A perfect autumn day. Above, the clear sky of Italy; below, a grassy plain, sloping gently down from the
brown cliffs and ruined ramparts of old Veii--the city of the ancient Tuscan kings. In the background, under
the shade of the oaks, a dozen waiting attendants; and here, in the open space before us, three trim and sturdy
Roman youths, all flushed with the exercise of a royal game of ball. Come, boys and girls of to-day, go back
with me seventeen and a half centuries, and join the dozen lookers-on as they follow this three-cornered game
of ball. They call it the trigon. It...