of the people.

How, or at what period, the work of ruin first began does not distinctly
appear. An earthquake may have first shattered its ponderous arches, and
thus made an opening for the destroying hand of time. There can be no
doubt that it suffered violence from the hands of civil and foreign war.
But more destructive agencies than those of earthquake, conflagration or
war, were let loose upon it. Its massive stones, fitted to each other
with such nice adaptation, presented a strong temptation to the cupidity
of wealthy nobles and cardinals, with whom building was a ruling
passion; and for many ages the Coliseum became a quarry. The Palazzo
della Cancelleria, the Palazzo Barberini, the Palazzo Farnese, and the
Palazzo Veneziano were all built mainly from the plunder of the
Coliseum; and meaner robbers emulated the rapacity of their betters, by
burning into lime the fragments not available for architectural
purposes.

The material of which the Coliseum was built is exactly fitted to the
purposes of a great ruin. It is travertine, of a rich, dark, warm color,
deepened and mellowed by time. There is nothing glaring, harsh, or
abrupt in the harmony of tints. The blue sky above, and the green earth
beneath, are in unison with a tone of coloring not unlike the brown of
one of our own early winter landscapes. The travertine is also of a
coarse grain and porous texture, not splintering into points and edges,
but gradually corroding by natural decay. Stone of such a texture
everywhere opens laps and nooks for the reception and formation of soil.
Every grain of dust that is borne through the air by the lazy breeze of
summer, instead of sliding from a glassy surface, is held where it
falls. The rocks themselves crumble and decompose, and turn into a
fertile mold. Thus, the Coliseum is throughout crowned and draped with a
covering of earth, in many places of considerable depth. Trailing plants
clasp the stones with arms of verdure; wild flowers bloom in their
seasons; and long grass nods and waves on the airy battlements. Life has
everywhere sprouted from the trunk of death. Insects hum and sport in
the sunshine; the burnished lizard darts like a tongue of green flame
along the walls; and birds make the hollow quarry overflow with their
songs. There is something beautiful and impressive in the contrast
between luxuriant life and the rigid skeleton upon which it rests.

As a matter of course, everybody goes to see the Colise