Rome was almost delirious with joy: [See the splendid description in Livy, lib. xxvii. sec. 50, 51.] so agonising had been the suspense with which the battle's verdict on that great issue of a nation's life and death had been awaited; so overpowering was the sudden reaction to the consciousness of security, and to the full glow of glory and success. From the time when it had been known at Rome that the armies were in presence of each other, the people had never ceased to throng the forum, the Conscript Fathers had been in permanent sitting at the senate house. Ever and anon a fearful whisper crept among the crowd of a second Cannae won by a second Hannibal. Then came truer rumours that the day was Rome's; but the people were sick at heart, and heeded them not. The shrines were thronged with trembling women, who seemed to weary heaven with prayers to shield them from the brutal Gaul and the savage African. Presently the reports of good fortune assumed a more definite form. It was said that two Narnian horseman had ridden from the east into the Roman camp of observation in Umbria, and had brought tidings of the utter slaughter of the foe. Such news seemed too good to be true, Men tortured their neighbours and themselves by demonstrating its improbability and by ingeniously criticising its evidence. Soon, however, a letter came from Lucius Manlius Acidinus, who commanded in Umbria, and who announced the arrival of the Narnian horsemen in his camp, and the intelligence which they brought thither. The letter was first laid before the senate, and then before the assembly of the people. The excitement grew more and more vehement. The letter was read and re-read aloud to thousands. It confirmed the previous rumour. But even this was insufficient to allay the feverish anxiety that thrilled through every breast in Rome. The letter might be a forgery: the Narnian horseman might be traitors or impostors. "We must see officers from the army that fought, or hear despatches from the consuls themselves, and then only will we believe." Such was the public sentiment, though some of more hopeful nature already permitted themselves a foretaste of joy. At length came news that officers who really had been in the battle were near at hand. Forthwith the whole city poured forth to meet them, each person coveting to be the first to receive with his own eyes and ears convincing proofs of the reality of such a deliverance. One vast throng of human beings filled the road from Rome to the Milvian bridge. The three officers, Lucius Veturius Pollio, Publius Licinius Vasus, and Quintus Caecilius Metellus came riding on, making their way slowly through the living sea around them, As they advanced, each told the successive waves of eager questioners that Rome was victorious. "We have destroyed Hasdrubal and his army, our legions are safe, and our consuls are unhurt." Each happy listener, who caught the welcome sounds from