buried treasures. There remains of the rich throne-room nothing but a naked wall; the shadow of the black cypress points to the place where the throne stood. The earth lies to the depth of some feet above the broken floor; the little girl, now the daughter of the palace of the Cæsars, often sits there upon her little stool, when the evening bell rings. The keyhole in the door, close beside her, she calls her balcony, and through it she sees over half of Rome, as far as the mighty dome of St. Peter’s.
It was silent as ever, this evening, and the little girl came homeward in my full, bright light. She carried upon her head an antiquely-formed earthen jug filled with water; her feet were bare; the black petticoat and the little chemise sleeves were in tatters; I kissed the child’s beautiful round shoulder, her black eyes, and her dark shining hair. She mounted up the steps of the house, which were steep, and were formed of broken pieces of wall and a shattered capital. The bright-colored lizard glided timidly past her feet, but she was not frightened; she raised her
