AT HOME AND ABROAD;OR, THINGS AND THOUGHTSINAMERICA AND EUROPE. 

BYMARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, Author of "Woman in the Nineteenth Century, " "Art, Literature, and the Drama, " "Life without and Life Within, " etc. 

Edited by Her Brother, ARTHUR B. FULLER. 

NEW AND COMPLETE EDITION. 

NEW YORK;THE TRIBUNE ASSOCIATION. 134 Nassau Street1869

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, byARTHUR B. FULLER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District ofMassachusetts. 

PREFACE. 

There are at least three classes of persons who travel in our own landand abroad. The first and largest in number consists of thosewho, "having eyes, see not, and ears, hear not, " anything which isprofitable to be remembered. Crossing lake and ocean, passing overthe broad prairies of the New World or the classic fields of the Old, though they look on the virgin soil sown thickly with flowers bythe hand of God, or on scenes memorable in man's history, they gazeheedlessly, and when they return home can but tell us what they ateand drank, and where slept, --no more; for this and matters of likeimport are all for which they have cared in their wanderings. 

Those composing the second class travel more intelligently. Theyvisit scrupulously all places which are noted either as the homes ofliterature, the abodes of Art, or made classic by the pens of ancientgenius. Accurately do they mark the distance of one famed city fromanother, the size and general appearance of each; they see as many aspossible of celebrated pictures and works of art, and mark carefullydimensions, age, and all details concerning them. Men, too, whom theworld regards as great men, whether because of wisdom, poesy, warlikeachievements, or of wealth and station, they seek to take by thehand and in some degree to know; at least to note their appearance, demeanor, and mode of life. Writers belonging to this class oftravellers are not to be undervalued; returning home, they can givemuch useful information, and tell much which all wish to hear andknow, though, as their narratives are chiefly circumstantial, andevery year circumstances change, such recitals lessen constantly invalue. 

But there is a third class of those who journey, who see indeed theoutward, and observe it well. They, too, seek localities where Art andGenius dwell, or have painted on canvas or sculptured in marble theirmemorials; they become acquainted with the people, both famed andobscure, of the lands which they visit and in which for a time theyabide; their hearts throb as they stand on places where great deedshave been done, with whose dust perhaps is mingled the sacred ashesof men who fell in the warfare for truth and freedom, --a warfare begunearly in the world's history, and not yet ended. But they do much_more_ than this. There is, though in a different sense from whatancient Pagans fancied, a genius or guardian spirit of each scene, each stream and lake and country, and this spirit is ever speaking, but in a tone which only the attent ear of the noble and giftedcan hear, and in a language which such minds and hearts only canunderstand. With vision which needs no miracle to make it prophetic, they see the destinies which nations are all-unconsciously shapingfor themselves, and note the deep meaning of passing events which onlymake others wonder. Beneath the mask of mere externals, their eyesdiscern the character of those whom they meet, and, refusing to acceptpopular judgment in place of truth, they see often the real relationwhich men bear to their race and age, and observe the facts by whichto determine whether such men are great only because of circumstances, or by the irresistible power of their own minds. When such narratetheir journeyings, we have what is valuable not for a few years only, but, because of its philosophic and suggestive spirit, what mustalways be useful. 

The reader of the following pages, it is believed, will decide thatMargaret Fuller deserves to rank with the latter class of travellers, while not neglectful of those details which it is well to learn andremember. 

Twelve years ago she journeyed, in company with several friends, onthe Lakes, and through some of the Western States. Returning, shepublished a volume describing this journey, which seems worthy ofrepublication. It seems so because it rather gives an idea of Westernscenery and character, than enters into guide-book statements whichwould be all erroneous now. 

Beside this, it is much a record of thoughts as well as things, andthose thoughts have lost none of their significance now. It gives usalso knowledge of Indian character, and impressions respecting thatmuch injured and fast vanishing race, which justice to them makes itdesirable should be remembered. The friends of Madame Ossoli will beglad to make permanent this additional proof of her sympathy with allthe oppressed, no matter whether that oppression find embodiment inthe Indian or the African, the American or the European. 

The second part of the present volume gives my sister's impressionsand observations during her European journey and residence in Italy. This is done through letters, which originally appeared in the NewYork Tribune but have never before been gathered into book form. Theremay be a degree of incompleteness, sometimes perhaps inaccuracy, inthese letters, which are inseparable attendants upon letter-writingduring a journey or amid exciting and warlike scenes. None can lamentmore than I that their writer lives not to revise them. Some errors, too, were doubtless made in the original printing of these letters, owing to her handwriting not being easily read by those who were notfamiliar with it, and very probably some such errors may have escapedmy notice in the revision, especially as many emendations must beconjectural, the original manuscript not now existing. 

There is one fact, however, which gives this part of the volume a highvalue. Madame Ossoli was in Rome during the most eventful period ofits modern history. She was almost the only American who remainedthere during the Italian Revolution, and the siege of the city. Hermarriage with the Marquis Ossoli, who was Captain of the Civic Guardand active in the republican councils and army, and her own ardentlove of freedom, and sacrifices for it, brought her into immediateacquaintance with the leaders in the revolutionary army, and madeher cognizant of their plans, their motives, and their characters. Unsuccessful for a time as has been that struggle for freedom, it wasyet a noble one, and its true history should be known in this countryand in all lands, that justice may be done to those who sacrificedmuch, some even life, in behalf of liberty. Her peculiar fitness towrite the history of this struggle is well expressed by Mr. Greeley, in his Introduction to one of her volumes recently published. [A] "OfItaly's last struggle for liberty and light, " he says, "she mightnot merely say, with the Grattan of Ireland's kindred effort, half acentury earlier, 'I stood by its cradle; I followed its hearse. 'She might fairly claim to have been a portion of its incitement, itsanimation, its informing soul. She bore more than a woman's part inits conflicts and its perils; and the bombs of that ruthless armywhich a false and traitorous government impelled against the rampartsof Republican Rome, could have stilled no voice more eloquent in itsexposures, no heart more lofty in its defiance, of the villany whichso wantonly drowned in blood the hopes, while crushing the dearestrights, of a people, than those of Margaret Fuller. "

[Footnote A: Introduction to Papers on Literature and Art, p. 8. ]

Inadequate, indeed, are these letters as a memorial and vindication ofthat struggle, in comparison with the history which Madame Ossoli hadwritten, and which perished with her; but well do they deserve to bepreserved, as the record of a clear-minded and true-hearted eyewitnessof, and participator in, this effort to establish a new and betterRoman Republic. In one respect they have an interest higher thanwould the history. They were written during the struggle, and show thefluctuations of hope and despondency-which animated those most deeplyinterested. I have thought it right to leave unchanged all expressionsof her opinion and feeling, even when it is evident from the lettersthemselves that these were gradually somewhat modified by ensuingevents. Especially did this change occur in regard to the Pope, whomshe at first regarded, in common with all lovers of freedom in thisand other lands, with a hopefulness which was doomed to a crueldisappointment. She was, however, never for a moment deceived as tohis character. His heart she believed kindly and good; his intellect, of a low order; his views as to reform, narrow, intending only what ispartial, temporary, and alleviating, never a permanent, vital reform, which should remove the cause of the ills on account of which hispeople groaned. Really to elevate and free Italy, it was necessary toremove the yoke of ecclesiastical and political thraldom; to do thisformed no part of his plans, --from his very nature he was incapableof so great a purpose. The expression in her letters of this opinion, when most people hoped better things, was at first censured, as doinginjustice to Pius IX. ; but alas! events proved the impulses of hisheart to be in subjection to the prejudices of his mind, and that mindto be weaker than even she had deemed it, with views as narrow as shehad feared. 

The third part of this volume contains some letters to friends, whichwere never written for the public eye, but are necessary to complete, as far as can now be done, the narrative of her residence abroad. Somefew of these have already appeared in her "Memoirs, " a work I cannottoo warmly recommend to those who would know my sister's character. Many more of her letters may be there found, equally worthy ofperusal, but not so necessary to complete the history of events inItaly. 

The fourth part contains the details of that shipwreck which causedmourning not only in the hearts of her kindred, but of the manywho knew and loved her. These, with some poems commemorative of hercharacter and eventful death, form a sad but fitting close to a bookwhich records her European journeyings, and her voyage to a home whichproved to be not in this land, where were waiting warm hearts to bidher welcome, but one in a land yet freer, better than this, where shecan be no less loved by the angels, by our Saviour, and the InfiniteFather. After the copy for this volume had been sent to the press, it was found necessary to omit some portions of the work in therepublication, as too much matter had been furnished for a volume ofreasonable size. The Editor made these omissions with much reluctance, but the desire to bring a record of Madame Ossoli's journeyings withinthe compass of one volume outweighed that reluctance. He believes theomissions have been made in such a way as not materially to diminishits value, especially as most which has been omitted will find placein another volume he hopes soon to issue, containing a portion of themiscellaneous writings of Madame Ossoli. 

All of these omissions that are important occur in the Summer on theLakes, it being thought better to omit from a portion of the workwhich had previously been before the public in book form. Theepisodical nature of that work, too, enabled the Editor to makeomissions without in any way marring its unity. These omissions, whenother than mere verbal ones, consist of extracts from books which sheread in relation to the Indians; an account of and translation fromthe Seeress of Prevorst, a German work which had not then, but hassince, been translated into English, and republished in this country;a few extracts from letters and poems sent to her by friends while shewas in the West, one of which poems has been since published elsewhereby its author; and the story of Marianna, (a great portion of whichmay be found in my sister's "Memoirs, ") and also Lines to Edith, ashort poem. Marianna and Lines to Edith will probably be republishedin another volume. From the letters of Madame Ossoli in Parts II. AndIII. No omissions have been made other than verbal, or when pertainingto trifling incidents, having only a temporary interest. Nothing inany portion of the book recording my sister's own observations oropinions has been omitted or changed. The reader, too, will noticethat nothing affecting the unity of the narrative is here wanting, thevolume even gaining in that respect by the omission of extracts fromother writers, and of a story and short poem not connected in anyregard with Western life. 

In conclusion, the Editor would express the sincere hope that thisvolume may not only be of general interest, but inspire its readerswith an increased love of republican institutions, and an earnestpurpose to seek the removal of every national wrong which hindersour beloved country from being a perfect example and hearty helperof other nations in their struggles for liberty. May it do something, also, to remove misapprehension of the motives, character, and actionof those noble patriots of Italy, who strove, though for a timevainly, to make their country free, and to deepen the sympathy whichevery true American should feel with faithful men everywhere, who byart are seeking to refine, by philanthropic exertion to elevate, bythe diffusion of truth to enlighten, or by self-sacrifice and earnesteffort to free, their fellow-men. 

A. B. F. 

Boston, March 1, 1856. 

CONTENTS. 

 PART I. SUMMER ON THE LAKES 1

 PART II. THINGS AND THOUGHTS IN EUROPE 117

 PART III. LETTERS FROM ABROAD TO FRIENDS AT HOME 423

 PART IV. HOMEWARD VOYAGE, AND MEMORIALS 441

PART I

SUMMER ON THE LAKES. 

 Summer days of busy leisure, Long summer days of dear-bought pleasure, You have done your teaching well; Had the scholar means to tell How grew the vine of bitter-sweet, What made the path for truant feet, Winter nights would quickly pass, Gazing on the magic glass O'er which the new-world shadows pass. But, in fault of wizard spell, Moderns their tale can only tell In dull words, with a poor reed Breaking at each time of need. Yet those to whom a hint suffices Mottoes find for all devices, See the knights behind their shields, Through dried grasses, blooming fields. 

 * * * * *

 Some dried grass-tufts from the wide flowery field, A muscle-shell from the lone fairy shore, Some antlers from tall woods which never more To the wild deer a safe retreat can yield, An eagle's feather which adorned a Brave, Well-nigh the last of his despairing band, -- For such slight gifts wilt thou extend thy hand When weary hours a brief refreshment crave? I give you what I can, not what I would If my small drinking-cup would hold a flood, As Scandinavia sung those must contain With which, the giants gods may entertain; In our dwarf day we drain few drops, and soon must thirst again. 

CHAPTER I. 

NIAGARA. 

Niagara, June 10, 1843. 

Since you are to share with me such foot-notes as may be made on thepages of my life during this summer's wanderings, I should not bequite silent as to this magnificent prologue to the, as yet, unknowndrama. Yet I, like others, have little to say, where the spectacle is, for once, great enough to fill the whole life, and supersede thought, giving us only its own presence. "It is good to be here, " is the best, as the simplest, expression that occurs to the mind. 

We have been here eight days, and I am quite willing to go away. Sogreat a sight soon satisfies, making us content with itself, and withwhat is less than itself. Our desires, once realized, haunt us againless readily. Having "lived one day, " we would depart, and becomeworthy to live another. 

We have not been fortunate in weather, for there cannot be too much, or too warm sunlight for this scene, and the skies have been lowering, with cold, unkind winds. My nerves, too much braced up by such anatmosphere, do not well bear the continual stress of sight and sound. For here there is no escape from the weight of a perpetual creation;all other forms and motions come and go, the tide rises and recedes, the wind, at its mightiest, moves in gales and gusts, but here isreally an incessant, an indefatigable motion. Awake or asleep, thereis no escape, still this rushing round you and through you. It isin this way I have most felt the grandeur, --somewhat eternal, if notinfinite. 

At times a secondary music rises; the cataract seems to seize its ownrhythm and sing it over again, so that the ear and soul are roused bya double vibration. This is some effect of the wind, causing echoesto the thundering anthem. It is very sublime, giving the effect of aspiritual repetition through all the spheres. 

When I first came, I felt nothing but a quiet satisfaction. I foundthat drawings, the panorama, &c. Had given me a clear notion of theposition and proportions of all objects here; I knew where to look foreverything, and everything looked as I thought it would. 

Long ago, I was looking from a hill-side with a friend at one ofthe finest sunsets that ever enriched, this world. A little cowboy, trudging along, wondered what we could be gazing at. After spyingabout some time, he found it could only be the sunset, and looking, too, a moment, he said approvingly, "That sun looks well enough"; aspeech worthy of Shakespeare's Cloten, or the infant Mercury, up toeverything from the cradle, as you please to take it. 

Even such a familiarity, worthy of Jonathan, our national hero, ina prince's palace, or "stumping, " as he boasts to have done, "up theVatican stairs, into the Pope's presence, in my old boots, " I felthere; it looks really _well enough_, I felt, and was inclined, as yousuggested, to give my approbation as to the one object in the worldthat would not disappoint. 

But all great expression, which, on a superficial survey, seems soeasy as well as so simple, furnishes, after a while, to the faithfulobserver, its own standard by which to appreciate it. Daily theseproportions widened and towered more and more upon my sight, and Igot, at last, a proper foreground for these sublime distances. Beforecoming away, I think I really saw the full wonder of the scene. Aftera while it so drew me into itself as to inspire an undefined dread, such as I never knew before, such as may be felt when death is aboutto usher us into a new existence. The perpetual trampling of thewaters seized my senses. I felt that no other sound, however near, could be heard, and would start and look behind me for a foe. Irealized the identity of that mood of nature in which these waterswere poured down with such absorbing force, with that in which theIndian was shaped on the same soil. For continually upon my mind came, unsought and unwelcome, images, such as never haunted it before, ofnaked savages stealing behind me with uplifted tomahawks; again andagain this illusion recurred, and even after I had thought it over, and tried to shake it off, I could not help starting and lookingbehind me. 

As picture, the falls can only be seen from the British side. Therethey are seen in their veils, and at sufficient distance to appreciatethe magical effects of these, and the light and shade. From the boat, as you cross, the effects and contrasts are more melodramatic. On theroad back from the whirlpool, we saw them as a reduced picture withdelight. But what I liked best was to sit on Table Rock, close tothe great fall. There all power of observing details, all separateconsciousness, was quite lost. 

Once, just as I had seated myself there, a man came to take his firstlook. He walked close up to the fall, and, after looking at it amoment, with an air as if thinking how he could best appropriate it tohis own use, he spat into it. 

This trait seemed wholly worthy of an age whose love of _utility_ issuch that the Prince Puckler Muskau suggests the probability ofmen coming to put the bodies of their dead parents in the fields tofertilize them, and of a country such as Dickens has described; butthese will not, I hope, be seen on the historic page to be truly theage or truly the America. A little leaven is leavening the whole massfor other bread. 

The whirlpool I like very much. It is seen to advantage after thegreat falls; it is so sternly solemn. The river cannot look moreimperturbable, almost sullen in its marble green, than it does justbelow the great fall; but the slight circles that mark the hiddenvortex seem to whisper mysteries the thundering voice above could notproclaim, --a meaning as untold as ever. 

It is fearful, too, to know, as you look, that whatever has beenswallowed by the cataract is like to rise suddenly to light here, whether uprooted tree, or body of man or bird. 

The rapids enchanted me far beyond what I expected; they are so swiftthat they cease to seem so; you can think only of their beauty. Thefountain beyond the Moss Islands I discovered for myself, and thoughtit for some time an accidental beauty which it would not do toleave, lest I might never see it again. After I found it permanent, I returned many times to watch the play of its crest. In the littlewaterfall beyond, Nature seems, as she often does, to have made astudy for some larger design. She delights in this, --a sketch withina sketch, a dream within a dream. Wherever we see it, the lines ofthe great buttress in the fragment of stone, the hues of thewaterfall copied in the flowers that star its bordering mosses, weare delighted; for all the lineaments become fluent, and we mould thescene in congenial thought with its genius. 

People complain of the buildings at Niagara, and fear to see itfurther deformed. I cannot sympathize with such an apprehension: thespectacle is capable of swallowing up all such objects; they are notseen in the great whole, more than an earthworm in a wide field. 

The beautiful wood on Goat Island is full of flowers; many of thefairest love to do homage here. The Wake-robin and May-apple are inbloom now; the former, white, pink, green, purple, copying the rainbowof the fall, and fit to make a garland for its presiding deity when hewalks the land, for they are of imperial size, and shaped like stonesfor a diadem. Of the May-apple, I did not raise one green tent withoutfinding a flower beneath. 

And now farewell. Niagara. I have seen thee, and I think all who comehere must in some sort see thee; thou art not to be got rid of aseasily as the stars. I will be here again beneath some flooding Julymoon and sun. Owing to the absence of light, I have seen the rainbowonly two or three times by day; the lunar bow not at all. However, theimperial presence needs not its crown, though illustrated by it. 

General Porter and Jack Downing were not unsuitable figures here. Theformer heroically planted the bridges by which we cross to Goat Islandand the Wake-robin-crowned genius has punished his temerity withdeafness, which must, I think, have come upon him when he sunk thefirst stone in the rapids. Jack seemed an acute and entertainingrepresentative of Jonathan, come to look at his great water-privilege. He told us all about the Americanisms of the spectacle; that is tosay, the battles that have been fought here. It seems strange thatmen could fight in such a place; but no temple can still the personalgriefs and strifes in the breasts of its visitors. 

No less strange is the fact that, in this neighborhood, an eagleshould be chained for a plaything. When a child, I used often to standat a window from which I could see an eagle chained in the balcony ofa museum. The people used to poke at it with sticks, and my childishheart would swell with indignation as I saw their insults, and themien with which they were borne by the monarch-bird. Its eye was dull, and its plumage soiled and shabby, yet, in its form and attitude, all the king was visible, though sorrowful and dethroned. I neversaw another of the family till, when passing through the Notch of theWhite Mountains, at that moment glowing before us in all the panoplyof sunset, the driver shouted, "Look there!" and following with oureyes his upward-pointing finger, we saw, soaring slow in majesticpoise above the highest summit, the bird of Jove. It was a glorioussight, yet I know not that I felt more on seeing the bird in all itsnatural freedom and royalty, than when, imprisoned and insulted, he had filled my early thoughts with the Byronic "silent rages" ofmisanthropy. 

Now, again, I saw him a captive, and addressed by the vulgar with thelanguage they seem to find most appropriate to such occasions, --thatof thrusts and blows. Silently, his head averted, he ignored theirexistence, as Plotinus or Sophocles might that of a modern reviewer. Probably he listened to the voice of the cataract, and felt thatcongenial powers flowed free, and was consoled, though his own wingwas broken. 

The story of the Recluse of Niagara interested me a little. It iswonderful that men do not oftener attach their lives to localitiesof great beauty, --that, when once deeply penetrated, they will letthemselves so easily be borne away by the general stream of things, to live anywhere and anyhow. But there is something ludicrous in beingthe hermit of a show-place, unlike St. Francis in his mountain-bed, where none but the stars and rising sun ever saw him. 

There is also a "guide to the falls, " who wears his title labelled onhis hat; otherwise, indeed, one might as soon think of asking for agentleman usher to point out the moon. Yet why should we wonder atsuch, when we have Commentaries on Shakespeare, and Harmonies of theGospels?

And now you have the little all I have to write. Can it interest you?To one who has enjoyed the full life of any scene, of any hour, whatthoughts can be recorded about it seem like the commas and semicolonsin the paragraph, --mere stops. Yet I suppose it is not so to theabsent. At least, I have read things written about Niagara, music, andthe like, that interested _me_. Once I was moved by Mr. Greenwood'sremark, that he could not realize this marvel till, opening his eyesthe next morning after he had seen it, his doubt as to the possibilityof its being still there taught him what he had experienced. Iremember this now with pleasure, though, or because, it is exactly theopposite to what I myself felt. For all greatness affects differentminds, each in "its own particular kind, " and the variations oftestimony mark the truth of feeling. [A]

[Footnote A: "Somewhat avails, in one regard, the mere sight of beautywithout the union of feeling therewith. Carried away in memory, ithangs there in the lonely hall as a picture, and may some time do itsmessage. I trust it may be so in my case, for I _saw_ every object farmore clearly than if I had been moved and filled with the presence, and my recollections are equally distinct and vivid. " Extracted fromManuscript Notes of this Journey left by Margaret Fuller. --ED. ]

I will here add a brief narrative of the experience of another, asbeing much better than anything I could write, because more simple andindividual. 

"Now that I have left this 'Earth-wonder, ' and the emotions itexcited are past, it seems not so much like profanation to analyzemy feelings, to recall minutely and accurately the effect of thismanifestation of the Eternal. But one should go to such a sceneprepared to yield entirely to its influences, to forget one's littleself and one's little mind. To see a miserable worm creep to the brinkof this falling world of waters, and watch the trembling of itsown petty bosom, and fancy that this is made alone to act upon himexcites--derision? No, --pity. "

As I rode up to the neighborhood of the falls, a solemn aweimperceptibly stole over me, and the deep sound of the ever-hurryingrapids prepared my mind for the lofty emotions to be experienced. WhenI reached the hotel, I felt a strange indifference about seeing theaspiration of my life's hopes. I lounged about the rooms, read thestage-bills upon the walls, looked over the register, and, finding thename of an acquaintance, sent to see if he was still there. What thishesitation arose from, I know not; perhaps it was a feeling of myunworthiness to enter this temple which nature has erected to its God. 

At last, slowly and thoughtfully I walked down to the bridge leadingto Goat Island, and when I stood upon this frail support, and sawa quarter of a mile of tumbling, rushing rapids, and heard theireverlasting roar, my emotions overpowered me, a choking sensation roseto my throat, a thrill rushed through my veins, "my blood ran ripplingto my fingers' ends. " This was the climax of the effect which thefalls produced upon me, --neither the American nor the British fallmoved me as did these rapids. For the magnificence, the sublimity ofthe latter, I was prepared by descriptions and by paintings. When Iarrived in sight of them I merely felt, "Ah, yes! here is the fall, just as I have seen it in a picture. " When I arrived at the TerrapinBridge, I expected to be overwhelmed, to retire trembling from thisgiddy eminence, and gaze with unlimited wonder and awe upon theimmense mass rolling on and on; but, somehow or other, I thought onlyof comparing the effect on my mind with what I had read and heard. I looked for a short time, and then, with almost a feeling ofdisappointment, turned to go to the other points of view, to see if Iwas not mistaken in not feeling any surpassing emotion at this sight. But from the foot of Biddle's Stairs, and the middle of the river, andfrom below the Table Rock, it was still "barren, barren all. "

Provoked with my stupidity in feeling most moved in the wrong place, I turned away to the hotel, determined to set off for Buffalo thatafternoon. But the stage did not go, and, after nightfall, as therewas a splendid moon, I went down to the bridge, and leaned over theparapet, where the boiling rapids came down in their might. It wasgrand, and it was also gorgeous; the yellow rays of the moon madethe broken waves appear like auburn tresses twining around the blackrocks. But they did not inspire me as before. I felt a foreboding of amightier emotion to rise up and swallow all others, and I passed on tothe Terrapin Bridge. Everything was changed, the misty apparition hadtaken off its many-colored crown which it had worn by day, and a bowof silvery white spanned its summit. The moonlight gave a poeticalindefiniteness to the distant parts of the waters, and while therapids were glancing in her beams, the river below the falls was blackas night, save where the reflection of the sky gave it the appearanceof a shield of blued steel. No gaping tourists loitered, eyeing withtheir glasses, or sketching on cards the hoary locks of the ancientriver-god. All tended to harmonize with the natural grandeur of thescene. I gazed long. I saw how here mutability and unchangeablenesswere united. I surveyed the conspiring waters rushing against therocky ledge to overthrow it at one mad plunge, till, like topplingambition, o'er-leaping themselves, they fall on t' other side, expanding into foam ere they reach the deep channel where they creepsubmissively away. 

Then arose in my breast a genuine admiration, and a humble adorationof the Being who was the architect of this and of all. Happy were thefirst discoverers of Niagara, those who could come unawares upon thisview and upon that, whose feelings were entirely their own. With whatgusto does Father Hennepin describe "this great downfall of water, ""this vast and prodigious cadence of water, which falls down after asurprising and astonishing manner, insomuch that the universe does notafford its parallel. 'Tis true Italy and Swedeland boast of some suchthings, but we may well say that they be sorry patterns when comparedwith this of which we do now speak. "

CHAPTER II. 

THE LAKES. --CHICAGO. --GENEVA. --A THUNDER-STORM. --PAPAW GROVE. 

SCENE, STEAMBOAT. --_About to leave Buffalo. --Baggage coming onboard. --Passengers bustling for their berths. --Little boys persecutingeverybody with their newspapers and pamphlets. --J. , S. , and M. Huddledup in a forlorn corner, behind a large trunk. --A heavy rain falling. _

_M. _ Water, water everywhere. After Niagara one would like a dry stripof existence. And at any rate it is quite enough for me to have itunder foot without having it overhead in this way. 

_J. _ Ah, do not abuse the gentle element. It is hardly possible tohave too much of it, and indeed, if I were obliged to choose amid thefour, it would be the one in which I could bear confinement best. 

_S. _ You would make a pretty Undine, to be sure!

_J. _ Nay. I only offered myself as a Triton, a boisterous Triton ofthe sounding shell. You, M. , I suppose, would be a salamander, rather. 

_M. _ No! that is too equivocal a position, whether in modernmythology, or Hoffman's tales. I should choose to be a gnome. 

_J. _ That choice savors of the pride that apes humility. 

_M. _ By no means; the gnomes are the most important of all theelemental tribes. Is it not they who make the money?

_J. _ And are accordingly a dark, mean, scoffing ----

_M. _ You talk as if you had always lived in that wild, unprofitableelement you are so fond of, where all things glitter, and nothing isgold; all show and no substance. My people work in the secret, andtheir works praise them in the open light; they remain in the darkbecause only there such marvels could be bred. You call them mean. They do not spend their energies on their own growth, or their ownplay, but to feed the veins of Mother Earth with permanent splendors, very different from what she shows on the surface. 

Think of passing a life, not merely in heaping together, but _making_gold. Of all dreams, that of the alchemist is the most poetical, forhe looked at the finest symbol. "Gold, " says one of our friends, "isthe hidden light of the earth, it crowns the mineral, as wine thevegetable order, being the last expression of vital energy. "

_J. _ Have you paid for your passage?

_J. _ Yes! and in gold, not in shells or pebbles. 

_J. _ No really wise gnome would scoff at the water, the beautifulwater. "The spirit of man is like the water. "

_S. _ And like the air and fire, no less. 

_J. _ Yes, but not like the earth, this low-minded creature's chosen, dwelling. 

_M. _ The earth is spirit made fruitful, --life. And its heartbeats aretold in gold and wine. 

_J. _ Oh! it is shocking to hear such sentiments in these times. Ithought that Bacchic energy of yours was long since repressed. 

_M. _ No! I have only learned to mix water with my wine, and stamp uponmy gold the heads of kings, or the hieroglyphics of worship. But sinceI have learnt to mix with water, let's hear what you have to say inpraise of your favorite. 

_J. _ From water Venus was born, what more would you have? It is themother of Beauty, the girdle of earth, and the marriage of nations. 

_S. _ Without any of that high-flown poetry, it is enough, I think, that it is the great artist, turning all objects that approach it topicture. 

_J. _ True, no object that touches it, whether it be the cart thatploughs the wave for sea-weed, or the boat or plank that rides uponit, but is brought at once from the demesne of coarse utilities intothat of picture. All trades, all callings, become picturesque by thewater's side, or on the water. The soil, the slovenliness, is washedout of every calling by its touch. All river-crafts, sea-crafts, arepicturesque, are poetical. Their very slang is poetry. 

_M. _ The reasons for that are complex. 

_J. _ The reason is, that there can be no plodding, groping words andmotions on my water as there are on your earth. There is no time, no chance for them where all moves so rapidly, though so smoothly;everything connected with water must be like itself, forcible, butclear. That is why sea-slang is so poetical; there is a word foreverything and every act, and a thing and an act for every word. Seamen must speak quick and bold, but also with utmost precision. They cannot reef and brace other than in a Homeric dialect, --therefore--(Steamboat bell rings. ) But I must say a quick good-by. 

_M. _ What, going, going back to earth after all this talk upon theother side. Well, that is nowise Homeric, but truly modern. 

J. Is borne off without time for any reply, but a laugh--at himself, of course. 

S. And M. Retire to their state-rooms to forget the wet, the chill, and steamboat smell, in their just-bought new world of novels. 

Next day, when we stopped at Cleveland, the storm was just clearingup; ascending the bluff, we had one of the finest views of the lakethat could have been wished. The varying depths of these lakes give totheir surface a great variety of coloring, and beneath this wild skyand changeful light, the waters presented a kaleidoscopic varietyof hues, rich, but mournful. I admire these bluffs of red, crumblingearth. Here land and water meet under very different auspices fromthose of the rock-bound coast to which I have been accustomed. Therethey meet tenderly to challenge, and proudly to refuse, though, not infact repel. But here they meet to mingle, are always rushing together, and changing places; a new creation takes place beneath the eye. 

The weather grew gradually clearer, but not bright; yet we could seethe shore and appreciate the extent of these noble waters. 

Coming up the river St. Clair, we saw Indians for the first time. They were camped out on the bank. It was twilight, and their blanketedforms, in listless groups or stealing along the bank, with a loungeand a stride so different in its wildness from the rudeness of thewhite settler, gave me the first feeling that I really approached theWest. 

The people on the boat were almost all New-Englanders, seeking theirfortunes. They had brought with them their habits of calculation, their cautious manners, their love of polemics. It grieved me to hearthese immigrants, who were to be the fathers of a new race, all, fromthe old man down to the little girl, talking, not of what they shoulddo, but of what they should get in the new scene. It was to them aprospect, not of the unfolding nobler energies, but of more ease andlarger accumulation. It wearied me, too, to hear Trinity and Unitydiscussed in the poor, narrow, doctrinal way on these free waters; butthat will soon cease; there is not time for this clash of opinions inthe West, where the clash of material interests is so noisy. They willneed the spirit of religion more than ever to guide them, but willfind less time than before for its doctrine. This change was to me, who am tired of the war of words on these subjects, and believe itonly sows the wind to reap the whirlwind, refreshing, but I arguenothing from it; there is nothing real in the freedom of thought atthe West, --it is from the position of men's lives, not the stateof their minds. So soon as they have time, unless they grow bettermeanwhile, they will cavil and criticise, and judge other men by theirown standard, and outrage the law of love every way, just as they dowith us. 

We reached Mackinaw the evening of the third day, but, to my greatdisappointment, it was too late and too rainy to go ashore. The beautyof the island, though seen under the most unfavorable circumstances, did not disappoint my expectations. [A] But I shall see it to morepurpose on my return. 

[Footnote A: "Mackinaw, that long desired, sight, was dimly discernedunder a thick fog, yet it soothed and cheered me. All looked mellowthere; man seemed to have worked in harmony with Nature instead ofrudely invading her, as in most Western towns. It seemed possible, onthat spot, to lead a life of serenity and cheerfulness. Some richlydressed Indians came down to show themselves. Their dresses were ofblue broadcloth, with splendid leggings and knee-ties. On their headswere crimson scarfs adorned with beads and falling on one shoulder, their hair long and looking cleanly. Near were one or two wild figuresclad in the common white blankets. " Manuscript Notes. --ED. ]

As the day has passed dully, a cold rain preventing us from keepingout in the air, my thoughts have been dwelling on a story told when wewere off Detroit, this morning, by a fellow-passenger, and whose moralbeauty touched me profoundly. 

"Some years ago, " said Mrs. L. , "my father and mother stopped todine at Detroit. A short time before dinner my father met in the hallCaptain P. , a friend of his youthful days. He had loved P. Extremely, as did many who knew him, and had not been surprised to hear of thedistinction and popular esteem which his wide knowledge, talents, andnoble temper commanded, as he went onward in the world. P. Was everyway fitted to succeed; his aims were high, but not too high for hispowers, suggested by an instinct of his own capacities, not by anideal standard drawn from culture. Though steadfast in his course, itwas not to overrun others; his wise self-possession was no less forthem than himself. He was thoroughly the gentleman, gentle becausemanly, and was a striking instance that, where there is strengthfor sincere courtesy, there is no need of other adaptation to thecharacter of others, to make one's way freely and gracefully throughthe crowd. 

"My father was delighted to see him, and after a short parley in thehall, 'We will dine together, ' he cried, 'then we shall have time totell all our stories. '

"P. Hesitated a moment, then said, 'My wife is with me. '

"'And mine with me, ' said my father; 'that's well; they, too, willhave an opportunity of getting acquainted, and can entertain oneanother, if they get tired of our college stories. '

"P. Acquiesced, with a grave bow, and shortly after they all met inthe dining-room. My father was much surprised at the appearance ofMrs. P. He had heard that his friend married abroad, but nothingfurther, and he was not prepared to see the calm, dignified P. Witha woman on his arm, still handsome, indeed, but whose coarse andimperious expression showed as low habits of mind as her exaggerateddress and gesture did of education. Nor could there be a greatercontrast to my mother, who, though understanding her claims and placewith the certainty of a lady, was soft and retiring in an uncommondegree. 

"However, there was no time to wonder or fancy; they sat down, andP. Engaged in conversation, without much vivacity, but with his usualease. The first quarter of an hour passed well enough. But soon it wasobservable that Mrs. P. Was drinking glass after glass of wine, to anextent few gentlemen did, even then, and soon that she was actuallyexcited by it. Before this, her manner had been brusque, if notcontemptuous, towards her new acquaintance; now it became, towardsmy mother especially, quite rude. Presently she took up some slightremark made by my mother, which, though, it did not naturally meananything of the sort, could be twisted into some reflection uponEngland, and made it a handle, first of vulgar sarcasm, and then, uponmy mother's defending herself with some surprise and gentle dignity, hurled upon her a volley of abuse, beyond Billingsgate. 

"My mother, confounded by scenes and ideas presented to her mindequally new and painful, sat trembling; she knew not what to do; tearsrushed into her eyes. My father, no less distressed, yet unwillingto outrage the feelings of his friend by doing or saying what hisindignation prompted, turned an appealing look on P. 

"Never, as he often said, was the painful expression of that sighteffaced from his mind. It haunted his dreams and disturbed his wakingthoughts. P. Sat with his head bent forward, and his eyes cast down, pale, but calm, with a fixed expression, not merely of patient woe, but of patient shame, which it would not have been thought possiblefor that noble countenance to wear. 'Yet, ' said my father, 'it becamehim. At other times he was handsome, but then beautiful, though of abeauty saddened and abashed. For a spiritual light borrowed from theworldly perfection of his mien that illustration by contrast, whichthe penitence of the Magdalen does from the glowing earthliness of hercharms. '

"Seeing that he preserved silence, while Mrs. P. Grew still moreexasperated, my father rose and led his wife to her own room. Halfan hour had passed, in painful and wondering surmises, when a gentleknock was heard at the door, and P. Entered equipped for a journey. 'We are just going, ' he said, and holding out his hand, but withoutlooking at them, 'Forgive. '

"They each took his hand, and silently pressed it; then he wentwithout a word more. 

"Some time passed, and they heard now and then of P. , as he passedfrom one army station to another, with his uncongenial companion, who became, it was said, constantly more degraded. Whoever mentionedhaving seen them wondered at the chance which had yoked him to sucha woman, but yet more at the silent fortitude with which he bore it. Many blamed him for enduring it, apparently without efforts to checkher; others answered that he had probably made such at an earlierperiod, and, finding them unavailing, had resigned himself to despair, and was too delicate to meet the scandal that, with such resistance assuch a woman could offer, must attend a formal separation. 

"But my father, who was not in such haste to come to conclusions, andsubstitute some plausible explanation for the truth, found somethingin the look of P. At that trying moment to which, none of theseexplanations offered a key. There was in it, he felt, a fortitude, but not the fortitude of the hero; a religious submission, above thepenitent, if not enkindled with the enthusiasm, of the martyr. 

"I have said that my father was not one of those who are ready tosubstitute specious explanations for truth, and those who are thusabstinent rarely lay their hand, on a thread without making it a clew. Such a man, like the dexterous weaver, lets not one color go till Irefinds that which matches it in the pattern, --he keeps on weaving, butchooses his shades; and my father found at last what he wanted to makeout the pattern for himself. He met a lady who had been intimatewith both himself and P. In early days, and, finding she had seen thelatter abroad, asked if she knew the circumstances of the marriage. 

"'The circumstances of the act which sealed the misery of our friend, I know, ' she said, 'though as much in the dark as any one about themotives that led to it. 

"'We were quite intimate with P. In London, and he was our mostdelightful companion. He was then in the full flower of the variedaccomplishments which set off his fine manners and dignifiedcharacter, joined, towards those he loved, with a certain softwillingness which gives the desirable chivalry to a man. None was moreclear of choice where his personal affections were not touched, but where they were, it cost him pain to say no, on the slightestoccasion. I have thought this must have had some connection with themystery of his misfortunes. 

"'One day he called on me, and, without any preface, asked if Iwould be present next day at his marriage. I was so surprised, and sounpleasantly surprised, that I did not at first answer a word. We hadbeen on terms so familiar, that I thought I knew all about him, yethad never dreamed of his having an attachment; and, though I had neverinquired on the subject, yet this reserve where perfect openness hadbeen supposed, and really, on my side, existed, seemed to me a kind oftreachery. Then it is never pleasant to know that a heart on which wehave some claim is to be given to another. We cannot tell how it willaffect our own relations with a person; it may strengthen or it mayswallow up other affections; the crisis is hazardous, and our firstthought, on such an occasion, is too often for ourselves, --at leastmine was. Seeing me silent, he repeated his question. "To whom, " saidI, "are you to be married?" "That, " he replied, "I cannot tell you. "He was a moment silent, then continued, with an impassive look of coldself-possession, that affected me with strange sadness: "The name ofthe person you will hear, of course, at the time, but more I cannottell you. I need, however, the presence, not only of legal, but ofrespectable and friendly witnesses. I have hoped you and your husbandwould, do me this kindness. Will you?" Something in his manner made itimpossible to refuse. I answered, before I knew I was going to speak, "We will, " and he left me. 

"'I will not weary you with telling how I harassed myself and myhusband, who was, however, scarce less interested, with doubts andconjectures. Suffice it that, next morning, P. Came and took us in acarriage to a distant church. We had just entered the porch, when acart, such as fruit and vegetables are brought to market in, droveup, containing an elderly woman and a young girl. P. Assisted them toalight, and advanced with the girl to the altar. 

"'The girl was neatly dressed and quite handsome, yet something in herexpression displeased me the moment I looked upon her. Meanwhile, the ceremony was going on, and, at its close, P. Introduced us to thebride, and we all went to the door. "Good by, Fanny, " said the elderlywoman. The new-made Mrs. P. Replied without any token of affection oremotion. The woman got into the cart and drove away. 

"'From that time I saw but little of P. Or his wife. I took our mutualfriends to see her, and they were civil to her for his sake. Curiositywas very much excited, but entirely baffled; no one, of course, daredspeak to P. On the subject, and no other means could be found ofsolving the riddle. 

"'He treated his wife with grave and kind politeness, but it wasalways obvious that they had nothing in common between them. Hermanners and tastes were not at that time gross, but her charactershowed itself hard and material. She was fond of riding, and spentmuch time so. Her style in this, and in dress, seemed the opposite ofP. 's; but he indulged all her wishes, while, for himself, he plungedinto his own pursuits. 

"'For a time he seemed, if not happy, not positively unhappy; but, after a few years, Mrs. P. Fell into the habit of drinking, and thensuch scenes as you witnessed grew frequent. I have often heard ofthem, and always that P. Sat, as you describe him, his head bowed downand perfectly silent all through, whatever might be done or whoeverbe present, and always his aspect has inspired such sympathy that noperson has questioned him or resented her insults, but merely got outof the way as soon as possible. '

"'Hard and long penance, ' said my father, after some minutes musing, 'for an hour of passion, probably for his only error. '

"'Is that your explanation?' said the lady. 'O, improbable! P. Mighterr, but not be led beyond himself. '

"I know that his cool, gray eye and calm complexion seemed to sayso, but a different story is told by the lip that could tremble, andshowed what flashes might pierce those deep blue heavens; and whenthese over-intellectual beings do swerve aside, it is to fall down aprecipice, for their narrow path lies over such. But he was not oneto sin without making a brave atonement, and that it had become a holyone, was written on that downcast brow. "

The fourth day on these waters, the weather was milder and brighter, so that we could now see them to some purpose. At night the moon wasclear, and, for the first time, from, the upper deck I saw one of thegreat steamboats come majestically up. It was glowing with lights, looking many-eyed and sagacious; in its heavy motion it seemed adowager queen, and this motion, with its solemn pulse, and determinedsweep, becomes these smooth waters, especially at night, as much asthe dip of the sail-ship the long billows of the ocean. 

But it was not so soon that I learned to appreciate the lake scenery;it was only after a daily and careless familiarity that I entered intoits beauty, for Nature always refuses to be seen by being stared at. Like Bonaparte, she discharges her face of all expression when shecatches the eye of impertinent curiosity fixed on her. But he who hasgone to sleep in childish ease on her lap, or leaned an aching browupon her breast, seeking there comfort with full trust as from amother, will see all a mother's beauty in the look she bends upon him. Later, I felt that I had really seen these regions, and shall speak ofthem again. 

In the afternoon we went on shore at the Manitou Islands, where theboat stops to wood. No one lives here except wood-cutters for thesteamboats. I had thought of such a position, from its mixture ofprofound solitude with service to the great world, as possessing anideal beauty. I think so still, even after seeing the wood-cutters andtheir slovenly huts. 

In times of slower growth, man did not enter a situation without acertain preparation or adaptedness to it. He drew from it, if not tothe poetical extent, at least in some proportion, its moral and itsmeaning. The wood-cutter did not cut down so many trees a day, thatthe Hamadryads had not time to make their plaints heard; the shepherdtended his sheep, and did no jobs or chores the while; the idyl had achance to grow up, and modulate his oaten pipe. But now the poetmust be at the whole expense of the poetry in describing one of thesepositions; the worker is a true Midas to the gold he makes. The poetmust describe, as the painter sketches Irish peasant-girls and Danishfishwives, adding the beauty, and leaving out the dirt. 

I come to the West prepared for the distaste I must experience at itsmushroom growth. I know that, where "go ahead" is tire only motto, thevillage cannot grow into the gentle proportions that successivelives and the gradations of experience involuntarily give. In oldercountries the house of the son grew from that of the father, asnaturally as new joints on a bough, and the cathedral crowned thewhole as naturally as the leafy summit the tree. This cannot be here. The march of peaceful is scarce less wanton than that of warlikeinvasion. The old landmarks are broken down, and the land, for aseason, bears none, except of the rudeness of conquest and the needsof the day, whose bivouac-fires blacken the sweetest forest glades. Ihave come prepared to see all this, to dislike it, but not with stupidnarrowness to distrust or defame. On the contrary, while I will not beso obliging as to confound ugliness with beauty, discord with harmony, and laud and be contented with all I meet, when it conflicts with mybest desires and tastes, I trust by reverent faith to woo the mightymeaning of the scene, perhaps to foresee the law by which a new order, a new poetry, is to be evoked from this chaos, and with a curiosityas ardent, but not so selfish, as that of Macbeth, to call up theapparitions of future kings from the strange ingredients of thewitch's caldron. Thus I will not grieve that all the noble trees aregone already from this island to feed this caldron, but believeit will have Medea's virtue, and reproduce them in the form of newintellectual growths, since centuries cannot again adorn the land withsuch as have been removed. 

On this most beautiful beach of smooth white pebbles, interspersedwith agates and cornelians for those who know how to find them, westepped, not like the Indian, with some humble offering, which, if nobetter than an arrow-head or a little parched corn, would, he judged, please the Manitou, who looks only at the spirit in which it isoffered. Our visit was so far for a religious purpose that one of ourparty went to inquire the fate of some Unitarian tracts left amongthe wood-cutters a year or two before. But the old Manitou, though, daunted like his children by the approach of the fire-ships, which heprobably considered demons of a new dynasty, he had suffered hiswoods to be felled to feed their pride, had been less patient of anencroachment which did not to him seem so authorized by the law of thestrongest, and had scattered those leaves as carelessly as the othersof that year. 

But S. And I, like other emigrants, went, not to give, but to get, to rifle the wood of flowers for the service of the fire-ship. Wereturned with a rich booty, among which was the _Uva-ursi_, whoseleaves the Indians smoke, with the _Kinnikinnik_, and which had thenjust put forth its highly finished little blossoms, as pretty as thoseof the blueberry. 

Passing along still further, I thought it would be well if the crowdsassembled to stare from the various landings were still confined tothe _Kinnikinnik_, for almost all had tobacco written on their faces, their cheeks rounded with plugs, their eyes dull with its fumes. Wereached Chicago on the evening of the sixth day, having been out fivedays and a half, a rather longer passage than usual at a favorableseason of the year. 

Chicago, June 20. 

There can be no two places in the world more completely thoroughfaresthan this place and Buffalo. They are the two correspondent valvesthat open and shut all the time, as the life-blood rushes from east towest, and back again from west to east. 

Since it is their office thus to be the doors, and let in and out, itwould be unfair to expect from them much character of their own. Tomake the best provisions for the transmission of produce is theiroffice, and the people who live there are such as are suited forthis, --active, complaisant, inventive, business people. There are noprovisions for the student or idler; to know what the place can give, you should be at work with the rest; the mere traveller will not findit profitable to loiter there as I did. 

Since circumstances made it necessary for me so to do, I read all thebooks I could find about the new region, which now began, to becomereal to me. Especially I read all the books about the Indians, --apaltry collection truly, yet which furnished material for manythoughts. The most narrow-minded and awkward recital still bears somelineaments of the great features of this nature, and the races of menthat illustrated them. 

Catlin's book is far the best. I was afterwards assured by thoseacquainted with the regions he describes, that he is not to bedepended on for the accuracy of his facts, and indeed it is obvious, without the aid of such assertions, that he sometimes yields to thetemptation of making out a story. They admitted, however, what frommy feelings I was sure of, that he is true to the spirit of the scene, and that a far better view can be got from him than from any sourceat present existing, of the Indian tribes of the Far West, and of thecountry where their inheritance lay. 

Murray's Travels I read, and was charmed by their accuracy and clear, broad tone. He is the only Englishman that seems to have traversedthese regions as man simply, not as John Bull. He deserves to belongto an aristocracy, for he showed his title to it more when leftwithout a guide in the wilderness, than he can at the court ofVictoria. He has; himself, no poetic force at description, but it iseasy to make images from his hints. Yet we believe the Indian cannotbe locked at truly except by a poetic eye. The Pawnees, no doubt, aresuch as he describes them, filthy in their habits, and treacherous intheir character, but some would have seen, and seen truly, more beautyand dignity than he does with all his manliness and fairness of mind. However, his one fine old man is enough to redeem the rest, and isperhaps tire relic of a better day, a Phocion among the Pawnees. 

Schoolcraft's Algic Researches is a valuable book, though a worseuse could hardly have been made of such fine material. Had themythological or hunting stories of the Indians been written downexactly as they were received from the lips of the narrators, thecollection could not have been surpassed in interest? both forthe wild charm they carry with them, and the light they throw on apeculiar modification of life and mind. As it is, though the incidentshave an air of originality and pertinence to the occasion, that givesus confidence that they have not been altered, the phraseology inwhich they were expressed has been entirely set aside, and the flimsygraces, common to the style of annuals and souvenirs, substituted forthe Spartan brevity and sinewy grasp of Indian speech. We canjust guess what might have been there, as we can detect the fineproportions of the Brave whom the bad taste of some white patron hasarranged in frock-coat, hat, and pantaloons. 

The few stories Mrs. Jameson wrote out, though to these also asentimental air has been given, offend much less in that way than iscommon in this book. What would we not give for a completely faithfulversion of some among them! Yet, with all these drawbacks, we cannotdoubt from internal evidence that they truly ascribe to the Indiana delicacy of sentiment and of fancy that justifies Cooper in suchinventions as his Uncas. It is a white man's view of a savage hero, who would be far finer in his natural proportions; still, through amasquerade figure, it implies the truth. 

Irving's books I also read, some for the first, some for the secondtime, with increased interest, now that I was to meet such people ashe received his materials from. Though the books are pleasing from, their grace and luminous arrangement, yet, with the exception of theTour to the Prairies, they have a stereotype, second-hand air. Theylack the breath, the glow, the charming minute traits of livingpresence. His scenery is only fit to be glanced at from, dioramicdistance; his Indians are academic figures only. He would have madethe best of pictures, if he could have used his own eyes for studiesand sketches; as it is, his success is wonderful, but inadequate. 

McKenney's Tour to the Lakes is the dullest of books, yet faithful andquiet, and gives some facts not to be met with everywhere. 

I also read a collection of Indian anecdotes and speeches, the worstcompiled and arranged book possible, yet not without clews of somevalue. All these books I read in anticipation of a canoe-voyageon Lake Superior as far as the Pictured Rocks, and, though I wasafterwards compelled to give up this project, they aided me in judgingof what I subsequently saw and heard of the Indians. 

In Chicago I first saw the beautiful prairie-flowers. They were intheir glory the first ten days we were there, --

 "The golden and the flame-like flowers. "

The flame-like flower I was taught afterwards, by an Indian girl, tocall "Wickapee"; and she told me, too, that its splendors had a usefulside, for it was used by the Indians as a remedy for an illness towhich they were subject. 

Beside these brilliant flowers, which gemmed and gilt the grass in asunny afternoon's drive near the blue lake, between the low oak-woodand the narrow beach, stimulated, whether sensuously by the opticnerve, unused to so much gold and crimson with such tender green, orsymbolically through some meaning dimly seen in the flowers, I enjoyeda sort of fairy-land exultation never felt before, and the first driveamid the flowers gave me anticipation of the beauty of the prairies. 

At first, the prairie seemed to speak of the very desolation ofdulness. After sweeping over the vast monotony of the lakes to come tothis monotony of land, with all around a limitless horizon, --to walk, and walk, and run, but never climb, oh! it was too dreary for any buta Hollander to bear. How the eye greeted the approach of a sail, orthe smoke of a steamboat; it seemed that anything so animated mustcome from a better land, where mountains gave religion to the scene. 

The only thing I liked at first to do was to trace with slow andunexpecting step the narrow margin of the lake. Sometimes a heavyswell gave it expression; at others, only its varied coloring, whichI found more admirable every day, and which gave it an air of mirageinstead of the vastness of ocean. Then there was a grandeur in thefeeling that I might continue that walk, if I had any seven-leaguedmode of conveyance to save fatigue, for hundreds of miles without anobstacle and without a change. 

But after I had ridden out, and seen the flowers, and observed thesun set with that calmness seen only in the prairies, and tire cattlewinding slowly to their homes in the "island groves, "--most peacefulof sights, --I began to love, because I began to know tire scene, andshrank no longer from "the encircling vastness. "

It is always thus with the new form of life; we must learn to lookat it by its own standard. At first, no doubt, my accustomed eye keptsaying, if the mind did not, What! no distant mountains? What! novalleys? But after a while I would ascend the roof of the house wherewe lived, and pass many hours, needing no sight but the moon reigningin the heavens, or starlight falling upon the lake, till all thelights were out in the island grove of men beneath my feet, and feltnearer heaven that there was nothing but this lovely, still receptionon the earth; no towering mountains, no deep tree-shadows, nothing butplain earth and water bathed in light. 

Sunset, as seen from that place, presented most generally, low-lying, flaky clouds, of the softest serenity. 

One night a star "shot madly from, its sphere, " and it had a fairchance to be seen, but that serenity could not be astonished. 

Yes! it was a peculiar beauty, that of those sunsets and moonlights onthe levels of Chicago, which Chamouny or the Trosachs could not makeme forget. [A]

[Footnote A: "From the prairie near Chicago had I seen, some daysbefore, the sun set with that calmness observed only on the prairies. I know not what it says, but something quite different from sunsetat sea. There is no motion except of waving grasses, --the cattle moveslowly homeward in the distance. That _home!_ where is it? It seems asIf there was no home, and no need of one, and there is room enough towander on for ever. "--Manuscript Notes. ]

Notwithstanding all the attractions I thus found out by degrees on theflat shores of the lake, I was delighted when I found myself really onmy way into the country for an excursion of two or three weeks. We setforth in a strong wagon, almost as large, and with the look of thoseused elsewhere for transporting caravans of wild beasts, loaded witheverything we might want, in case nobody would give it to us, --forbuying and selling were no longer to be counted on, --with, a pair ofstrong horses, able and willing to force their way through mud-holesand amid stumps, and a guide, equally admirable as marshal andcompanion, who knew by heart the country and its history, both naturaland artificial, and whose clear hunter's eye needed, neither road norgoal to guide it to all the spots where beauty best loves to dwell. 

Add to this the finest weather, and such country as I had never seen, even in my dreams, although these dreams had been haunted by wishesfor just such a one, and you may judge whether years of dulness mightnot, by these bright days, be redeemed, and a sweetness be shed overall thoughts of the West. 

The first day brought us through woods rich in the moccason-flowerand lupine, and plains whose soft expanse was continually touched withexpression by the slow moving clouds which

 "Sweep over with their shadows, and beneath The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges, "

to the banks of the Fox River, a sweet and graceful stream. Wereadied Geneva just in time to escape being drenched by a violentthunder-shower, whose rise and disappearance threw expression into allthe features of the scene. 

Geneva reminds me of a New England village, as indeed there, andin the neighborhood, are many New-Englanders of an excellent stamp, generous, intelligent, discreet, and seeking to win from life its truevalues. Such are much wanted, and seem like points of light among theswarms of settlers, whose aims are sordid, whose habits thoughtlessand slovenly. [A]

[Footnote A: "We passed a portion of one day with Mr. And Mrs. ----, young, healthy, and, thank Heaven, _gay_ people. In the generaldulness that broods over this land where so little genius flows, and care, business, and fashionable frivolity are equally dull, unspeakable is the relief of some flashes of vivacity, some sparklesof wit. Of course it is hard enough for those, most natively disposedthat way, to strike fire. I would willingly be the tinder to promotethe cheering blaze. "--Manuscript Notes. ]

With great pleasure we heard, with his attentive and affectionatecongregation, the Unitarian clergyman, Mr. Conant, and afterwardvisited him in his house, where almost everything bore traces of hisown handiwork or that of his father. He is just such a teacher as iswanted in this region, familiar enough, with the habits of those headdresses to come home to their experience and their wants; earnestand enlightened enough to draw the important inferences from the lifeof every day. [B]

[Footnote B: "Let any who think men do not need or want the church, hear these people talk about it as if it were the only indispensablething, and see what I saw in Chicago. An elderly lady fromPhiladelphia, who had been visiting her sons in the West, arrivedthere about one o'clock on a hot Sunday noon. She rang the bell andrequested a room immediately, as she wanted to get ready for afternoonservice. Some delay occurring, she expressed great regret, as she hadridden all night for the sake of attending church. She went tochurch, neither having dined nor taken any repose after herjourney. "--Manuscript Notes. ]

A day or two we remained here, and passed some happy hours in thewoods that fringe the stream, where the gentlemen found a rich bootyof fish. 

Next day, travelling along the river's banks, was an uninterruptedpleasure. We closed our drive in the afternoon at the house of anEnglish gentleman, who has gratified, as few men do, the common wishto pass the evening of an active day amid the quiet influences ofcountry life. He showed us a bookcase filled with books about thiscountry; these he had collected for years, and become so familiar withthe localities, that, on coming here at last, he sought and found, atonce, the very spot he wanted, and where he is as content as he hopedto be, thus realizing Wordsworth's description of the wise man, who"sees what he foresaw. "

A wood surrounds the house, through which paths are cut in everydirection. It is, for this new country, a large and handsome dwelling;but round it are its barns and farm-yard, with cattle and poultry. These, however, in the framework of wood, have a very picturesque andpleasing effect. There is that mixture of culture and rudeness in theaspect of things which gives a feeling of freedom, not of confusion. 

I wish, it were possible to give some idea of this scene, as viewedby the earliest freshness of dewy dawn. This habitation of man seemedlike a nest in the grass, so thoroughly were the buildings and allthe objects of human care harmonized with, what was natural. The talltrees bent and whispered all around, as if to hail with, shelteringlove the men who had come to dwell among them. 

The young ladies were musicians, and spoke French fluently, havingbeen educated in a convent. Here in the prairie, they had learned totake care of the milk-room, and kill the rattlesnakes that assailedtheir poultry-yard. Beneath the shade of heavy curtains you looked outfrom the high and large windows to see Norwegian peasants at work intheir national dress. In the wood grew, not only the flowers I hadbefore seen, and wealth of tall, wild roses, but the splendid bluespiderwort, that ornament of our gardens. Beautiful children strayedthere, who were soon to leave these civilized regions for some reallywild and western place, a post in the buffalo country. Their no lessbeautiful mother was of Welsh descent, and the eldest child borethe name of Gwynthleon. Perhaps there she will meet with some youngdescendants of Madoc, to be her friends; at any rate, her looks mayretain that sweet, wild beauty, that is soon made to vanish from eyeswhich look too much on shops and streets, and the vulgarities of city"parties. "

Next day we crossed the river. We ladies crossed on a littlefoot-bridge, from which we could look down the stream, and see thewagon pass over at the ford. A black thunder-cloud was coming up; thesky and waters heavy with expectation. The motion of the wagon, withits white cover, and the laboring horses, gave just the due interestto the picture, because it seemed, as if they would not have time tocross before the storm came on. However, they did get across, and wewere a mile or two on our way before the violent shower obliged us totake refuge in a solitary house upon the prairie. In this country itis as pleasant to stop as to go on, to lose your way as to findit, for the variety in the population gives you a chance for freshentertainment in every hut, and the luxuriant beauty makes every pathattractive. In this house we found a family "quite above the common, "but, I grieve to say, not above false pride, for the father, ashamedof being caught barefoot, told us a story of a man, one of the richestmen, he said, in one of the Eastern cities, who went barefoot, fromchoice and taste. 

Near the door grew a Provence rose, then in blossom. Other families wesaw had brought with them and planted the locust. It was pleasantto see their old home loves, brought into connection with their newsplendors. Wherever there were traces of this tenderness of feeling, only too rare among Americans, other things bore signs also ofprosperity and intelligence, as if the ordering mind of man had someidea of home beyond a mere shelter beneath which to eat and sleep. 

No heaven need wear a lovelier aspect than earth did this afternoon, after the clearing up of the shower. We traversed the blooming plain, unmarked by any road, only the friendly track of wheels which bent, not broke, the grass. Our stations were not from town to town, butfrom grove to grove. These groves first floated like blue islandsin the distance. As we drew nearer, they seemed fair parks, and thelittle log-houses on the edge, with their curling smokes, harmonizedbeautifully with them. 

One of these groves, Ross's Grove, we reached just at sunset, It wasof the noblest trees I saw during this journey, for generally thetrees were not large or lofty, but only of fair proportions. Here theywere large enough to form with their clear stems pillars for grandcathedral aisles. There was space enough for crimson light to streamthrough upon the floor of water which the shower had left. As weslowly plashed through, I thought I was never in a better place forvespers. 

That night we rested, or rather tarried, at a grove some miles beyond, and there partook of the miseries, so often jocosely portrayed, ofbedchambers for twelve, a milk dish for universal hand-basin, andexpectations that you would use and lend your "hankercher" for atowel. But this was the only night, thanks to the hospitality ofprivate families, that we passed thus; and it was well that we hadthis bit of experience, else might we have pronounced all Trollopianrecords of the kind to be inventions of pure malice. 

With us was a young lady who showed herself to have been bathed inthe Britannic fluid, wittily described by a late French writer, bythe impossibility she experienced of accommodating herself to theindecorums of the scene. We ladies were to sleep in the bar-room, fromwhich its drinking visitors could be ejected only at a late hour. Theouter door had no fastening to prevent their return. However, our hostkindly requested we would call him, if they did, as he had "conqueredthem for us, " and would do so again. We had also rather hard couches(mine was the supper-table); but we Yankees, born to rove, werealtogether too much fatigued to stand upon trifles, and slept assweetly as we would in the "bigly bower" of any baroness. But I thinkEngland sat up all night, wrapped in her blanket-shawl, and with aneat lace cap upon her head, --so that she would have looked perfectlythe lady, if any one had come in, --shuddering and listening. I knowthat she was very ill next day, in requital. She watched, as herparent country watches the seas, that nobody may do wrong in any case, and deserved to have met some interruption, she was so well prepared. However, there was none, other than from the nearness of some twentysets of powerful lungs, which would not leave the night to a deathlystillness. In this house we had, if not good beds, yet good tea, goodbread, and wild strawberries, and were entertained with most freecommunications of opinion and history from our hosts. Neither shallany of us have a right to say again that we cannot find any who maybe willing to hear all we may have to say. "A's fish that comes to thenet, " should be painted on the sign at Papaw Grove. 

CHAPTER III. 

ROCK RIVER. --OREGON. --ANCIENT INDIAN VILLAGE. --GANYMEDE TOHIS EAGLE. --WESTERN FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION. --WOMEN IN THEWEST. --KISHWAUKIE. --BELVIDERE. --FAREWELL. 

In the afternoon of this day we reached the Rock River, in whoseneighborhood we proposed to make some stay, and crossed at Dixon'sFerry. 

This beautiful stream flows full and wide over a bed of rocks, traversing a distance of near two hundred miles, to reach theMississippi. Great part of the country along its banks is the finestregion of Illinois, and the scene of some of the latest romance ofIndian warfare. To these beautiful regions Black Hawk returned withhis band "to pass the summer, " when he drew upon himself the warfarein which he was finally vanquished. No wonder he could not resist thelonging, unwise though its indulgence might be, to return in summer tothis home of beauty. 

Of Illinois, in general, it has often been remarked, that it bears thecharacter of country which has been inhabited by a nation skilledlike the English in all the ornamental arts of life, especially inlandscape-gardening. The villas and castles seem to have been burnt, the enclosures taken down, but the velvet lawns, the flower-gardens, the stately parks, scattered at graceful intervals by the decoroushand of art, the frequent deer, and the peaceful herd of cattle thatmake picture of the plain, all suggest more of the masterly mindof man, than the prodigal, but careless, motherly love of Nature. Especially is this true of the Rock River country. The river flowssometimes through these parks and lawns, then betwixt high bluffs, whose grassy ridges are covered with fine trees, or broken withcrumbling stone, that easily assumes the forms of buttress, arch, andclustered columns. Along the face of such crumbling rocks, swallows'nests are clustered, thick as cities, and eagles and deer do notdisdain their summits. One morning, out in the boat along the base ofthese rocks, it was amusing, and affecting too, to see these swallowsput their heads out to look at us. There was something very hospitableabout it, as if man had never shown himself a tyrant near them. Whata morning that was! Every sight is worth twice as much by the earlymorning light. We borrow something of the spirit of the hour to lookupon them. 

The first place where we stopped was one of singular beauty, a beautyof soft, luxuriant wildness. It was on the bend of the river, a placechosen by an Irish gentleman, whose absenteeship seems of the wisestkind, since, for a sum which would have been but a drop of water tothe thirsty fever of his native land, he commands a residencewhich has all that is desirable, in its independence, its beautifulretirement, and means of benefit to others. 

His park, his deer-chase, he found already prepared; he had only tomake an avenue through it. This brought us to the house by a drive, which in the heat of noon seemed long, though afterwards, in the coolof morning and evening, delightful. This is, for that part of theworld, a large and commodious dwelling. Near it stands the log-cabinwhere its master lived while it was building, a very ornamentalaccessory. 

In front of the house was a lawn, adorned by the most graceful trees. A few of these had been taken out to give a full view of the river, gliding through banks such as I have described. On this bend the bankis high and bold, so from, the house or the lawn the view was veryrich and commanding. But if you descended a ravine at the side to thewater's edge, you found there a long walk on the narrow shore, witha wall above of the richest hanging wood, in which they said the deerlay hid. I never saw one but often fancied that I heard them rustling, at daybreak, by these bright, clear waters, stretching out in suchsmiling promise where no sound broke the deep and blissful seclusion, unless now and then this rustling, or the splash of some fish a littlegayer than the others; it seemed not necessary to have any betterheaven, or fuller expression of love and freedom, than in the mood ofNature here. 

Then, leaving the bank, you would walk far and yet farther throughlong, grassy paths, full of the most brilliant, also the most delicateflowers. The brilliant are more common on the prairie, but both kindsloved this place. 

Amid the grass of the lawn, with a profusion of wild strawberries, wegreeted also a familiar love, the Scottish harebell, the gentlest andmost touching form of the flower-world. 

The master of the house was absent, but with a kindness beyond thankshad offered us a resting-place there. Here we were taken care of bya deputy, who would, for his youth, have been assigned the place ofa page in former times, but in the young West, it seems, he was oldenough for a steward. Whatever be called his function, he did thehonors of the place so much in harmony with it, as to leave the guestsfree to imagine themselves in Elysium. And the three days passed herewere days of unalloyed, spotless happiness. 

There was a peculiar charm in coming here, where the choice oflocation, and the unobtrusive good taste of all the arrangements, showed such intelligent appreciation of the spirit of the scene, afterseeing so many dwellings of the new settlers, which showed plainlythat they had no thought beyond satisfying the grossest materialwants. Sometimes they looked attractive, these little brown houses, the natural architecture of the country, in the edge of the timber. But almost always, when you came near the slovenliness of thedwelling, and the rude way in which objects around it were treated, when so little care would have presented a charming whole, werevery repulsive. Seeing the traces of the Indians, who chose the mostbeautiful sites for their dwellings, and whose habits do not breakin on that aspect of Nature under which they were born, we feel as ifthey were the rightful lords of a beauty they forbore to deform. Butmost of these settlers do not see it at all; it breathes, it speaksin vain to those who are rushing into its sphere. Their progress isGothic, not Roman, and their mode of cultivation will, in the courseof twenty, perhaps ten years, obliterate the natural expression of thecountry. 

This is inevitable, fatal; we must not complain, but look forward toa good result. Still, in travelling through this country, I could notbut be struck with the force of a symbol. Wherever the hog comes, the rattlesnake disappears; the omnivorous traveller, safe in itsstupidity, willingly and easily makes a meal of the most dangerous ofreptiles, and one which the Indian looks on with a mystic awe. Even sothe white settler pursues the Indian, and is victor in the chase. ButI shall say more upon the subject by and by. 

While we were here, we had one grand thunder-storm, which added newglory to the scene. 

One beautiful feature was the return of the pigeons every afternoonto their home. At this time they would come sweeping across the lawn, positively in clouds, and with a swiftness and softness of wingedmotion more beautiful than anything of the kind I ever knew. HadI been a musician, such as Mendelssohn, I felt that I could haveimprovised a music quite peculiar, from the sound they made, whichshould have indicated all the beauty over which their wings bore them. I will here insert a few lines left at this house on parting, whichfeebly indicate some of the features. 

 THE WESTERN EDEN. 

 Familiar to the childish mind were tales Of rock-girt isles amid a desert sea, Where unexpected stretch the flowery vales To soothe the shipwrecked sailor's misery. Fainting, he lay upon a sandy shore, And fancied that all hope of life was o'er; But let him patient climb the frowning wall, Within, the orange glows beneath the palm-tree tall, And all that Eden boasted waits his call. 

 Almost these tales seem realized to-day, When the long dulness of the sultry way, Where "independent" settlers' careless cheer Made us indeed feel we were "strangers" here, Is cheered by sudden sight of this fair spot, On which "improvement" yet has made no blot, But Nature all-astonished stands, to find Her plan protected by the human mind. 

 Blest be the kindly genius of the scene; The river, bending in unbroken grace, The stately thickets, with their pathways green, Fair, lonely trees, each in its fittest place; Those thickets haunted by the deer and fawn; Those cloudlike flights of birds across the lawn! The gentlest breezes here delight to blow, And sun and shower and star are emulous to deck the show. 

 Wondering, as Crusoe, we survey the land; Happier than Crusoe we, a friendly band. Blest be the hand that reared this friendly home, The heart and mind of him to whom we owe Hours of pure peace such as few mortals know; May he find such, should he be led to roam, -- Be tended by such ministering sprites, -- Enjoy such gayly childish days, such hopeful nights! And yet, amid the goods to mortals given, To give those goods again is most like heaven. 

Hazelwood, Rock River, June 30, 1843. 

The only really rustic feature was of the many coops of poultry nearthe house, which I understood it to be one of the chief pleasures ofthe master to feed. 

Leaving this place, we proceeded a day's journey along the beautifulstream, to a little town named Oregon. We called at a cabin, fromwhose door looked out one of those faces which, once seen, are neverforgotten; young, yet touched with many traces of feeling, not onlypossible, but endured; spirited, too, like the gleam of a finelytempered blade. It was a face that suggested a history, and manyhistories, but whose scene would have been in courts and camps. Atthis moment their circles are dull for want of that life which, iswaning unexcited in this solitary recess. 

The master of the house proposed to show us a "short cut, " by whichwe might, to especial advantage, pursue our journey. This proved to bealmost perpendicular down a hill, studded with young trees and stumps. From these he proposed, with a hospitality of service worthy anOriental, to free our wheels whenever they should get entangled, also to be himself the drag, to prevent our too rapid descent. Suchgenerosity deserved trust; however, we women could not be persuaded torender it. We got out and admired, from afar, the process. Left by ourguide and prop, we found ourselves in a wide field, where, by playfulquips and turns, an endless "creek, " seemed to divert itself with ourattempts to cross it. Failing in this, the next best was to whirldown a steep bank, which feat our charioteer performed with an airnot unlike that of Rhesus, had he but been as suitably furnished withchariot and steeds!

At last, after wasting some two or three hours on the "short cut, "we got out by following an Indian trail, --Black Hawk's! How fairthe scene through which it led! How could they let themselves beconquered, with such a country to fight for!

Afterwards, in the wide prairie, we saw a lively picture ofnonchalance (to speak in the fashion of clear Ireland). There, in thewide sunny field, with neither tree nor umbrella above his head, sata pedler, with his pack, waiting apparently for customers. He was notdisappointed. We bought what hold, in regard to the human world, as unmarked, as mysterious, and as important an existence, as theinfusoria to the natural, to wit, pins. This incident would havedelighted those modern sages, who, in imitation of the sittingphilosophers of ancient Ind, prefer silence to speech, waiting togoing, and scornfully smile, in answer to the motions of earnest life, "Of itself will nothing come, That ye must still be seeking?"

However, it seemed to me to-day, as formerly on these sublimeoccasions, obvious that nothing would, come, unless something wouldgo; now, if we had been as sublimely still as the pedler, his pinswould have tarried in the pack, and his pockets sustained an achingvoid of pence. 

Passing through one of the fine, park-like woods, almost clear fromunderbrush and carpeted with thick grasses and flowers, we met (for itwas Sunday) a little congregation just returning from their service, which had been performed in a rude house in its midst. It had a sweetand peaceful air, as if such words and thoughts were very dear tothem. The parents had with them, all their little children; but we sawno old people; that charm was wanting which exists in such scenes inolder settlements, of seeing the silver bent in reverence beside theflaxen head. 

At Oregon, the beauty of the scene was of even a more sumptuouscharacter than at our former "stopping-place. " Here swelled the riverin its boldest course, interspersed by halcyon isles on which Naturehad lavished all her prodigality in tree, vine, and flower, bankedby noble bluffs, three Hundred feet high, their sharp ridges asexquisitely definite as the edge of a shell; their summits adornedwith those same beautiful trees, and with buttresses of rich rock, crested with old hemlocks, which wore a touching and antique graceamid, the softer and more luxuriant vegetation. Lofty natural moundsrose amidst the rest, with the same lovely and sweeping outline, showing everywhere the plastic power of water, --water, mother ofbeauty, --which, by its sweet and eager flow, had left such lineamentsas human genius never dreamt of. 

Not far from the river was a high crag, called the Pine Rock, whichlooks out, as our guide observed, like a helmet above the brow of thecountry. It seems as if the water left here and there a vestige offorms and materials that preceded its course, just to set off its newand richer designs. 

The aspect of this country was to me enchanting, beyond any I haveever seen, from its fulness of expression, its bold and impassionedsweetness. Here the flood of emotion has passed over and markedeverywhere its course by a smile. The fragments of rock touch it witha wildness and liberality which give just the needed relief. I shouldnever be tired here, though I have elsewhere seen country of moresecret and alluring charms, better calculated to stimulate andsuggest. Here the eye and heart are filled. 

How happy the Indians must have been here! It is not long since theywere driven away, and the ground, above and below, is full of theirtraces. 

 "The earth is full of men. "

You have only to turn up the sod to find arrowheads and Indianpottery. On an island, belonging to our host, and nearly opposite hishouse, they loved to stay, and, no doubt, enjoyed its lavish beautyas much as the myriad wild pigeons that now haunt its flower-filledshades. Here are still the marks of their tomahawks, the troughs inwhich they prepared their corn, their caches. 

A little way down the river is the site of an ancient Indian village, with its regularly arranged mounds. As usual, they had chosen with thefinest taste. When we went there, it was one of those soft, shadowyafternoons when Nature seems ready to weep, not from grief, but froman overfull heart. Two prattling, lovely little girls, and an Africanboy, with glittering eye and ready grin, made our party gay; butall were still as we entered the little inlet and trod those flowerypaths. They may blacken Indian life as they will, talk of its dirt, its brutality, I will ever believe that the men who chose thatdwelling-place were able to feel emotions of noble happiness as theyreturned to it, and so were the women that received them. Neither werethe children sad or dull, who lived so familiarly with the deerand the birds, and swam that clear wave in the shadow of the SevenSisters. The whole scene suggested to me a Greek splendor, a Greeksweetness, and I can believe that an Indian brave, accustomed toramble in such paths, and be bathed by such sunbeams, might bemistaken for Apollo, as Apollo was for him by West. Two of the boldestbluffs are called the Deer's Walk, (not because deer do _not_ walkthere, ) and the Eagle's Nest. The latter I visited one gloriousmorning; it was that of the fourth of July, and certainly I think Ihad never felt so happy that I was born in America. Woe to all countryfolks that never saw this spot, never swept an enraptured gaze overthe prospect that stretched beneath. I do believe Rome and Florenceare suburbs compared to this capital of Nature's art. 

The bluff was decked with great bunches of a scarlet variety of themilkweed, like cut coral, and all starred with a mysterious-lookingdark flower, whose cup rose lonely on a tall stem. This had, fortwo or three days, disputed the ground with the lupine and phlox. Mycompanions disliked, I liked it. 

Here I thought of, or rather saw, what the Greek expresses under theform of Jove's darling, Ganymede, and the following stanzas took form. 

 GANYMEDE TO HIS EAGLE. 

 SUGGESTED BY A WORK OF THORWALDSEN'S. 

 Composed on the height called the Eagle's Nest, Oregon, Rock River, July 4th, 1843. 

 Upon the rocky mountain stood the boy, A goblet of pure water in his hand; His face and form spoke him one made for joy, A willing servant to sweet love's command, But a strange pain was written on his brow, And thrilled throughout his silver accents now. 

 "My bird, " he cries, "my destined brother friend, O whither fleets to-day thy wayward flight? Hast thou forgotten that I here attend, From the full noon until this sad twilight? A hundred times, at least, from the clear spring, Since the fall noon o'er hill and valley glowed, I've filled the vase which our Olympian king Upon my care for thy sole use bestowed; That, at the moment when thou shouldst descend, A pure refreshment might thy thirst attend. 

 "Hast thou forgotten earth, forgotten me, Thy fellow-bondsman in a royal cause, Who, from the sadness of infinity, Only with thee can know that peaceful pause In which we catch the flowing strain of love, Which binds our dim fates to the throne of Jove?

 "Before I saw thee, I was like the May, Longing for summer that must mar its bloom, Or like the morning star that calls the day, Whose glories to its promise are the tomb; And as the eager fountain rises higher To throw itself more strongly back to earth, Still, as more sweet and full rose my desire, More fondly it reverted to its birth, For what the rosebud seeks tells not the rose, The meaning that the boy foretold the man cannot disclose. 

 "I was all Spring, for in my being dwelt Eternal youth, where flowers are the fruit; Full feeling was the thought of what was felt, Its music was the meaning of the lute; But heaven and earth such life will still deny, For earth, divorced from heaven, still asks the question _Why?_

 "Upon the highest mountains my young feet Ached, that no pinions from their lightness grew, My starlike eyes the stars would fondly greet, Yet win no greeting from the circling blue; Fair, self-subsistent each in its own sphere, They had no care that there was none for me; Alike to them that I was far or near, Alike to them time and eternity. 

 "But from the violet of lower air Sometimes an answer to my wishing came; Those lightning-births my nature seemed to share, They told the secrets of its fiery frame, The sudden messengers of hate and love, The thunderbolts that arm the hand of Jove, And strike sometimes the sacred spire, and strike the sacred grove. 

 "Come in a moment, in a moment gone, They answered me, then left me still more lone; They told me that the thought which ruled the world As yet no sail upon its course had furled, That the creation was but just begun, New leaves still leaving from the primal one, But spoke not of the goal to which _my_ rapid wheels would run. 

 "Still, still my eyes, though tearfully, I strained To the far future which my heart contained, And no dull doubt my proper hope profaned. 

 "At last, O bliss! thy living form I spied, Then a mere speck upon a distant sky; Yet my keen glance discerned its noble pride, And the full answer of that sun-filled eye; I knew it was the wing that must upbear My earthlier form into the realms of air. 

 "Thou knowest how we gained that beauteous height, Where dwells the monarch, of the sons of light; Thou knowest he declared us two to be The chosen servants of his ministry, Thou as his messenger, a sacred sign Of conquest, or, with omen more benign, To give its due weight to the righteous cause, To express the verdict of Olympian laws. 

 "And I to wait upon the lonely spring, Which slakes the thirst of bards to whom 't is given The destined dues of hopes divine to sing, And weave the needed chain to bind to heaven. Only from such could be obtained a draught For him who in his early home from Jove's own cup has quaffed

 "To wait, to wait, but not to wait too long. Till heavy grows the burden of a song; O bird! too long hast thou been gone to-day, My feet are weary of their frequent way, The spell that opes the spring my tongue no more can say. 

 "If soon thou com'st not, night will fall around, My head with a sad slumber will be bound, And the pure draught be spilt upon the ground. 

 "Remember that I am not yet divine, Long years of service to the fatal Nine Are yet to make a Delphian vigor mine. 

 "O, make them not too hard, thou bird of Jove! Answer the stripling's hope, confirm his love, Receive the service in which he delights, And bear him often to the serene heights, Where hands that were so prompt in serving thee Shall be allowed the highest ministry, And Rapture live with bright Fidelity. "

The afternoon was spent in a very different manner. The family whoseguests we were possessed a gay and graceful hospitality that gavezest to each moment. They possessed that rare politeness which, whilefertile in pleasant expedients to vary the enjoyment of a friend, leaves him perfectly free the moment he wishes to be so. With suchhosts, pleasure may be combined with repose. They lived on the bankopposite the town, and, as their house was full, we slept in thetown, and passed three days with them, passing to and fro morning andevening in their boats. To one of these, called the Fairy, in which asweet little daughter of the house moved about lighter than any ScotchEllen ever sung, I should indite a poem, if I had not been guilty ofrhyme on this very page. At morning this boating was very pleasant; atevening, I confess, I was generally too tired with the excitements ofthe day to think it so. 

The house--a double log-cabin--was, to my eye, the model of a Westernvilla. Nature had laid out before it grounds which could not beimproved. Within, female taste had veiled every rudeness, availeditself of every sylvan grace. 

In this charming abode what laughter, what sweet thoughts, whatpleasing fancies, did we not enjoy! May such never desert those whoreared it, and made us so kindly welcome to all its pleasures!

Fragments of city life were dexterously crumbled into the dishprepared for general entertainment. Ice-creams followed the dinner, which was drawn by the gentlemen from the river, and music andfireworks wound up the evening of days spent on the Eagle's Nest. Nowthey had prepared a little fleet to pass over to the Fourth of Julycelebration, which some queer drumming and fifing, from, the oppositebank, had announced to be "on hand. "

We found the free and independent citizens there collected beneath thetrees, among whom many a round Irish visage dimpled at the usual puffsof "Ameriky. "

The orator was a New-Englander, and the speech smacked loudlyof Boston, but was received with much applause and followed by aplentiful dinner, provided by and for the Sovereign People, to whichHail Columbia served as grace. 

Returning, the gay flotilla cheered the little flag which the childrenhad raised from a log-cabin, prettier than any president ever saw, and drank the health of our country and all mankind, with a clearconscience. 

Dance and song wound up the day. I know not when the mere localhabitation has seemed to me to afford so fair a chance of happiness asthis. To a person of unspoiled tastes, the beauty alone would affordstimulus enough. But with it would be naturally associated all kindsof wild sports, experiments, and the studies of natural history. Inthese regards, the poet, the sportsman, the naturalist, would alikerejoice in this wide range of untouched loveliness. 

Then, with a very little money, a ducal estate may be purchased, andby a very little more, and moderate labor, a family be maintained uponit with raiment, food, and shelter. The luxurious and minute comfortsof a city life are not yet to be had without effort disproportionateto their value. But, where there is so great a counterpoise, cannotthese be given up once for all? If the houses are imperfectly built, they can afford immense fires and plenty of covering; if they aresmall, who cares, --with, such fields to roam in? in winter, it may beborne; in summer, is of no consequence. With plenty of fish, and game, and wheat, can they not dispense with a baker to bring "muffins hot"every morning to the door for their breakfast?

A man need not here take a small slice from the landscape, and fenceit in from the obtrusions of an uncongenial neighbor, and there cutdown his fancies to miniature improvements which a chicken could runover in ten minutes. He may have water and wood and land enough, todread no incursions on his prospect from some chance Vandal that mayenter his neighborhood. He need not painfully economize and managehow he may use it all; he can afford to leave some of it wild, and tocarry out his own plans without obliterating those of Nature. 

Here, whole families might live together, if they would. The sonsmight return from their pilgrimages to settle near the parent hearth;the daughters might find room near their mother. Those painfulseparations, which already desecrate and desolate the Atlantic coast, are not enforced here by the stern need of seeking bread; and wherethey are voluntary, it is no matter. To me, too, used to the feelingswhich haunt a society of struggling men, it was delightful to lookupon a scene where Nature still wore her motherly smile, and seemed topromise room, not only for those favored or cursed with the qualitiesbest adapting for the strifes of competition, but for the delicate, the thoughtful, even the indolent or eccentric. She did not say, Fightor starve; nor even, Work or cease to exist; but, merely showing thatthe apple was a finer fruit than the wild crab, gave both room to growin the garden. 

A pleasant society is formed of the families who live along the banksof this stream upon farms. They are from various parts of the world, and have much to communicate to one another. Many have cultivatedminds and refined manners, all a varied experience, while they havein common the interests of a new country and a new life. They musttraverse some space to get at one another, but the journey is throughscenes that make it a separate pleasure. They must bear inconveniencesto stay in one another's houses; but these, to the well-disposed, areonly a source of amusement and adventure. 

The great drawback upon the lives of these settlers, at present, isthe unfitness of the women for their new lot. It has generally beenthe choice of the men, and the women follow, as women will, doingtheir best for affection's sake, but too often in heartsickness andweariness. Beside, it frequently not being a choice or conviction oftheir own minds that it is best to be here, their part is the hardest, and they are least fitted for it. The men can find assistance infield labor, and recreation with the gun and fishing-rod. Their bodilystrength is greater, and enables them to bear and enjoy both theseforms of life. 

The women can rarely find any aid in domestic labor. All its variousand careful tasks must often be performed, sick, or well, by themother and daughters, to whom a city education has imparted neitherthe strength nor skill now demanded. 

The wives of the poorer settlers, having more hard work to do thanbefore, very frequently become slatterns; but the ladies, accustomedto a refined neatness, feel that they cannot degrade themselves byits absence, and struggle under every disadvantage to keep up thenecessary routine of small arrangements. 

With all these disadvantages for work, their resources for pleasureare fewer. When they can leave the housework, they have not learnt toride, to drive, to row, alone. Their culture has too generally beenthat given to women to make them "the ornaments of society. " They candance, but not draw; talk French, but know nothing of the languageof flowers; neither in childhood were allowed to cultivate them, lest they should tan their complexions. Accustomed to the pavementof Broadway, they dare not tread the wild-wood paths for fear ofrattlesnakes!

Seeing much of this joylessness, and inaptitude, both of body andmind, for a lot which would be full of blessings for those preparedfor it, we could not but look with deep interest on the little girls, and hope they would grow up with the strength of body, dexterity, simple tastes, and resources that would fit them to enjoy and refinethe Western farmer's life. 

But they have a great deal to war with in the habits of thoughtacquired by their mothers from their own early life. Everywherethe fatal spirit of imitation, of reference to European standards, penetrates, and threatens to blight whatever of original growth mightadorn the soil. 

If the little girls grow up strong, resolute, able to exert theirfaculties, their mothers mourn over their want of fashionabledelicacy. Are they gay, enterprising, ready to fly about in thevarious ways that teach them so much, these ladies lament that "theycannot go to school, where they might learn to be quiet. " They lamentthe want of "education" for their daughters, as if the thousandneeds which call out their young energies, and the language of naturearound, yielded no education. 

Their grand ambition for their children is to send them to school insome Eastern city, the measure most likely to make them useless andunhappy at home. I earnestly hope that, erelong, the existence of goodschools near themselves, planned by persons of sufficient thought tomeet the wants of the place and time, instead of copying New Yorkor Boston, will correct this mania. Instruction the children wantto enable them to profit by the great natural advantages of theirposition; but methods copied from the education of some English LadyAugusta are as ill suited to the daughter of an Illinois farmer, assatin shoes to climb the Indian mounds. An elegance she would diffusearound her, if her mind were opened to appreciate elegance; it mightbe of a kind new, original, enchanting, as different from that ofthe city belle as that of the prairie torch-flower from the shop-wornarticle that touches the cheek of that lady within her bonnet. 

To a girl really skilled to make home beautiful and comfortable, withbodily strength to enjoy plenty of exercise, the woods, the streams, afew studies, music, and the sincere and familiar intercourse, farmore easily to be met with here than elsewhere, would afford happinessenough. Her eyes would not grow dim, nor her cheeks sunken, in theabsence of parties, morning visits, and milliners' shops. 

As to music, I wish I could see in such places the guitar rather thanthe piano, and good vocal more than instrumental music. 

The piano many carry with them, because it is the fashionableinstrument in the Eastern cities. Even there, it is so merely fromthe habit of imitating Europe, for not one in a thousand is willing togive the labor requisite to insure any valuable use of the instrument. 

But out here, where the ladies have so much less leisure, it is stillless desirable. Add to this, they never know how to tune their owninstruments, and as persons seldom visit them who can do so, thesepianos are constantly out of tune, and would spoil the ear of one whobegan by having any. 

The guitar, or some portable instrument which requires less practice, and could be kept in tune by themselves, would be far more desirablefor most of these ladies. It would give all they want as a householdcompanion to fill up the gaps of life with a pleasant stimulusor solace, and be sufficient accompaniment to the voice in socialmeetings. 

Singing in parts is the most delightful family amusement, and thosewho are constantly together can learn to sing in perfect accord. Allthe practice it needs, after some good elementary instruction, issuch as meetings by summer twilight and evening firelight naturallysuggest. And as music is a universal language, we cannot but think afine Italian duet would be as much at home in the log cabin as one ofMrs. Gore's novels. 

The 6th of July we left this beautiful place. It was one of thoserich days of bright sunlight, varied by the purple shadows of large, sweeping clouds. Many a backward look we cast, and left the heartbehind. 

Our journey to-day was no less delightful than before, still all new, boundless, limitless. Kinmont says, that limits are sacred; that theGreeks were in the right to worship a god of limits. I say, that whatis limitless is alone divine, that there was neither wall nor road inEden, that those who walked, there lost and found their way just aswe did, and that all the gain from the Fall was that we had a wagon toride in. I do not think, either, that even the horses doubted whetherthis last was any advantage. 

Everywhere the rattlesnake-weed grows in profusion. The antidotesurvives the bane. Soon the coarser plantain, the "white man'sfootstep, " shall take its place. 

We saw also the compass-plant, and the Western tea-plant. Of some ofthe brightest flowers an Indian girl afterwards told me the medicinalvirtues. I doubt not those students of the soil knew a use to everyfair emblem, on which we could only look to admire its hues and shape. 

After noon we were ferried by a girl (unfortunately not of the mostpicturesque appearance) across the Kishwaukie, the most gracefulof streams, and on whose bosom rested many full-blownwater-lilies, --twice as large as any of ours. I was told that, _enrevanche_, they were scentless, but I still regret that I could notget at one of them to try. Query, did the lilied fragrance which, in the miraculous times, accompanied visions of saints and angels, proceed from water or garden lilies?

Kishwaukie is, according to tradition, the scene of a famous battle, and its many grassy mounds contain the bones of the valiant. On thesewaved thickly the mysterious purple flower, of which I have spokenbefore. I think it springs from the blood of the Indians, as thehyacinth did from that of Apollo's darling. 

The ladies of our host's family at Oregon, when they first went, there, after all the pains and plagues of building and settling, foundtheir first pastime in opening one of these mounds, in which theyfound, I think, three of the departed, seated, in the Indian fashion. 

One of these same ladies, as she was making bread one winter morning, saw from the window a deer directly before the house. She ran out, with her hands covered with dough, calling the others, and they caughthim bodily before he had time to escape. 

Here (at Kiskwaukie) we received a visit from a ragged and barefooted, but bright-eyed gentleman, who seemed to be the intellectual loafer, the walking Will's coffee-house, of the place. He told us manycharming snake-stories; among others, of himself having seen seventeenyoung ones re-enter the mother snake, on the approach of a visitor. 

This night we reached Belvidere, a flourishing town in Boon County, where was the tomb, now despoiled, of Big Thunder. In this later daywe felt happy to find a really good hotel. 

From this place, by two days of very leisurely and devious journeying, we reached Chicago, and thus ended a journey, which one at least ofthe party might have wished unending. 

I have not been particularly anxious to give the geography of thescene, inasmuch as it seemed to me no route, nor series of stations, but a garden interspersed with cottages, groves, and flowery lawns, through which a stately river ran. I had no guide-book, kept no diary, do not know how many miles we travelled each day, nor how many in all. What I got from the journey was the poetic impression of the countryat large; it is all I have aimed to communicate. 

The narrative might have been made much more interesting, as life wasat the time, by many piquant anecdotes and tales drawn from privatelife. But here courtesy restrains the pen, for I know those whoreceived the stranger with such frank kindness would feel ill requitedby its becoming the means of fixing many spy-glasses, even though thescrutiny might be one of admiring interest, upon their private homes. 

For many of these anecdotes, too, I was indebted to a friend, whoseproperty they more lawfully are. This friend was one of those rarebeings who are equally at home in nature and with man. He knew atale of all that ran and swam and flew, or only grew, possessingthat extensive familiarity with things which shows equal sweetnessof sympathy and playful penetration. Most refreshing to me was hisunstudied lore, the unwritten poetry which common life presents to astrong and gentle mind. It was a great contrast to the subtilties ofanalysis, the philosophic strainings of which I had seen too much. ButI will not attempt to transplant it. May it profit others as it did mein the region where it was born, where it belongs. 

The evening of our return to Chicago, the sunset was of a splendor andcalmness beyond any we saw at the West. The twilight that succeededwas equally beautiful; soft, pathetic, but just so calm. Whenafterwards I learned this was the evening of Allston's death, itseemed to me as if this glorious pageant was not without connectionwith that event; at least, it inspired similar emotions, --a heavenlygate closing a path adorned with shows well worthy Paradise. 

FAREWELL TO ROCK RIVER VALLEY. 

 Farewell, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes! Ye fairy distances, ye lordly woods, Haunted, by paths like those that Poussin knew, When after his all gazers' eyes he drew; I go, --and if I never more may steep An eager heart in your enchantments deep, Yet ever to itself that heart may say, Be not exacting; them hast lived one day, -- Hast looked on that which matches with thy mood, Impassioned sweetness of full being's flood, Where nothing checked the bold yet gentle wave, Where naught repelled the lavish love that gave. A tender blessing lingers o'er the scene, Like some young mother's thought, fond, yet serene, And through its life new-born our lives have been. Once more farewell, --a sad, a sweet farewell; And, if I never must behold you more, In other worlds I will not cease to tell The rosary I here have numbered o'er; And bright-haired Hope will lend a gladdened ear, And Love will free him from the grasp of Fear, And Gorgon critics, while the tale they hear, Shall dew their stony glances with a tear, If I but catch one echo from your spell:-- And so farewell, --a grateful, sad farewell!

CHAPTER IV. 

A SHORT CHAPTER. --CHICAGO AGAIN. --MORRIS BIRKBECK. 

Chicago had become interesting to me now, that I knew it as theportal to so fair a scene. I had become interested in the land, inthe people, and looked sorrowfully on the lake on which I must soonembark, to leave behind what I had just begun to enjoy. 

Now was the time to see the lake. The July moon was near its full, andnight after night it rose in a cloudless sky above this majestic sea. The heat was excessive, so that there was no enjoyment of life, exceptin the night; but then the air was of that delicious temperatureworthy of orange-groves. However, they were not wanted;--nothing was, as that full light fell on the faintly rippling waters, which thenseemed, boundless. 

The most picturesque objects to be seen from Chicago on the inlandside were the lines of Hoosier wagons. These rude farmers, the largefirst product of the soil, travel leisurely along, sleeping in theirwagons by night, eating only what they bring with them. In the townthey observe the same plan, and trouble no luxurious hotel for boardand lodging. Here they look like foreign peasantry, and contrast wellwith the many Germans, Dutch, and Irish. In the country it is verypretty to see them prepared to "camp out" at night, their horsestaken out of harness, and they lounging under the trees, enjoying theevening meal. 

On the lake-side it is fine to see the great boats come panting infrom their rapid and marvellous journey. Especially at night themotion of their lights is very majestic. 

When the favorite boats, the Great Western and Illinois, are goingout, the town is thronged with, people from the South and fartherWest, to go in them. These moonlight nights I would hear the Frenchrippling and fluttering familiarly amid the rude ups and downs of theHoosier dialect. 

At the hotel table were daily to be seen new faces, and new storiesto be learned. And any one who has a large acquaintance may be prettysure of meeting some of them here in the course of a few days. 

At Chicago I read again Philip Van Artevelde, and certain passagesin it will always be in my mind associated with the deep sound of thelake, as heard in the night. I used to read a short time at night, andthen open the blind to look out. The moon would be full upon the lake, and the calm breath, pure light, and the deep voice harmonized wellwith the thought of the Flemish hero. When will this country have sucha man? It is what she needs; no thin Idealist, no coarse Realist, buta man whose eye reads the heavens, while his feet step firmly on theground, and his hands are strong and dexterous for the use of humanimplements. A man religious, virtuous, and--sagacious; a man ofuniversal sympathies, but self-possessed; a man who knows the regionof emotion, though he is not its slave; a man to whom this world isno mere spectacle, or fleeting shadow, not a great, solemn game, to beplayed with, good heed, for its stakes are of eternal value, yet who, if his own play be true, heeds not what he loses by the falsehood ofothers;--a man who hives from the past, yet knows that its honey canbut moderately avail him; whose comprehensive eye scans the present, neither infatuated by its golden lures, nor chilled by its manyventures; who possesses prescience, as the wise man must, but notso far as to be driven mad to-day by the gift which discernsto-morrow;--when there is such a man for America, the thought whichurges her on will be expressed. 

 * * * * *

Now that I am about to leave Illinois, feelings of regret andadmiration come over me, as in parting with a friend whom, we havenot had the good sense to prize and study, while hours of association, never perhaps to return, were granted. I have fixed my attentionalmost exclusively on the picturesque beauty of this region; it wasso new, so inspiring. But I ought to have been more interested in thehousekeeping of this magnificent State, in the education she is givingher children, in their prospects. 

Illinois is, at present, a by-word of reproach among the nations, for the careless, prodigal course by which, in early youth, she hasendangered her honor. But you cannot look about you there, withoutseeing that there are resources abundant to retrieve, and soon toretrieve, far greater errors, if they are only directed with wisdom. 

Would that the simple maxim, that honesty is the best policy, might belaid to heart; that a sense of the true aim of life might elevatethe tone of politics and trade till public and private honor becameidentical; that the Western man, in that crowded and exciting lifewhich, develops his faculties so fully for to-day, might not forgetthat better part which could not be taken from him; that the Westernwoman might take that interest and acquire that light for theeducation of the children, for which she alone has leisure!

This is indeed the great problem of the place and time. If the nextgeneration be well prepared for their work, ambitious of good andskilful to achieve it, the children of the present settlers may beleaven enough for the mass constantly increasing by immigration. Andhow much is this needed, where those rude foreigners can so littleunderstand the best interests of the land they seek for bread andshelter! It would be a happiness to aid in this good work, andinterweave the white and golden threads into the fate of Illinois. Itwould be a work worthy the devotion of any mind. 

In the little that I saw was a large proportion of intelligence, activity, and kind feeling; but, if there was much serious laying toheart of the true purposes of life, it did not appear in the tone ofconversation. 

Having before me the Illinois Guide-Book, I find there mentioned, asa "visionary, " one of the men I should think of as able to be a trulyvaluable settler in a new and great country, --Morris Birkbeck, ofEngland. Since my return, I have read his journey to, and lettersfrom, Illinois. I see nothing promised there that will not surelybelong to the man who knows how to seek for it. 

Mr. Birkbeck was an enlightened, philanthropist, the rather that hedid not wish to sacrifice himself to his fellow-men, but to benefitthem with all he had, and was, and wished. He thought all thecreatures of a divine love ought to be happy and ought to be good, andthat his own soul and his own life were not less precious than thoseof others; indeed, that to keep these healthy was his only means of ahealthy influence. 

But his aims were altogether generous. Freedom, the liberty of law, not license; not indolence, work for himself and children and allmen, but under genial and poetic influences;--these were his aims. Howdifferent from those of the new settlers in general! And into hismind so long ago shone steadily the two thoughts, now so prevalent inthinking and aspiring minds, of "Resist not evil, " and "Every man hisown priest, and the heart the only true church. "

He has lost credit for sagacity from accidental circumstances. Itdoes not appear that his position was ill chosen, or his meansdisproportioned to his ends, had he been sustained by funds fromEngland, as he had a right to expect. But through the profligacy of anear relative, commissioned to collect these dues, he was disappointedof them, and his paper protested and credit destroyed in our cities, before he became aware of his danger. 

Still, though more slowly and with more difficulty, he might havesucceeded in his designs. The English farmer might have made theEnglish settlement a model for good methods and good aims to all thatregion, had not death prematurely cut short his plans. 

I have wished to say these few words, because the veneration withwhich I have been inspired for his character by those who knew himwell, makes me impatient of this careless blame being passed frommouth to mouth and book to book. Success is no test of a man'sendeavor, and Illinois will yet, I hope, regard this man, who knew sowell what _ought_ to be, as one of her true patriarchs, the Abraham ofa promised land. 

He was one too much before his time to be soon valued; but the timeis growing up to him, and will understand his mild philanthropy, andclear, large views. 

I subjoin the account of his death, given me by a friend, asexpressing, in fair picture, the character of the man. 

"Mr. Birkbeck was returning from the seat of government, whither hehad been on public business, and was accompanied by his son Bradford, a youth of sixteen or eighteen. It was necessary to cross a ford, which was rendered difficult by the swelling of the stream. Mr. B. 'shorse was unwilling to plunge into the water, so his son offered togo first, and he followed. Bradford's horse had just gained footing onthe opposite shore, when he looked back and perceived his father wasdismounted, struggling in the water, and carried down by the current. 

"Mr. Birkbeck could not swim; Bradford could; so he dismounted, andplunged into the stream to save his father. He got to him beforehe sunk, held him up above water, and told him to take hold of hiscollar, and he would swim ashore with him. Mr. B. Did so, and Bradfordexerted all his strength to stem the current and reach the shore at apoint where they could land; but, encumbered by his own clothing andhis father's weight, he made no progress; when Mr. B. Perceived this, he, with his characteristic calmness and resolution, gave up his holdof his son, and, motioning to him to save himself, resigned himself tohis fate. His son reached the shore, but was too much overwhelmedby his loss to leave it. He was found by some travellers, many hoursafter, seated on the margin of the stream, with his face in his hands, stupefied with grief. 

"The body was found, and on the countenance was the sweetest smile;and Bradford said, 'Just so he smiled, upon me when he let go andpushed me away from him. '"

Many men can choose the right and best on a great occasion, but notmany can, with such ready and serene decision, lay aside evenlife, when that is right and best. This little narrative touched myimagination in very early youth, and often has come up, in lonelyvision, that face, serenely smiling above the current which bore himaway to another realm of being. 

CHAPTER V. 

THOUGHTS AND SCENES IN WISCONSIN. --SOCIETY IN MILWAUKIE. --INDIANANECDOTE. --SEERESS OF PREVORST. --MILWAUKIE. 

A territory, not yet a State;[A] still nearer the acorn than we were. 

[Footnote A: Wisconsin was not admitted into the Union as a State till1847, after this volume was written. --ED. ]

It was very pleasant coming up. These large and elegant boats are sowell arranged that every excursion may be a party of pleasure. Thereare many fair shows to see on the lake and its shores, almost alwaysnew and agreeable persons on board, pretty children playing about, ladies singing (and if not very well, there is room, to keep out ofthe way). You may see a great deal here of Life, in the London sense, if you know a few people; or if you do not, and have the tact to lookabout you without seeming to stare. 

We came to Milwaukie, where we were to pass a fortnight or more. 

This place is most beautifully situated. A little river, with romanticbanks, passes up through the town. The bank of the lake is here abold bluff, eighty feet in height. From its summit is enjoyed a nobleoutlook on the lake. A little narrow path winds along the edge of thelake below. I liked this walk much, --above me this high wall of richearth, garlanded on its crest with trees, the long ripples of the lakecoming up to my feet. Here, standing in the shadow, I could appreciatebetter its magnificent changes of color, which are the chief beautiesof the lake-waters; but these are indescribable. 

It was fine to ascend into the lighthouse, above this bluff, andthence watch the thunder-clouds which so frequently rose over thelake, or the great boats coming in. Approaching the Milwaukie pier, they made a bend, and seemed to do obeisance in the heavy styleof some dowager duchess entering a circle she wishes to treat withespecial respect. 

These boats come in and out every day, and still afford a cause forgeneral excitement. The people swarm, down to greet them, to receiveand send away their packages and letters. To me they seemed suchmighty messengers, to give, by their noble motion, such an idea of thepower and fulness of life, that they were worthy to carry despatchesfrom king to king. It must be very pleasant for those who have anactive share in carrying on the affairs of this great and growingworld to see them approach, and pleasant to such as have dearly lovedfriends at the next station. To those who have neither business norfriends, it sometimes gives a desolating sense of insignificance. 

The town promises to be, some time, a fine one, as it is so wellsituated; and they have good building material, --a yellow brick, verypleasing to the eye. It seems to grow before you, and has indeed butjust emerged from the thickets of oak and wild-roses. A few stepswill take you into the thickets, and certainly I never saw so manywild-roses, or of so beautiful a red. Of such a color were the firstred ones the world ever saw, when, says the legend, Venus flying tothe assistance of Adonis, the rose-bushes kept catching her to makeher stay, and the drops of blood the thorns drew from her feet, asshe tore herself a way, fell on the white roses, and turned them thisbeautiful red. 

One day, walking along the river's bank in search of a waterfall to beseen from one ravine, we heard tones from a band of music, and saw agay troop shooting at a mark, on the opposite bank. Between every shotthe band played; the effect was very pretty. 

On this walk we found two of the oldest and most gnarled hemlocks thatever afforded study for a painter. They were the only ones we saw;they seemed the veterans of a former race. 

At Milwaukie, as at Chicago, are many pleasant people, drawn togetherfrom all parts of the world. A resident here would find great piquancyin the associations, --those he met having such dissimilar historiesand topics. And several persons I saw, evidently transplanted from themost refined circles to be met in this country. There are lures enoughin the West for people of all kinds;--the enthusiast and the cunningman; the naturalist, and the lover who needs to be rich for the sakeof her he loves. 

The torrent of immigration swells very strongly towards this place. During the fine weather, the poor refugees arrive daily, in theirnational dresses, all travel-soiled and worn. The night they pass inrude shantees, in a particular quarter of the town, then walk off intothe country, --the mothers carrying their infants, the fathers leadingthe little children by the hand, seeking a home where their hands maymaintain them. 

One morning we set off in their track, and travelled a day'sjourney into this country, --fair, yet not, in that part which I saw, comparable, in my eyes, to the Rock River region. Rich fields, properfor grain, alternate with oak openings, as they are called; bold, various, and beautiful were the features of the scene, but I sawnot those majestic sweeps, those boundless distances, those heavenlyfields; it was not the same world. 

Neither did we travel in the same delightful manner. We were now in anice carriage, which must not go off the road, for fear of breakage, with a regular coachman, whose chief care was not to tire his horses, and who had no taste for entering fields in pursuit of wild-flowers, or tempting some strange wood-path, in search of whatever mightbefall. It was pleasant, but almost as tame as New England. 

But charming indeed was the place where we stopped. It was in thevicinity of a chain of lakes, and on the bank of the loveliestlittle stream, called, the Bark River, which, flowed in rapid amberbrightness, through fields, and dells, and stately knolls, of mostpoetic beauty. 

The little log-cabin where we slept, with its flower-garden in front, disturbed the scene no more than a stray lock on the fair cheek. The hospitality of that house I may well call princely; it was theboundless hospitality of the heart, which, if it has no Aladdin's lampto create a palace for the guest, does him still higher service by thefreedom of its bounty to the very last drop of its powers. 

Sweet were the sunsets seen in the valley of this stream, though, here, and, I grieve to say, no less near the Rock River, the fiend, who has every liberty to tempt the happy in this world, appeared inthe shape of mosquitos, and allowed us no bodily to enjoy our mentalpeace. 

One day we ladies gave, under the guidance of our host, to visitingall the beauties of the adjacent lakes, --Nomabbin, Silver, and PineLakes. On the shore of Nomabbin had formerly been one of the finestIndian villages. Our host said, that once, as he was lying therebeneath the bank, he saw a tall Indian standing at gaze on the knoll. He lay a long time, curious to see how long the figure would maintainits statue-like absorption. But at last his patience yielded, and, in moving, he made a slight noise. The Indian saw him, gave a wild, snorting sound of indignation and pain, and strode away. 

What feelings must consume their hearts at such moments! I scarcelysee how they can forbear to shoot the white man where he stands. 

But the power of fate is with, the white man, and the Indian feels it. This same gentleman told of his travelling through the wilderness withan Indian guide. He had with him a bottle of spirit which he meant togive him in small quantities, but the Indian, once excited, wantedthe whole at once. "I would not, " said Mr. ----, "give it him, for Ithought, if he got really drunk, there was an end to his services asa guide. But he persisted, and at last tried to take it from me. Iwas not armed; he was, and twice as strong as I. But I knew an Indiancould not resist the look of a white man, and I fixed my eye steadilyon his. He bore it for a moment, then his eye fell; he let go thebottle. I took his gun and threw it to a distance. After a fewmoments' pause, I told him to go and fetch it, and left it in hishands. From that moment he was quite obedient, even servile, all therest of the way. "

This gentleman, though in other respects of most kindly and liberalheart, showed the aversion that the white man soon learns to feel forthe Indian on whom he encroaches, --the aversion of the injurer for himhe has degraded. After telling the anecdote of his seeing the Indiangazing at the seat of his former home, "A thing for human feelings the most trying, "

and which, one would think, would have awakened soft compassion--almost remorse--in the present owner of that fair hill, whichcontained for the exile the bones of his dead, the ashes of hishopes, he observed: "They cannot be prevented from straggling backhere to their old haunts. I wish they could. They ought not to bepermitted to drive away _our_ game. " OUR game, --just heavens!

The same gentleman showed, on a slight occasion, the true spirit of asportsman, or perhaps I might say of Man, when engaged in any kindof chase. Showing us some antlers, he said: "This one belonged to amajestic creature. But this other was the beauty. I had been lying along time at watch, when at last I heard them come crackling along. Ilifted my head cautiously, as they burst through the trees. The firstwas a magnificent fellow; but then I saw coming one, the prettiest, the most graceful I ever beheld, --there was something so soft andbeseeching in its look. I chose him at once, took aim, and shot himdead. You see the antlers are not very large; it was young, but theprettiest creature!"

In the course of this morning's drive, we visited the gentlemen ontheir fishing party. They hailed us gayly, and rowed ashore to show uswhat fine booty they had. No disappointment there, no dull work. 

On the beautiful point of land from which we first saw them lived acontented woman, the only one I heard of out there. She was English, and said she had seen so much suffering in her own country, that thehardships of this seemed as nothing to her. But the others--even oursweet and gentle hostess--found their labors disproportioned to theirstrength, if not to their patience; and, while their husbands andbrothers enjoyed the country in hunting or fishing, they foundthemselves confined to a comfortless and laborious in-door life. Butit need not be so long. 

This afternoon, driving about on the banks of these lakes, we foundthe scene all of one kind of loveliness; wide, graceful woods, andthen these fine sheets of water, with, fine points of land jutting outboldly into them. It was lovely, but not striking or peculiar. 

All woods suggest pictures. The European forest, with its long gladesand green, sunny dells, naturally suggested the figures of armedknight on his proud steed, or maiden, decked in gold and pearl, pricking along them on a snow-white palfrey; the green dells, of wearyPalmer sleeping there beside the spring with his head upon his wallet. Our minds, familiar with such, figures, people with them the NewEngland woods, wherever the sunlight falls down a longer than usualcart-track, wherever a cleared spot has lain still enough for thetrees to look friendly, with their exposed sides cultivated by thelight, and the grass to look velvet warm, and be embroidered withflowers. These Western woods suggest a different kind of ballad. TheIndian legends have often an air of the wildest solitude, as has theone Mr. Lowell has put into verse in his late volume. But I did notsee those wild woods; only such as suggest to me little romances oflove and sorrow, like this:--

GUNHILDA. 

 A maiden sat beneath the tree, Tear-bedewed her pale cheeks be, And she sigheth heavily. 

 From forth the wood into the light A hunter strides, with carol light, And a glance so bold and bright. 

 He careless stopped and eyed the maid; "Why weepest thou?" he gently said; "I love thee well; be not afraid. "

 He takes her hand, and leads her on; She should have waited there alone, For he was not her chosen one. 

 He leans her head upon his breast, She knew 't was not her home of rest, But ah! she had been sore distrest. 

 The sacred stars looked sadly down; The parting moon appeared to frown, To see thus dimmed the diamond crown. 

 Then from the thicket starts a deer, The huntsman, seizing on his spear, Cries, "Maiden, wait thou for me here. "

 She sees him vanish into night, She starts from sleep in deep affright, For it was not her own true knight. 

 Though but in dream Gunhilda failed. Though but a fancied ill assailed, Though she but fancied fault bewailed, --

 Yet thought of day makes dream of night: She is not worthy of the knight, The inmost altar burns not bright. 

 If loneliness thou canst not bear, Cannot the dragon's venom dare, Of the pure meed thou shouldst despair. 

 Now sadder that lone maiden sighs, Far bitterer tears profane her eyes, Crushed, in the dust her heart's flower lies. 

On the bank of Silver Lake we saw an Indian encampment. A showerthreatened us, but we resolved to try if we could not visit it beforeit came on. We crossed a wide field on foot, and found the Indiansamid the trees on a shelving bank; just as we reached them, the rainbegan to fall in torrents, with frequent thunderclaps, and we hadto take refuge in their lodges. These were very small, being fortemporary use, and we crowded the occupants much, among whom wereseveral sick, on the damp ground, or with only a ragged mat betweenthem and it. But they showed all the gentle courtesy which, markstheir demeanor towards the stranger, who stands in any need; though itwas obvious that the visit, which inconvenienced them, could onlyhave been caused by the most impertinent curiosity, they made us ascomfortable as their extreme poverty permitted. They seemed to thinkwe would not like to touch them; a sick girl in the lodge where I was, persisted in moving so as to give me the dry place; a woman, with thesweet melancholy eye of the race, kept off the children and wet dogsfrom even the hem of my garment. 

Without, their fires smouldered, and black kettles, hung over them onsticks, smoked, and seethed in the rain. An old, theatrical-lookingIndian stood with arms folded, looking up to the heavens, fromwhich the rain clashed and the thunder reverberated; his air wasFrench-Roman; that is, more Romanesque than Roman. The Indian ponies, much excited, kept careering through the wood, around the encampment, and now and then, halting suddenly, would thrust in their intelligent, though amazed faces, as if to ask their masters when this awful potherwould cease, and then, after a moment, rush and trample off again. 

At last we got away, well wetted, but with a picturesque scene formemory. At a house where we stopped to get dry, they told us thatthis wandering band (of Pottawattamies), who had returned, on a visit, either from homesickness, or need of relief, were extremely destitute. The women had been there to see if they could barter for food theirhead-bands, with which they club their hair behind into a form notunlike a Grecian knot. They seemed, indeed, to have neither food, utensils, clothes, nor bedding; nothing but the ground, the sky, andtheir own strength. Little wonder if they drove off the game!

Part of the same band I had seen in Milwaukee, on a begging dance. The effect of this was wild and grotesque. They wore much paint andfeather head-dresses. "Indians without paint are poor coots, " said agentleman who had been a great deal with, and really liked, them;and I like the effect of the paint on them; it reminds of the gayfantasies of nature. With them in Milwaukie was a chief, the finestIndian figure I saw, more than six feet in height, erect, and of asullen, but grand gait and gesture. He wore a deep-red blanket, whichfell in large folds from his shoulders to his feet, did not join inthe dance, but slowly strode about through the streets, a finesight, not a French-Roman, but a real Roman. He looked unhappy, but listlessly unhappy, as if he felt it was of no use to strive orresist. 

While in the neighborhood of these lakes, we visited also a foreignsettlement of great interest. Here were minds, it seemed, to"comprehend the trust" of their new life; and, if they can only standtrue to them, will derive and bestow great benefits therefrom. 

But sad and sickening to the enthusiast who comes to these shores, hoping the tranquil enjoyment of intellectual blessings, and thepure happiness of mutual love, must be a part of the scene that heencounters at first. He has escaped from the heartlessness of courts, to encounter the vulgarity of the mob; he has secured solitude, butit is a lonely, a deserted solitude. Amid the abundance of nature, he cannot, from petty, but insuperable obstacles, procure, for a longtime, comforts or a home. 

But let him come sufficiently armed with patience to learn the newspells which the new dragons require, (and this can only be doneon the spot, ) he will not finally be disappointed of the promisedtreasure; the mob will resolve itself into men, yet crude, but of gooddispositions, and capable of good character; the solitude will becomesufficiently enlivened, and home grow up at last from the rich sod. 

In this transition state we found one of these homes. As weapproached, it seemed the very Eden which earth might still afford toa pair willing to give up the hackneyed pleasures of the world for abetter and more intimate communion with one another and with beauty:the wild road led through wide, beautiful woods, to the wilder andmore beautiful shores of the finest lake we saw. On its waters, glittering in the morning sun, a few Indians were paddling to and froin their light canoes. On one of those fair knolls I have so oftenmentioned stood the cottage, beneath trees which stooped as ifthey yet felt brotherhood with its roof-tree. Flowers waved, birdsfluttered round, all had the sweetness of a happy seclusion; allinvited to cry to those who inhabited it, All hail, ye happy ones!

But on entrance to those evidently rich in personal beauty, talents, love, and courage, the aspect of things was rather sad. Sickness hadbeen with them, death, care, and labor; these had not yet blightedthem, but had turned their gay smiles grave. It seemed that hope andjoy had given place to resolution. How much, too, was there in them, worthless in this place, which would have been so valuableelsewhere! Refined graces, cultivated powers, shine in vain beforefield-laborers, as laborers are in this present world; you might aswell cultivate heliotropes to present to an ox. Oxen and heliotropesare both good, but not for one another. 

With them were some of the old means of enjoyment, the books, the pencil, the guitar; but where the wash-tub and the axe are soconstantly in requisition, there is not much time and pliancy of handfor these. 

In the inner room, the master of the house was seated; he had beensitting there long, for he had injured his foot on ship-board, and hisfarming had to be done by proxy. His beautiful young wife was hisonly attendant and nurse, as well as a farm, housekeeper. How wellshe performed hard and unaccustomed duties, the objects of her careshowed; everything that belonged to the house was rude, but neatlyarranged. The invalid, confined to an uneasy wooden chair, (they hadnot been able to induce any one to bring them an easy-chair from thetown, ) looked as neat and elegant as if he had been dressed by thevalet of a duke. He was of Northern blood, with clear, full blue eyes, calm features, a tempering of the soldier, scholar, and man of theworld, in his aspect. Either various intercourses had given him thatthoroughbred look never seen in Americans, or it was inherited froma race who had known all these disciplines. He formed a great butpleasing contrast to his wife, whose glowing complexion and darkyellow eye bespoke an origin in some climate more familiar with thesun. He looked as if he could sit there a great while patiently, and live on his own mind, biding his time; she, as if she could bearanything for affection's sake, but would feel the weight of eachmoment as it passed. 

Seeing the album full of drawings and verses, which bespoke the circleof elegant and affectionate intercourse they had left behind, we couldnot but see that the young wife sometimes must need a sister, thehusband a companion, and both must often miss that electricity whichsparkles from the chain of congenial minds. 

For mankind, a position is desirable in some degree proportioned toeducation. Mr. Birkbeck was bred a farmer, but these were nurslingsof the court and city; they may persevere, for an affectionate courageshone in their eyes, and, if so, become true lords of the soil, andinforming geniuses to those around; then, perhaps, they will feel thatthey have not paid too clear for the tormented independence of the newsettler's life. But, generally, damask roses will not thrive in thewood, and a ruder growth, if healthy and pure, we wish rather to seethere. 

I feel about these foreigners very differently from what I do aboutAmericans. American men and women are inexcusable if they do not bringup children so as to be fit for vicissitudes; the meaning of our staris, that here all men being free and equal, every man should be fittedfor freedom and an independence by his own resources wherever thechangeful wave of our mighty stream may take him. But the star ofEurope brought a different horoscope, and to mix destinies breaks thethread of both. The Arabian horse will not plough well, nor can theplough-horse be rode to play the jereed. Yet a man is a man whereverhe goes, and something precious cannot fail to be gained by one whoknows how to abide by a resolution of any kind, and pay the costwithout a murmur. 

Returning, the fine carriage at last fulfilled its threat of breakingdown. We took refuge in a farm-house. Here was a pleasant scene, --arich and beautiful estate, several happy families, who had removedtogether, and formed a natural community, ready to help and enlivenone another. They were farmers at home, in Western New York, and bothmen and women knew how to work. Yet even here the women did not likethe change, but they were willing, "as it might be best for the youngfolks. " Their hospitality was great: the houseful of women and prettychildren seemed all of one mind. 

Returning to Milwaukie much fatigued, I entertained myself: for aday or two with reading. The book I had brought with me was in strongcontrast with, the life around, me. Very strange was this vision ofan exalted and sensitive existence, which seemed to invade the nextsphere, in contrast with the spontaneous, instinctive life, so healthyand so near the ground I had been surveying. This was the German bookentitled:--

"The Seeress of Prevorst. --Revelations concerning the Inward Life ofMan, and the Projection of a World of Spirits into ours, communicatedby Justinus Kerner. "

This book, published in Germany some twelve years since, and whichcalled forth there plenteous dews of admiration, as plenteoushail-storms of jeers and scorns, I never saw mentioned in any Englishpublication till some year or two since. Then a playful, but notsarcastic account of it, in the Dublin Magazine, so far excited mycuriosity, that I procured the book, intending to read it so soon as Ishould have some leisure days, such as this journey has afforded. 

Dr. Kerner, its author, is a man of distinction in his native land, both as a physician and a thinker, though always on the side ofreverence, marvel, and mysticism. He was known to me only through twoor three little poems of his in Catholic legends, which I much admiredfor the fine sense they showed of the beauty of symbols. 

He here gives a biography, mental and physical, of one of themost remarkable cases of high nervous excitement that the age, so interested in such, yet affords, with all its phenomena ofclairvoyance and susceptibility of magnetic influences. As to my ownmental positron on these subjects, it may be briefly expressed bya dialogue between several persons who honor me with a portion offriendly confidence and criticism, and myself, personified as _FreeHope_. The others may be styled _Old Church_, _Good Sense_, and_Self-Poise_. 

DIALOGUE. 

_Good Sense. _ I wonder you can take any interest in such observationsor experiments. Don't you see how almost impossible it is to make themwith any exactness, how entirely impossible to know anything aboutthem unless made by yourself, when the least leaven of credulity, excited fancy, to say nothing of willing or careless imposture, spoils the whole loaf? Beside, allowing the possibility of some clearglimpses into a higher state of being, what do we want of it now? Allaround us lies what we neither understand nor use. Our capacities, ourinstincts for this our present sphere, are but half developed. Letus confine ourselves to that till the lesson be learned; let us becompletely natural, before we trouble ourselves with the supernatural. I never see any of these things but I long to get away and lie undera green tree, and let the wind blow on me. There is marvel and charmenough in that for me. 

_Free Hope. _ And for me also. Nothing is truer than the Wordsworthiancreed, on which Carlyle lays such stress, that we need only lookon the miracle of every day, to sate ourselves with thought andadmiration every day. But how are our faculties sharpened to do it?Precisely by apprehending the infinite results of every day. 

Who sees the meaning of the flower uprooted in the ploughed field? Theploughman who does not look beyond its boundaries and does not raisehis eyes from the ground? No, --but the poet who sees that field in itsrelations with the universe, and looks oftener to the sky than on theground. Only the dreamer shall understand realities, though, in truth, his dreaming must be not out of proportion to his waking!

The mind, roused powerfully by this existence, stretches of itselfinto what the French sage calls the "aromal state. " From the hope thusgleaned it forms the hypothesis, under whose banner it collects itsfacts. 

Long before these slight attempts were made to establish, as a sciencewhat is at present called animal magnetism, always, in fact, men wereoccupied more or less with this vital principle, --principle offlux and influx, --dynamic of our mental mechanics, --human phase ofelectricity. Poetic observation was pure, there was no quackery in itsfree course, as there is so often in this wilful tampering with thehidden springs of life, for it is tampering unless done in a patientspirit and with severe truth; yet it may be, by the rude or greedyminers, some good ore is unearthed. And some there are who work inthe true temper, patient and accurate in trial, not rushing toconclusions, feeling there is a mystery, not eager to call it by nametill they can know it as a reality: such may learn, such may teach. 

Subject to the sudden revelations, the breaks in habitual existence, caused by the aspect of death, the touch of love, the flood of music, I never lived, that I remember, what you call a common natural day. All my days are touched by the supernatural, for I feel the pressureof hidden causes, and the presence, sometimes the communion, of unseenpowers. It needs not that I should ask the clairvoyant whether "aspirit-world projects into ours. " As to the specific evidence, I wouldnot tarnish my mind by hasty reception. The mind is not, I know, ahighway, but a temple, and its doors should not be carelessly leftopen. Yet it were sin, if indolence or coldness excluded what had aclaim to enter; and I doubt whether, in the eyes of pure intelligence, an ill-grounded hasty rejection be not a greater sign of weakness thanan ill-grounded and hasty faith. 

I will quote, as my best plea, the saying of a man old in years, butnot in heart, and whose long life has been distinguished by thatclear adaptation of means to ends which gives the credit of practicalwisdom. He wrote to his child, "I have lived too long, and seen toomuch, to be _in_ credulous. " Noble the thought, no less so its frankexpression, instead of saws of caution, mean advices, and other moderninstances. Such was the romance of Socrates when he bade his disciples"sacrifice a cock to Ęsculapius. "

_Old Church. _ You are always so quick-witted and voluble, Free Hope, you don't get time to see how often you err, and even, perhaps, sinand blaspheme. The Author of all has intended to confine our knowledgewithin certain boundaries, has given us a short span of time fora certain probation, for which our faculties are adapted. By wildspeculation and intemperate curiosity we violate His will, and incurdangerous, perhaps fatal, consequences. We waste our powers, and, becoming morbid and visionary, are unfitted to obey positive precepts, and perform positive duties. 

_Free Hope. _ I do not see how it is possible to go further beyond theresults of a limited human experience than those do who pretend tosettle the origin and nature of sin, the final destiny of souls, andthe whole plan of the Causal Spirit with regard to them. I think thosewho take your view have not examined themselves, and do not know theground on which they stand. 

I acknowledge no limit, set up by man's opinion, as to the capacitiesof man. "Care is taken, " I see it, "that the trees grow not up intoheaven"; but, to me it seems, the more vigorously they aspire, thebetter. Only let it be a vigorous, not a partial or sickly aspiration. Let not the tree forget its root. 

So long as the child insists on knowing where its dead parent is, solong as bright eyes weep at mysterious pressures, too heavy for thelife, so long as that impulse is constantly arising which made theRoman emperor address his soul in a strain of such touching softness, vanishing from, the thought, as the column of smoke from the eye, Iknow of no inquiry which the impulse of man suggests that is forbiddento the resolution of man to pursue. In every inquiry, unless sustainedby a pure and reverent spirit, he gropes in the dark, or fallsheadlong. 

_Self-Poise. _ All this may be very true, but what is the use of allthis straining? Far-sought is dear-bought. When we know that all is ineach, and that the ordinary contains the extraordinary, why should weplay the baby, and insist upon having the moon for a toy when a tindish will do as well? Our deep ignorance is a chasm that we can onlyfill up by degrees, but the commonest rubbish will help us as wellas shred silk. The god Brahma, while on earth, was set to fill up avalley, but he had only a basket given him in which to fetch earth forthis purpose; so is it with us all. No leaps, no starts, will availus; by patient crystallization alone, the equal temper of wisdom isattainable. Sit at home, and the spirit-world will look in at yourwindow with moonlit eyes; run out to find it, and rainbow and goldencup will have vanished, and left you the beggarly child you were. Thebetter part of wisdom is a sublime prudence, a pure and patient truth, that will receive nothing it is not sure it can permanently lay toheart. Of our study, there should be in proportion two thirds ofrejection to one of acceptance. And, amid the manifold infatuationsand illusions of this world of emotion, a being capable of clearintelligence can do no better service than to hold himself upright, avoid nonsense, and do what chores lie in his way, acknowledging everymoment that primal truth, which no fact exhibits, nor, if pressed bytoo warm a hope, will even indicate. I think, indeed, it is part ofour lesson to give a formal consent to what is farcical, and topick up our living and our virtue amid what is so ridiculous, hardlydeigning a smile, and certainly not vexed. The work is done throughall, if not by every one. 

_Free Hope. _ Thou art greatly wise, my friend, and ever respected byme, yet I find not in your theory or your scope room enough for thelyric inspirations or the mysterious whispers of life. To me itseems that it is madder never to abandon one's self, than often to beinfatuated; better to be wounded, a captive, and a slave, than alwaysto walk in armor. As to magnetism, that is only a matter of fancy. Yousometimes need just such a field in which to wander vagrant, and if itbear a higher name, yet it may be that, in last result, the trance ofPythagoras might be classed with the more infantine transports of theSeeress of Prevorst. 

What is done interests me more than what is thought and supposed. Every fact is impure, but every fact contains in it the juices oflife. Every fact is a clod, from which may grow an amaranth or a palm. 

Climb you the snowy peaks whence come the streams, where theatmosphere is rare, where you can see the sky nearer, from which youcan get a commanding view of the landscape? I see great disadvantagesas well as advantages in this dignified position. I had rather walkmyself through all kinds of places, even at the risk of being robbedin the forest, half drowned at the ford, and covered with dust in thestreet. 

I would beat with the living heart of the world, and understand allthe moods, even the fancies or fantasies, of nature. I dare totrust to the interpreting spirit to bring me out all right atlast, --establish truth through error. 

Whether this be the best way is of no consequence, if it be the oneindividual character points out. 

 For one, like me, it would be vain From glittering heights the eyes to strain; I the truth can only know, Tested by life's most fiery glow. Seeds of thought will never thrive, Till dews of love shall bid them live. 

Let me stand in my age with all its waters flowing round me. Ifthey sometimes subdue, they must finally upbear me, for I seek theuniversal, --and that must be the best. 

The Spirit, no doubt, leads in every movement of my time: if I seekthe How, I shall find it, as well as if I busied myself more with theWhy. 

Whatever is, is right, if only men are steadily bent to make it so, bycomprehending and fulfilling its design. 

May not I have an office, too, in my hospitality and ready sympathy?If I sometimes entertain guests who cannot pay with gold coin, with "fair rose nobles, " that is better than to lose the chance ofentertaining angels unawares. 

You, my three friends, are held, in heart-honor, by me. You, especially, Good Sense, because where you do not go yourself, you donot object to another's going, if he will. You are really liberal. You, Old Church, are of use, by keeping unforgot the effigies of oldreligion, and reviving the tone of pure Spenserian sentiment, whichthis time is apt to stifle in its childish haste. But you are veryfaulty in censuring and wishing to limit others by your ownstandard. You, Self-Poise, fill a priestly office. Could but a largerintelligence of the vocations of others, and a tender sympathy withtheir individual natures, be added, had you more of love, or more ofapprehensive genius, (for either would give you the needed expansionand delicacy, ) you would command my entire reverence. As it is, I mustat times deny and oppose you, and so must others, for you tend, byyour influence, to exclude us from our full, free life. We mustbe content when you censure, and rejoiced when you approve; alwaysadmonished to good by your whole being, and sometimes by yourjudgment. 

 * * * * *

Do not blame me that I have written so much suggested by the Germanseeress, while you were looking for news of the West. Here on thepier, I see disembarking the Germans, the Norwegians, the Swedes, theSwiss. Who knows how much of old legendary lore, of modern wonder, they have already planted amid the Wisconsin forests? Soon, theirtales of the origin of things, and the Providence which rules them, will be so mingled with those of the Indian, that the very oak-treewill not know them apart, --will not know whether itself be a Runic, aDruid, or a Winnebago oak. 

Some seeds of all growths that have ever been known in this worldmight, no doubt, already be found in these Western wilds, if we hadthe power to call them to life. 

I saw, in the newspaper, that the American Tract Society boasted oftheir agent's having exchanged, at a Western cabin door, tracts forthe "Devil on Two Sticks, " and then burnt that more entertaining thanedifying volume. No wonder, though, they study it there. Could onebut have the gift of reading the dreams dreamed by men of such variousbirth, various history, various mind, it would afford much, moreextensive amusement than did the chambers of one Spanish city!

Could I but have flown at night through such mental experiences, instead of being shut up in my little bedroom at the Milwaukieboarding-house, this chapter would have been worth reading. As it is, let us hasten to a close. 

Had I been rich in money, I might have built a house, or set up inbusiness, during my fortnight's stay at Milwaukie, matters move onthere at so rapid a rate. But being only rich in curiosity, I wasobliged to walk the streets and pick up what I could in casualintercourse. When I left the street, indeed, and walked on the bluffs, or sat beside the lake in their shadow, my mind was rich in dreamscongenial to the scene, some time to be realized, though not by me. 

A boat was left, keel up, half on the sand, half in the water, swayingwith each swell of the lake. It gave a picturesque grace to that partof the shore, as the only image of inaction, --only object of a pensivecharacter to be seen. Near this I sat, to dream my dreams and watchthe colors of the lake, changing hourly, till the sun sank. Thesehours yielded impulses, wove webs, such as life will not again afford. 

Returning to the boarding-house, which was also a boarding-school, wewere sure to be greeted by gay laughter. 

This school was conducted by two girls of nineteen and seventeenyears; their pupils were nearly as old as themselves. The relationseemed very pleasant between them; the only superiority--that ofsuperior knowledge--was sufficient to maintain authority, --all theauthority that was needed to keep daily life in good order. 

In the West, people are not respected merely because they are old inyears; people there have not time to keep up appearances in that way;when persons cease to have a real advantage in wisdom, knowledge, or enterprise, they must stand back, and let those who are oldest incharacter "go ahead, " however few years they may count. There are nobanks of established respectability in which to bury the talent there;no napkin of precedent in which to wrap it. What cannot be made topass current, is not esteemed coin of the realm. 

To the windows of this house, where the daughter of a famous "Indianfighter, " i. E. Fighter against the Indians, was learning French, andthe piano, came wild, tawny figures, offering for sale their basketsof berries. The boys now, instead of brandishing the tomahawk, tametheir hands to pick raspberries. 

Here the evenings were much lightened by the gay chat of one of theparty, who with the excellent practical sense of mature experience, and the kindest heart, united a _naļveté_ and innocence such as Inever saw in any other who had walked so long life's tangled path. Like a child, she was everywhere at home, and, like a child, receivedand bestowed entertainment from all places, all persons. I thanked herfor making me laugh, as did the sick and poor, whom she was sure tofind out in her briefest sojourn in any place, for more substantialaid. Happy are those who never grieve, and so often aid and enliventheir fellow-men!

This scene, however, I was not sorry to exchange for the muchcelebrated beauties of the island of Mackinaw. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MACKINAW. --INDIANS. --INDIAN WOMEN. --EVERETT'S RECEPTION OFCHIEFS. --UNFITNESS OF INDIAN MISSIONARIES. --OUR DUTIES TOWARD THISRACE. 

Late at night we reached this island of Mackinaw, so famous for itsbeauty, and to which I proposed a visit of some length. It was thelast week in August, at which, time a large representation from theChippewa and Ottawa tribes are here to receive their annual paymentsfrom the American government. As their habits make travelling easy andinexpensive to them, neither being obliged to wait for steamboats, orwrite to see whether hotels are full, they come hither by thousands, and those thousands in families, secure of accommodation on the beach, and food from the lake, to make a long holiday out of the occasion. There were near two thousand encamped on the island already, and morearriving every day. 

As our boat came in, the captain had some rockets let off. Thisgreatly excited the Indians, and their yells and wild cries resoundedalong the shore. Except for the momentary flash of the rockets, itwas perfectly dark, and my sensations as I walked with a stranger to astrange hotel, through the midst of these shrieking savages, and heardthe pants and snorts of the departing steamer, which carried, awayall my companions, were somewhat of the dismal sort; though it waspleasant, too, in the way that everything strange is; everything thatbreaks in upon the routine that so easily incrusts us. 

I had reason to expect a room to myself at the hotel, but foundnone, and was obliged to take up my rest in the common parlor andeating-room, a circumstance which insured my being an early riser. 

With the first rosy streak, I was out among my Indian neighbors, whoselodges honeycombed the beautiful beach, that curved away in long, fairoutline on either side the house. They were already on the alert, thechildren creeping out from beneath the blanket door of the lodge, thewomen pounding corn in their rude mortars, the young men playing ontheir pipes. I had been much amused, when the strain proper to theWinnebago courting flute was played to me on another instrument, atany one fancying it a melody; but now, when I heard the notes intheir true tone and time, I thought it not unworthy comparison, inits graceful sequence, and the light flourish at the close, with thesweetest bird-song; and this, like the bird-song, is only practisedto allure a mate. The Indian, become a citizen and a husband, no morethinks of playing the flute, than one of the "settled-down" members ofour society would, of choosing the "purple light of love" as dye-stufffor a surtout. 

Mackinaw has been fully described by able pens, and I can only add mytribute to the exceeding beauty of the spot and its position. It ischarming to be on an island so small that you can sail round it in anafternoon, yet large enough to admit of long, secluded walks throughits gentle groves. You can go round it in your boat; or, on foot, youcan tread its narrow beach, resting, at times, beneath the lofty wallsof stone, richly wooded, which rise from it in various architecturalforms. In this stone, caves are continually forming, from the actionof the atmosphere; one of these is quite deep, and a rocky fragmentleft at its mouth, wreathed with little creeping plants, looks, as yousit within, like a ruined pillar. 

The arched rock surprised me, much as I had heard of it, from, theperfection of the arch. It is perfect, whether you look up through itfrom the lake, or down through it to the transparent waters. We bothascended and descended--no very easy matter--the steep and crumblingpath, and rested at the summit, beneath the trees, and at the foot, upon the cool, mossy stones beside the lapsing wave. Nature hascarefully decorated all this architecture with shrubs that take rootwithin the crevices, and small creeping vines. These natural ruins mayvie for beautiful effect with the remains of European grandeur, andhave, beside, a charm as of a playful mood in Nature. 

The sugar-loaf rock is a fragment in the same kind as the pine rockwe saw in Illinois. It has the same air of a helmet, as seen from aneminence at the side, which you descend by a long and steep path. Therock itself may be ascended by the bold and agile: half-way up is aniche, to which those who are neither can climb by a ladder. A veryhandsome young officer and lady who were with us did so, and then, facing round, stood there side by side, looking in the niche, ifnot like saints or angels wrought by pious hands in stone, asromantically, if not as holily, worthy the gazer's eye. 

The woods which adorn the central ridge of the island are very fullin foliage, and, in August, showed the tender green and pliant leafof June elsewhere. They are rich in beautiful mosses and the wildraspberry. 

From Fort Holmes, the old fort, we had the most commanding view of thelake and straits, opposite shores, and fair islets. Mackinaw itself isbest seen from the water. Its peculiar shape is supposed to have beenthe origin of its name, Michilimackinac, which means the Great Turtle. One person whom I saw wished to establish another etymology, which hefancied to be more refined; but, I doubt not, this is the true one, both because the shape might suggest such a name, and the existenceof an island of such form in this commanding position would seema significant fact to the Indians. For Henry gives the details ofpeculiar worship paid to the Great Turtle, and the oracles receivedfrom this extraordinary Apollo of the Indian Delphos. 

It is crowned, most picturesquely, by the white fort, with its gayflag. From this, on one side, stretches the town. How pleasing asight, after the raw, crude, staring assemblage of houses everywhereelse to be met in this country, is an old French town, mellow inits coloring, and with the harmonious effect of a slow growth, whichassimilates, naturally, with objects round it! The people in itsstreets, Indian, French, half-breeds, and others, walked with aleisure step, as of those who live a life of taste and inclination, rather than of the hard press of business, as in American townselsewhere. 

On the other side, along the fair, curving beach, below the whitehouses scattered on the declivity, clustered the Indian lodges, withtheir amber-brown matting, so soft and bright of hue, in the lateafternoon sun. The first afternoon I was there, looking down froma near height, I felt that I never wished to see a more fascinatingpicture. It was an hour of the deepest serenity; bright blue and gold, with rich shadows. Every moment the sunlight fell more mellow. The Indians were grouped and scattered among the lodges; the womenpreparing food, in the kettle or frying-pan, over the many smallfires; the children, half naked, wild as little goblins, were playingboth in and out of the water. Here and there lounged a young girl, with a baby at her back, whose bright eyes glanced, as if born into aworld of courage and of joy, instead of ignominious servitude and slowdecay. Some girls were cutting wood, a little way from me, talking andlaughing, in the low musical tone, so charming in the Indian women. Many bark canoes were upturned upon the beach, and, by that light, ofalmost the same amber as the lodges; others coming in, their squaresails set, and with almost arrowy speed, though heavily laden withdusky forms, and all the apparatus of their household. Here and therea sail-boat glided by, with a different but scarce less pleasingmotion. 

It was a scene of ideal loveliness, and these wild forms adorned it, as looking so at home in it. All seemed happy, and they were happythat day, for they had no fire-water to madden them, as it was Sunday, and the shops were shut. 

From my window, at the boarding-house, my eye was constantly attractedby these picturesque groups. I was never tired of seeing the canoescome in, and the new arrivals set up their temporary dwellings. Thewomen ran to set up the tent-poles, and spread the mats on the ground. The men brought the chests, kettles, &c. ; the mats were then laid onthe outside, the cedar-boughs strewed on the ground, the blanket hungup for a door, and all was completed in less than twenty minutes. Thenthey began to prepare the night meal, and to learn of their neighborsthe news of the day. 

The habit of preparing food out of doors gave all the gypsy charm andvariety to their conduct. Continually I wanted Sir Walter Scott tohave been there. If such romantic sketches were suggested to him, bythe sight of a few gypsies, not a group near one of these fires butwould have furnished him material for a separate canvas. I was sotaken up with the spirit of the scene, that I could not follow outthe stories suggested by these weather-beaten, sullen, but eloquentfigures. 

They talked a great deal, and with much, variety of gesture, so that Ioften had a good guess at the meaning of their discourse. I sawthat, whatever the Indian may be among the whites, he is anything buttaciturn with his own people; and he often would declaim, or narrateat length. Indeed, it is obvious, if only from the fables taken fromtheir stores by Mr. Schoolcraft, that these tribes possess great powerthat way. 

I liked very much, to walk or sit among them. With, the women I heldmuch communication by signs. They are almost invariably coarse andugly, with the exception of their eyes, with a peculiarly awkwardgait, and forms bent by burdens. This gait, so different from thesteady and noble step of the men, marks the inferior positionthey occupy. I had heard much eloquent contradiction of this. Mrs. Schoolcraft had maintained to a friend, that they were in fact asnearly on a par with their husbands as the white woman with hers. "Although, " said she, "on account of inevitable causes, the Indianwoman is subjected to many hardships of a peculiar nature, yet herposition, compared with that of the man, is higher and freer than thatof the white woman. Why will people look only on one side? They eitherexalt the red man into a demigod, or degrade him into a beast. Theysay that he compels his wife to do all the drudgery, while he doesnothing but hunt and amuse himself; forgetting that upon his activityand power of endurance as a hunter depends the support of hisfamily; that this is labor of the most fatiguing kind, and that it isabsolutely necessary that he should keep his frame unbent by burdensand unworn by toil, that he may be able to obtain the means ofsubsistence. I have witnessed scenes of conjugal and parental lovein the Indian's wigwam, from, which I have often, often thought theeducated white man, proud of his superior civilization, might learn auseful lesson. When he returns from hunting, worn out with, fatigue, having tasted nothing since dawn, his wife, if she is a good wife, will take off his moccasons and replace them with dry ones, and willprepare his game for their repast, while his children will climb uponhim, and he will caress them, with all the tenderness of a woman; andin the evening the Indian wigwam is the scene of the purest domesticpleasures. The father will relate, for the amusement of the wife andfor the instruction of the children, all the events of the day's hunt, while they will treasure up every word that falls, and thus learnthe theory of the art whose practice is to be the occupation of theirlives. "

Mrs. Grant speaks thus of the position of woman amid the MohawkIndians:--

"Lady Mary Montague says, that the court of Vienna was the paradise ofold women, and that there is no other place in the world where a womanpast fifty excites the least interest. Had her travels extended tothe interior of North America, she would have seen another instance ofthis inversion of the common mode of thinking. Here a woman never wasof consequence, till sire had a son old enough to fight the battles ofhis country. From, that date she held a superior rank in society; wasallowed to live at ease, and even called to consultations on nationalaffairs. In savage and warlike countries, the reign of beauty is veryshort, and its influence comparatively limited. The girls in childhoodhad a very pleasing appearance; but excepting their fine hair, eyes, and teeth, every external grace was soon banished by perpetualdrudgery, carrying burdens too heavy to be borne, and other slavishemployments, considered beneath the dignity of the men. These walkedbefore, erect and graceful, decked with ornaments which set off toadvantage the symmetry of their well-formed persons, while the poorwomen followed, meanly attired, bent under the weight of the childrenand the utensils, which they carried everywhere with, them, anddisfigured and degraded by ceaseless toils. They were very earlymarried, for a Mohawk had no other servant but his wife; and wheneverhe commenced hunter, it was requisite he should have some one to carryhis load, cook his kettle, make his moccasons, and, above all, producethe young warriors who were to succeed him in the honors of the chaseand of the tomahawk. Wherever man is a mere hunter, woman is a mereslave. It is domestic intercourse that softens man, and elevateswoman; and of that there can be but little, where the employmentsand amusements are not in common. The ancient Caledonians honored thefair; but then it is to be observed, they were fair huntresses, and moved in the light of their beauty to the hill of roes; and theculinary toils were entirely left to the rougher sex. When the youngwarrior made his appearance, it softened the cares of his mother, whowell knew that, when he grew up, every deficiency in tenderness to hiswife would be made up in superabundant duty and affection to her. Ifit were possible to carry filial veneration to excess, it was donehere; for all other charities were absorbed in it. I wonder thissystem of depressing the sex in their early years, to exalt them, when all their juvenile attractions are flown, and when mind alonecan distinguish them, has not occurred to our modern reformers. The Mohawks took good care not to admit their women to share theirprerogatives, till they approved themselves good wives and mothers. "

The observations of women upon the position of woman are always morevaluable than those of men; but, of these two, Mrs. Grant's seemmuch, nearer the truth than Mrs. Schoolcraft's, because, though heropportunities for observation did not bring her so close, she lookedmore at both sides to find the truth. 

Carver, in his travels among the Winnebagoes, describes two queens, one nominally so, like Queen Victoria; the other invested with agenuine royalty, springing from her own conduct. 

In the great town of the Winnebagoes, he found a queen presiding overthe tribe, instead of a sachem. He adds, that, in some tribes, thedescent is given to the female line in preference to the male, thatis, a sister's son will succeed to the authority, rather than abrother's son. The position of this Winnebago queen reminded meforcibly of Queen Victoria's. 

"She sat in the council, but only asked a few questions, or gave sometrifling directions in matters relative to the state, for women arenever allowed to sit in their councils, except they happen to beinvested with the supreme authority, and then it is not customary forthem to make any formal speeches, as the chiefs do. She was a veryancient woman, small in stature, and not much distinguished byher dress from several young women that attended her. These, herattendants, seemed greatly pleased whenever I showed any tokensof respect to their queen, especially when I saluted her, which Ifrequently did to acquire her favor. "

The other was a woman, who, being taken captive, found means to killher captor, and make her escape; and the tribe were so struck withadmiration at the courage and calmness she displayed on the occasion, as to make her chieftainess in her own light. 

Notwithstanding the homage paid to women, and the consequence allowedthem in some cases, it is impossible to look upon the Indian womenwithout feeling that they _do_ occupy a lower place than women amongthe nations of European civilization. The habits of drudgery expressedin their form and gesture, the soft and wild but melancholy expressionof their eye, reminded me of the tribe mentioned by Mackenzie, wherethe women destroy their female children, whenever they have a goodopportunity; and of the eloquent reproaches addressed by the Paraguaywoman to her mother, that she had not, in the same way, saved her fromthe anguish and weariness of her lot. 

More weariness than anguish, no doubt, falls to the lot of most ofthese women. They inherit submission, and the minds of the generalityaccommodate themselves more or less to any posture. Perhaps theysuffer less than their white sisters, who have more aspiration andrefinement, with little power of self-sustenance. But their place iscertainly lower, and their share of the human inheritance less. 

Their decorum and delicacy are striking, and show that, when these arenative to the mind, no habits of life make any difference. Their wholegesture is timid, yet self-possessed. They used to crowd round me, toinspect little things I had to show them, but never press near; on thecontrary, would reprove and keep off the children. Anything they tookfrom my hand was held with care, then shut or folded, and returnedwith an air of lady-like precision. They would not stare, howevercurious they might be, but cast sidelong glances. 

A locket that I wore was an object of untiring interest; they seemedto regard it as a talisman. My little sun-shade was still morefascinating to them; apparently they had never before seen one. For anumbrella they entertained profound regard, probably looking upon it asthe most luxurious superfluity a person can possess, and therefore abadge of great wealth. I used to see an old squaw, whose sulliedskin and coarse, tanned locks told that she had braved sun and storm, without a doubt or care, for sixty years at least, sitting gravely atthe door of her lodge, with an old green umbrella over her head, happyfor hours together in the dignified shade. For her happiness pompcame not, as it so often does, too late; she received it with gratefulenjoyment. 

One day, as I was seated on one of the canoes, a woman came and satbeside me, with her baby in its cradle set up at her feet. She askedme by a gesture to let her take my sun-shade, and then to show her howto open it. Then she put it into her baby's hand, and held it overits head, looking at me the while with a sweet, mischievous laugh, asmuch, as to say, "You carry a thing that is only fit for a baby. " Herpantomime was very pretty. She, like the other women, had a glance, and shy, sweet expression in the eye; the men have a steady gaze. 

That noblest and loveliest of modern Preux, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who came through Buffalo to Detroit and Mackinaw, with Brant, and wasadopted into the Bear tribe by the name of Eghnidal, was struck inthe same way by the delicacy of manners in women. He says:"Notwithstanding the life they lead, which would make most women roughand masculine, they are as soft, meek, and modest as the best broughtup girls in England. Somewhat coquettish too! Imagine the manners ofMimi in a poor _squaw_, that has been carrying packs in the woods allher life. "

McKenney mentions that the young wife, during the short bloom of herbeauty, is an object of homage and tenderness to her husband. OneIndian woman, the Flying Pigeon, a beautiful and excellent person, ofwhom he gives some particulars, is an instance of the power uncommoncharacters will always exert of breaking down the barriers custom haserected round them. She captivated by her charms, and inspired herhusband and son with, reverence for her character. The simple praisewith which the husband indicates the religion, the judgment, and thegenerosity he saw in her, are as satisfying as Count Zinzendorf's morelabored eulogium on his "noble consort. " The conduct of her son, when, many years after her death, he saw her picture at Washington, isunspeakably affecting. Catlin gives anecdotes of the grief of achief for the loss of a daughter, and the princely gifts he offersin exchange for her portrait, worthy not merely of European, but ofTroubadour sentiment. It is also evident that, as Mrs. Schoolcraftsays, the women have great power at home. It can never be otherwise, men being dependent upon them for the comfort of their lives. Justso among ourselves, wives who are neither esteemed nor loved by theirhusbands have great power over their conduct by the friction ofevery day, and over the formation of their opinions by the dailyopportunities so close a relation affords of perverting testimonyand instilling doubts. But these sentiments should not come in briefflashes, but burn as a steady flame; then there would be more womenworthy to inspire them. This power is good for nothing, unless thewoman be wise to use it aright. Has the Indian, has the white woman, as noble a feeling of life and its uses, as religious a self-respect, as worthy a field of thought and action, as man? If not, the whitewoman, the Indian woman, occupies a position inferior to that of man. It is not so much a question of power, as of privilege. 

The men of these subjugated tribes, now accustomed to drunkenness andevery way degraded, bear but a faint impress of the lost grandeur ofthe race. They are no longer strong, tall, or finely proportioned. Yet, as you see them stealing along a height, or striding boldlyforward, they remind you of what _was_ majestic in the red man. 

On the shores of Lake Superior, it is said, if you visit them athome, you may still see a remnant of the noble blood. The Pillagers(Pilleurs), a band celebrated by the old travellers, are stillexistent there. 

 "Still some, 'the eagles of their tribe, ' may rush. "

I have spoken of the hatred felt by the white man for the Indian: withwhite women it seems to amount to disgust, to loathing. How I couldendure the dirt, the peculiar smell, of the Indians, and theirdwellings, was a great marvel in the eyes of my lady acquaintance;indeed, I wonder why they did not quite give me up, as they certainlylooked on me with great distaste for it. "Get you gone, you Indiandog, " was the felt, if not the breathed, expression towards thehapless owners of the soil;--all their claims, all their sorrows quiteforgot, in abhorrence of their dirt, their tawny skins, and the vicesthe whites have taught them. 

A person who had seen them during great part of a life expressed hisprejudices to me with such violence, that I was no longer surprisedthat the Indian children threw sticks at him, as he passed. A ladysaid: "Do what you will for them, they will be ungrateful. The savagecannot be washed out of them. Bring up an Indian child, and see if youcan attach it to you. " The next moment, she expressed, in the presenceof one of those children whom she was bringing up, loathing at theodor left by one of her people, and one of the most respected, ashe passed through the room. When the child is grown, she will beconsidered basely ungrateful not to love the lady, as she certainlywill not; and this will be cited as an instance of the impossibilityof attaching the Indian. 

Whether the Indian could, by any efforts of love and intelligencefrom, the white man, have been civilized and made a valuableingredient in the new state, I will not say; but this we are sureof, --the French Catholics, at least, did not harm them, nor disturbtheir minds merely to corrupt them. The French, they loved. But thestern Presbyterian, with his dogmas and his task-work, the city circleand the college, with their niggard concessions and unfeeling stare, have never tried the experiment. It has not been tried. Our people andour government have sinned alike against the first-born of thesoil, and if they are the fated agents of a new era, they have donenothing, --have invoked no god to keep them sinless while they do thehest of fate. 

Worst of all is it, when they invoke the holy power only to mask theiriniquity; when the felon trader, who, all the week, has been besottingand degrading the Indian with rum mixed with red pepper, and damagedtobacco, kneels with him on Sunday before a common altar, to tellthe rosary which recalls the thought of Him crucified for love ofsuffering men, and to listen to sermons in praise of "purity"!!

"My savage friends, " cries the old, fat priest, "you must, above allthings, aim at _purity_. "

Oh! my heart swelled when I saw them in a Christian church. Bettertheir own dog-feasts and bloody rites than such mockery of that otherfaith. 

"The dog, " said an Indian, "was once a spirit; he has fallen for hissin, and was given by the Great Spirit, in this shape, to man, as hismost intelligent companion. Therefore we sacrifice it in highest honorto our friends in this world, --to our protecting geniuses in another. "

There was religion in that thought. The white man sacrifices his ownbrother, and to Mammon, yet he turns in loathing from, the dog-feast. 

"You say, " said the Indian of the South to the missionary, "thatChristianity is pleasing to God. How can that be?--Those men atSavannah are Christians. "

Yes! slave-drivers and Indian traders are called Christians, and theIndian is to be deemed less like the Son of Mary than they! Wonderfulis the deceit of man's heart!

I have not, on seeing something of them in their own haunts, foundreason to change the sentiments expressed in the following lines, whena deputation of the Sacs and Foxes visited Boston in 1837, and were, by one person at least, received in a dignified and courteous manner. 

GOVERNOR EVERETT RECEIVING THE INDIAN CHIEFS, NOVEMBER, 1837. 

 Who says that Poesy is on the wane, And that the Muses tune their lyres in vain? 'Mid all the treasures of romantic story, When thought was fresh and fancy in her glory, Has ever Art found out a richer theme, More dark a shadow, or more soft a gleam, Than fall upon the scene, sketched carelessly, In the newspaper column of to-day?

 American romance is somewhat stale. Talk of the hatchet, and the faces pale, Wampum and calumets and forests dreary, Once so attractive, now begins to weary. Uncas and Magawisca please us still, Unreal, yet idealized with skill; But every poetaster, scribbling witling, From the majestic oak his stylus whittling, Has helped to tire us, and to make us fear The monotone in which so much we hear Of "stoics of the wood, " and "men without a tear. "

 Yet Nature, ever buoyant, ever young, If let alone, will sing as erst she sung; The course of circumstance gives back again The Picturesque, erewhile pursued in vain; Shows us the fount of Romance is not wasted, -- The lights and shades of contrast not exhausted. 

 Shorn of his strength, the Samson now must sue For fragments from the feast his fathers gave; The Indian dare not claim what is his due, But as a boon his heritage must crave; His stately form shall soon be seen no more Through all his father's land, the Atlantic shore; Beneath the sun, to _us_ so kind, _they_ melt, More heavily each day our rule is felt. The tale is old, --we do as mortals must: Might makes right here, but God and Time are just. 

 Though, near the drama hastens to its close, On this last scene awhile your eyes repose; The polished Greek and Scythian meet again, The ancient life is lived by modern men; The savage through our busy cities walks, He in his untouched, grandeur silent stalks. Unmoved by all our gayeties and shows, Wonder nor shame can touch him as he goes; He gazes on the marvels we have wrought, But knows the models from whence all was brought; In God's first temples he has stood so oft, And listened to the natural organ-loft, Has watched the eagle's flight, the muttering thunder heard. Art cannot move him to a wondering word. Perhaps he sees that all this luxury Brings less food to the mind than to the eye; Perhaps a simple sentiment has brought More to him than your arts had ever taught. What are the petty triumphs _Art_ has given, To eyes familiar with the naked heaven?

 All has been seen, --dock, railroad, and canal, Fort, market, bridge, college, and arsenal, Asylum, hospital, and cotton-mill, The theatre, the lighthouse, and the jail. The Braves each novelty, reflecting, saw, And now and then growled out the earnest "_Yaw_. " And now the time is come, 'tis understood, When, having seen and thought so much, a _talk_ may do some good. 

 A well-dressed mob have thronged the sight to greet, And motley figures throng the spacious street; Majestical and calm through all they stride, Wearing the blanket with a monarch's pride; The gazers stare and shrug, but can't deny Their noble forms and blameless symmetry. If the Great Spirit their _morale_ has slighted, And wigwam smoke their mental culture blighted, Yet the _physique_, at least, perfection reaches, In wilds where neither Combe nor Spurzheim teaches; Where whispering trees invite man to the chase, And bounding deer allure him to the race. 

 Would thou hadst seen it! That dark, stately band, Whose ancestors enjoyed all this fair land, Whence they, by force or fraud, were made to flee, Are brought, the white man's victory to see. Can kind emotions in their proud hearts glow, As through these realms, now decked by Art, they go? The church, the school, the railroad, and the mart, -- Can these a pleasure to their minds impart? All once was theirs, --earth, ocean, forest, sky, -- How can they joy in what now meets the eye? Not yet Religion has unlocked the soul, Nor Each has learned to glory in the Whole!

 Must they not think, so strange and sad their lot, That they by the Great Spirit are forgot? From the far border to which they are driven, They might look up in trust to the clear heaven; But _here_, --what tales doth every object tell Where Massasoit sleeps, where Philip fell!

 We take our turn, and the Philosopher Sees through the clouds a hand which cannot err An unimproving race, with all their graces And all their vices, must resign their places; And Human Culture rolls its onward flood Over the broad plains steeped in Indian blood Such thoughts steady our faith; yet there will rise Some natural tears into the calmest eyes, -- Which gaze where forest princes haughty go, Made for a gaping crowd a raree-show. 

 But _this_ a scene seems where, in courtesy, The pale face with the forest prince could vie, For one presided, who, for tact and grace, In any age had held an honored place, -- In Beauty's own dear day had shone a polished Phidian vase!

 Oft have I listened to his accents bland, And owned the magic of his silvery voice, In all the graces which life's arts demand, Delighted by the justness of his choice. Not his the stream of lavish, fervid thought, -- The rhetoric by passion's magic wrought; Not his the massive style, the lion port, Which with the granite class of mind assort; But, in a range of excellence his own, With all the charms to soft persuasion known, Amid our busy people we admire him, --"elegant and lone. "

 He scarce needs words: so exquisite the skill Which modulates the tones to do his will, That the mere sound enough would charm the ear, And lap in its Elysium all who hear. The intellectual paleness of his cheek, The heavy eyelids and slow, tranquil smile, The well-cut lips from which the graces speak, Pit him alike to win or to beguile; Then those words so well chosen, fit, though few, Their linked sweetness as our thoughts pursue, We deem them spoken pearls, or radiant diamond dew. 

 And never yet did I admire the power Which makes so lustrous every threadbare theme, -- Which won for La Fayette one other hour, And e'en on July Fourth could cast a gleam, -- As now, when I behold him play the host, With all the dignity which red men boast, -- With all the courtesy the whites have lost; Assume the very hue of savage mind, Yet in rude accents show the thought refined; Assume the _naļveté_ of infant age, And in such prattle seem still more a sage; The golden mean with tact unerring seized, A courtly critic shone, a simple savage pleased. The stoic of the woods his skill confessed, As all the father answered in his breast; To the sure mark the silver arrow sped, The "man without a tear" a tear has shed; And them hadst wept, hadst thou been there, to see How true one sentiment must ever be, In court or camp, the city or the wild, -- To rouse the father's heart, you need but name his child. 

The speech of Governor Everett on that occasion was admirable; as Ithink, the happiest attempt ever made to meet the Indian in his ownway, and catch the tone of his mind. It was said, in the newspapers, that Keokuck did actually shed tears when addressed as a father. If hedid not with his eyes, he well might in his heart. 

Not often have they been addressed with such intelligence and tact. The few who have not approached them with sordid rapacity, but fromlove to them, as men having souls to be redeemed, have most frequentlybeen persons intellectually too narrow, too straitly bound in sectsor opinions, to throw themselves into the character or position ofthe Indians, or impart to them anything they can make available. TheChrist shown them by these missionaries is to them but a new and morepowerful Manito; the signs of the new religion, but the fetiches thathave aided the conquerors. 

Here I will copy some remarks made by a discerning observer, on themethods used by the missionaries, and their natural results. 

"Mr. ---- and myself had a very interesting conversation, upon thesubject of the Indians, their character, capabilities, &c. After tenyears' experience among them, he was forced to acknowledge that theresults of the missionary efforts had produced nothing calculated toencourage. He thought that there was an intrinsic disability in themto rise above, or go beyond, the sphere in which they had so longmoved. He said, that even those Indians who had been converted, andwho had adopted the habits of civilization, were very little improvedin their real character; they were as selfish, as deceitful, andas indolent, as those who were still heathens. They had repaid thekindnesses of the missionaries with the basest ingratitude, killingtheir cattle and swine, and robbing them of their harvests, which, they wantonly destroyed. He had abandoned the idea of effecting anygeneral good to the Indians. He had conscientious scruples as topromoting an enterprise so hopeless as that of missions amongthe Indians, by sending accounts to the East that might inducephilanthropic individuals to contribute to their support. In fact, thewhole experience of his intercourse with them seemed to have convincedhim of the irremediable degradation of the race. Their fortitudeunder suffering he considered the result of physical and mentalinsensibility; their courage, a mere animal excitement, which theyfound it necessary to inflame, before daring to meet a foe. They haveno constancy of purpose; and are, in fact, but little superior to thebrutes in point of moral development. It is not astonishing, that onelooking upon the Indian character from Mr. ----'s point of view shouldentertain such sentiments. The object of his intercourse with themwas, to make them apprehend the mysteries of a theology, which, to themost enlightened, is an abstruse, metaphysical study; and it is notsingular they should prefer their pagan superstitions, which addressthemselves more directly to the senses. Failing in the attempt toChristianize before civilizing them, he inferred that in the intrinsicdegradation of their faculties the obstacle was to be found. "

Thus the missionary vainly attempts, by once or twice holding up thecross, to turn deer and tigers into lambs; vainly attempts to convincethe red man that a heavenly mandate takes from him his broad lands. Hebows his head, but does not at heart acquiesce. He cannot. It is nottrue; and if it were, the descent of blood through the same channels, for centuries, has formed habits of thought not so easily to bedisturbed. 

Amalgamation would afford the only true and profound means ofcivilization. But nature seems, like all else, to declare that thisrace is fated to perish. Those of mixed blood fade early, and are notgenerally a fine race. They lose what is best in either type, rather than enhance the value of each, by mingling. There areexceptions, --one or two such I know of, --but this, it is said, is thegeneral rule. 

A traveller observes, that the white settlers who live in the woodssoon become sallow, lanky, and dejected; the atmosphere of the treesdoes not agree with Caucasian lungs; and it is, perhaps, in part aninstinct of this which causes the hatred of the new settlers towardstrees. The Indian breathed the atmosphere of the forests freely; heloved their shade. As they are effaced from the land, he fleets too; apart of the same manifestation, which cannot linger behind its properera. 

The Chippewas have lately petitioned the State of Michigan, that theymay be admitted as citizens; but this would be vain, unless they couldbe admitted, as brothers, to the heart of the white man. And whilethe latter feels that conviction of superiority which enabled ourWisconsin friend to throw away the gun, and send the Indian tofetch it, he needs to be very good, and very wise, not to abuse hisposition. But the white man, as yet, is a half-tamed pirate, andavails himself as much as ever of the maxim, "Might makes right. " Allthat civilization does for the generality is to cover up this with aveil of subtle evasions and chicane, and here and there to rouse theindividual mind to appeal to Heaven against it. 

I have no hope of liberalizing the missionary, of humanizing thesharks of trade, of infusing the conscientious drop into the flintybosom of policy, of saving the Indian from immediate degradation andspeedy death. The whole sermon may be preached from the text, "Needsbe that offences must come, yet woe onto them by whom they come. "Yet, ere they depart, I wish there might be some masterly attempt toreproduce, in art or literature, what is proper to them, --a kind ofbeauty and grandeur which few of the every-day crowd have hearts tofeel, yet which ought to leave in the world its monuments, to inspirethe thought of genius through all ages. Nothing in this kind has beendone masterly; since it was Clevengers's ambition, 't is pity he hadnot opportunity to try fully his powers. We hope some other mind maybe bent upon it, ere too late. At present the only lively impressof their passage through the world is to be found in such books asCatlin's, and some stories told by the old travellers. 

Let me here give another brief tale of the power exerted by thewhite man over the savage in a trying case; but in this case it wasrighteous, was moral power. 

"We were looking over McKenney's Tour to the Lakes, and, on observingthe picture of Key-way-no-wut, or the Going Cloud, Mr. B. Observed, 'Ah, that is the fellow I came near having a fight with'; and hedetailed at length the circumstances. This Indian was a very desperatecharacter, and of whom, all the Leech Lake band stood in fear. Hewould shoot down any Indian who offended him, without the leasthesitation, and had become quite the bully of that part of the tribe. The trader at Leech Lake warned Mr. B. To beware of him, and said thathe once, when he (the trader) refused to give up to him his stock ofwild-rice, went and got his gun and tomahawk, and shook the tomahawkover his head, saying, '_Now_, give me your wild-rice. ' The tradercomplied with his exaction, but not so did Mr. B. In the adventurewhich I am about to relate. Key-way-no-wut came frequently to him withfurs, wishing him to give for them, cotton-cloth, sugar, flour, &c. Mr. B. Explained to him that he could not trade for furs, as he wassent there as a teacher, and that it would be like putting his handinto the fire to do so, as the traders would inform against him, andhe would be sent out of the country. At the same time, he _gave_him the articles which he wished. Key-way-no-wut found this a veryconvenient way of getting what he wanted, and followed up this sortof game, until, at last, it became insupportable. One day the Indianbrought a very large otter-skin, and said, 'I want to get for thisten pounds of sugar, and some flour and cloth, ' adding, 'I am not likeother Indians, _I_ want to pay for what I get. ' Mr. B. Found that hemust either be robbed of all he had by submitting to these exactions, or take a stand at once. He thought, however, he would try to avoid ascrape, and told his customer he had not so much sugar to spare. 'Giveme, then, ' said he, 'what you can spare'; and Mr. B. , thinking to makehim back out, told him he would, give him five pounds of sugar for hisskin. 'Take it, ' said the Indian. He left the skin, telling Mr. B. Totake good care of it. Mr. B. Took it at once to the trader's store, and related the circumstance, congratulating himself that he had gotrid of the Indian's exactions. But in about a month Key-way-no-wutappeared, bringing some dirty Indian sugar, and said, 'I have broughtback the sugar that I borrowed of you, and I want my otter-skin back. 'Mr. B. Told him, 'I _bought_ an otter-skin of you, but if you willreturn the other articles you have got for it, perhaps I can get itfor you. ' 'Where is the skin?' said he very quickly; 'what have youdone with it?' Mr. B. Replied it was in the trader's store, where he(the Indian) could not get it. At this information he was furious, laid his hands on his knife and tomahawk, and commanded Mr. B. Tobring it at once. Mr. B. Found this was the crisis, where he must takea stand or be 'rode over rough-shod' by this man. His wife, who waspresent was much alarmed, and begged he would get the skin for theIndian, but he told her that 'either he or the Indian would soon bemaster of his house, and if she was afraid to see it decided whichwas to be so, she had better retire, ' He turned to Key-way-no-wut, andaddressed him in a stern voice as follows: 'I will _not_ give you theskin. How often have you come to my house, and I have shared with youwhat I had. I gave you tobacco when you were well, and medicine whenyou were sick, and you never went away from my wigwam with your handsempty. And this is the way you return my treatment to you. I hadthought you were a man and a chief, but you are not, you are nothingbut an old woman. Leave this house, and never enter it again. ' Mr. B. Said he expected the Indian would attempt his life when he said this, but that he had placed himself in a position so that he could defendhimself, and looked straight into the Indian's eye, and, like otherwild beasts, he quailed before the glance of mental and moral courage. He calmed down at once, and soon began to make apologies. Mr. B. Thentold him kindly, but firmly, that, if he wished to walk in the samepath with him, he must walk as straight as the crack on the floorbefore them; adding, that he would not walk with anybody who wouldjostle him by walking so crooked as he had done. He was perfectlytamed, and Mr. B. Said he never had any more trouble with him. "

The conviction here livingly enforced of the superiority on the sideof the white man, was thus expressed by the Indian orator at Mackinawwhile we were there. After the customary compliments about sun, dew, &c. , "This, " said he, "is the difference between the white and thered man; the white man looks to the future and paves the way forposterity. The red man never thought of this. " This is a statementuncommonly refined for an Indian; but one of the gentlemen present, who understood the Chippewa, vouched for it as a literal rendering ofhis phrases; and he did indeed touch the vital point of difference. But the Indian, if he understands, cannot make use of hisintelligence. The fate of his people is against it, and Pontiac andPhilip have no more chance than Julian in the times of old. 

The Indian is steady to that simple creed which forms the basis of allhis mythology; that there is a God and a life beyond this; a right andwrong which each man can see, betwixt which each man should choose;that good brings with it its reward, and vice its punishment. Hismoral code, if not as refined as that of civilized nations, isclear and noble in the stress laid upon truth and fidelity. And allunprejudiced observers bear testimony, that the Indians, until brokenfrom their old anchorage by intercourse with the whites, --who offerthem, instead, a religion of which they furnish neither interpretationnor example, --were singularly virtuous, if virtue be allowed toconsist in a man's acting up to his own ideas of right. 

My friend, who joined me at Mackinaw, happened, on the homewardjourney, to see a little Chinese girl, who had been sent over by oneof the missionaries, and observed that, in features, complexion, andgesture, she was a counterpart to the little Indian girls she had justseen playing about on the lake shore. 

The parentage of these tribes is still an interesting subject ofspeculation, though, if they be not created for this region, they havebecome so assimilated to it as to retain little trace of any other. Tome it seems most probable, that a peculiar race was bestowed on eachregion, [A] as the lion on one latitude and the white bear on another. As man has two natures, --one, like that of the plants and animals, adapted to the uses and enjoyments of this planet, another whichpresages and demands a higher sphere, --he is constantly breakingbounds, in proportion as the mental gets the better of the mereinstinctive existence. As yet, he loses in harmony of being what hegains in height and extension; the civilized man is a larger mind, buta more imperfect nature, than the savage. 

[Footnote A: Professor Agassiz has recently published some ablescientific papers tending to enforce this theory. --ED. ]

We hope there will be a national institute, containing all the remainsof the Indians, all that has been preserved by official intercourse atWashington, Catlin's collection, and a picture-gallery as completeas can be made, with a collection of skulls from all parts of thecountry. To this should be joined the scanty library that exists onthe subject. 

A little pamphlet, giving an account of the massacre at Chicago, haslately; been published, which I wish much I had seen while there, asit would have imparted an interest to spots otherwise barren. It iswritten with animation, and in an excellent style, telling just whatwe want to hear, and no more. The traits given of Indian generosityare as characteristic as those of Indian cruelty. A lady, who wassaved by a friendly chief holding her under the waters of the lake, atthe moment the balls endangered her, received also, in the heat of theconflict, a reviving draught from a squaw, who saw she was exhausted;and as she lay down, a mat was hung up between her and the scene ofbutchery, so that she was protected from the sight, though she couldnot be from sounds full of horror. 

I have not wished to write sentimentally about the Indians, howevermoved by the thought of their wrongs and speedy extinction. I knowthat the Europeans who took possession of this country felt themselvesjustified by their superior civilization and religious ideas. Had theybeen truly civilized or Christianized, the conflicts which sprangfrom the collision of the two races might have been avoided; but thiscannot be expected in movements made by masses of men. The mass hasnever yet been humanized, though the age may develop a human thought. Since those conflicts and differences did arise, the hatred whichsprang from terror and suffering, on the European side, has naturallywarped the whites still further from justice. 

The Indian, brandishing the scalps of his wife and friends, drinkingtheir blood, and eating their hearts, is by him viewed as a fiend, though, at a distant day, he will no doubt be considered as havingacted the Roman or Carthaginian part of heroic and patrioticself-defence, according to the standard of right and motivesprescribed by his religious faith and education. Looked at by hisown standard, he is virtuous when he most injures his enemy, and thewhite, if he be really the superior in enlargement of thought, oughtto cast aside his inherited prejudices enough to see this, to look onhim in pity and brotherly good-will, and do all he can to mitigate thedoom of those who survive his past injuries. 

In McKenney's book is proposed a project for organizing the Indiansunder a patriarchal government; but it does not look feasible, evenon paper. Could their own intelligent men be left to act unimpededin their behalf, they would do far better for them than the whitethinker, with all his general knowledge. But we dare not hopethe designs of such will not always be frustrated by barbarousselfishness, as they were in Georgia. _There_ was a chance of seeingwhat might have been done, now lost for ever. 

Yet let every man look to himself how far this blood shall be requiredat his hands. Let the missionary, instead of preaching to the Indian, preach to the trader who ruins him, of the dreadful account which willbe demanded of the followers of Cain, in a sphere where the accentsof purity and love come on the ear more decisively than in ours. Letevery legislator take the subject to heart, and, if he cannot undo theeffects of past sin, try for that clear view and right sense that maysave us from sinning still more deeply. And let every man and everywoman, in their private dealings with the subjugated race, avoid allshare in embittering, by insult or unfeeling prejudice, the captivityof Israel. 

CHAPTER VII. 

SAULT ST. MARIE. --ST. JOSEPH'S ISLAND. --THE LAND OFMUSIC. --RAPIDS. --HOMEWARD. --GENERAL HULL. --THE BOOK TO THE READER. 

Nine days I passed alone at Mackinaw, except for occasional visitsfrom kind and agreeable residents at the fort, and Mr. And Mrs. A. Mr. A. , long engaged in the fur-trade, is gratefully remembered by manytravellers. From Mrs. A. , also, I received kind attentions, paid inthe vivacious and graceful manner of her nation. 

The society at the boarding-house entertained, being of a kindentirely new to me. There were many traders from the remote stations, such as La Pointe, Arbre Croche, --men who had become half wild andwholly rude by living in the wild; but good-humored, observing, andwith a store of knowledge to impart, of the kind proper to theirplace. 

There were two little girls here, that were pleasant companions forme. One gay, frank, impetuous, but sweet and winning. She was anAmerican, fair, and with bright brown hair. The other, a little FrenchCanadian, used to join me in my walks, silently take my hand, andsit at my feet when I stopped in beautiful places. She seemed tounderstand without a word; and I never shall forget her little figure, with its light, but pensive motion, and her delicate, grave features, with the pale, clear complexion and soft eye. She was motherless, andmuch left alone by her father and brothers, who were boatmen. The twolittle girls were as pretty representatives of Allegro and Penserosoas one would wish to see. 

I had been wishing that a boat would come in to take me to the SaultSt. Marie, and several times started to the window at night in hopesthat the pant and dusky-red light crossing the waters belonged to suchan one; but they were always boats for Chicago or Buffalo, till, onthe 28th of August, Allegro, who shared my plans and wishes, rushedin to tell me that the General Scott had come; and in this littlesteamer, accordingly, I set off the next morning. 

I was the only lady, and attended in the cabin by a Dutch girl andan Indian woman. They both spoke English fluently, and entertained memuch by accounts of their different experiences. 

The Dutch girl told me of a dance among the common people atAmsterdam, called the shepherd's dance. The two leaders are dressedas shepherd and shepherdess; they invent to the music all kinds ofmovements, descriptive of things that may happen in the field, and therest are obliged to follow. I have never heard of any dance which gavesuch free play to the fancy as this. French dances merely describethe polite movements of society; Spanish and Neapolitan, love; thebeautiful Mazurkas, &c. Are war-like or expressive of wild scenery. But in this one is great room both for fun and fancy. 

The Indian was married, when young, by her parents, to a man she didnot love. He became dissipated, and did not maintain her. She lefthim, taking with her their child, for whom and herself she earns asubsistence by going as chambermaid in these boats. Now and then, shesaid, her husband called on her, and asked if he might live with heragain; but she always answered, No. Here she was far freer than shewould have been in civilized life. I was pleased by the nonchalance ofthis woman, and the perfectly national manner she had preserved afterso many years of contact with all kinds of people. 

The two women, when I left the boat, made me presents of Indian work, such as travellers value, and the manner of the two was characteristicof their different nations. The Indian brought me hers, when I wasalone, looked bashfully down when she gave it, and made an almostsentimental little speech. The Dutch girl brought hers in public, and, bridling her short chin with a self-complacent air, observed she had_bought_ it for me. But the feeling of affectionate regard was thesame in the minds of both. 

Island after island we passed, all fairly shaped and clustering in afriendly way, but with little variety of vegetation. In the afternoonthe weather became foggy, and we could not proceed after dark. Thatwas as dull an evening as ever fell. 

The next morning the fog still lay heavy, but the captain took me outin his boat on an exploring expedition, and we found the remains ofthe old English fort on Point St. Joseph's. All around was so whollyunmarked by anything but stress of wind and weather, the shores ofthese islands and their woods so like one another, wild and lonely, but nowhere rich and majestic, that there was some charm, in theremains of the garden, the remains even of chimneys and a pier. Theygave feature to the scene. 

Here I gathered many flowers, but they were the same as at Mackinaw. 

The captain, though he had been on this trip hundreds of times, hadnever seen this spot, and never would but for this fog, and his desireto entertain me. He presented a striking instance how men, for thesake of getting a living, forget to live. It is just the same in themost romantic as the most dull and vulgar places. Men get the harnesson so fast, that they can never shake it off, unless they guardagainst this danger from the very first. In Chicago, how many men livewho never find time to see the prairies, or learn anything unconnectedwith the business of the day, or about the country they are living in!

So this captain, a man of strong sense and good eyesight, rarely foundtime to go off the track or look about him on it. He lamented, too, that there had been no call which, induced him to develop his powersof expression, so that he might communicate what he had seen for theenjoyment or instruction of others. 

This is a common fault among the active men, the truly living, whocould tell what life is. It should not be so. Literature should not beleft to the mere literati, --eloquence to the mere orator; every Cęsarshould be able to write his own commentary. We want a more equal, morethorough, more harmonious development, and there is nothing to hinderthe men of this country from it, except their own supineness, orsordid views. 

When the weather did clear, our course up the river was delightful. Long stretched before us the island of St. Joseph's, with its fairwoods of sugar-maple. A gentleman on board, who belongs to the Fortat the Sault, said their pastime was to come in the season of makingsugar, and pass some time on this island, --the days at work, and theevening in dancing and other amusements. Work of this kind done in theopen air, where everything is temporary, and every utensil preparedon the spot, gives life a truly festive air. At such times, there islabor and no care, --energy with gayety, gayety of the heart. 

I think with the same pleasure of the Italian vintage, the Scotchharvest-home, with its evening dance in the barn, the Russiancabbage-feast even, and our huskings and hop-gatherings. Thehop-gatherings, where the groups of men and girls are pulling down andfilling baskets with the gay festoons, present as graceful pictures asthe Italian vintage. 

How pleasant is the course along a new river, the sight of new shores!like a life, would but life flow as fast, and upbear us with as full astream. I hoped we should come in sight of the rapids by daylight; butthe beautiful sunset was quite gone, and only a young moon tremblingover the scene, when we came within hearing of them. 

I sat up long to hear them merely. It was a thoughtful hour. Thesetwo days, the 29th and 30th of August, are memorable in my life;the latter is the birthday of a near friend. I pass them alone, approaching Lake Superior; but I shall not enter into that trulywild and free region; shall not have the canoe voyage, whose dailyadventure, with the camping out at night beneath the stars, would havegiven an interlude of such value to my existence. I shall not see thePictured Rocks, their chapels and urns. It did not depend on me; itnever has, whether such things shall be done or not. 

My friends! may they see, and do, and be more; especially those whohave before them a greater number of birthdays, and a more healthy andunfettered existence!

I should like to hear some notes of earthly music to-night. By thefaint moonshine I can hardly see the banks; how they look I have noguess, except that there are trees, and, now and then, a light lets meknow there are homes, with their various interests. I should like tohear some strains of the flute from beneath those trees, just to breakthe sound of the rapids. 

 THE LAND OF MUSIC. 

 When no gentle eyebeam charms; No fond hope the bosom warms; Of thinking the lone mind is tired, -- Naught seems bright to be desired. 

 Music, be thy sails unfurled; Bear me to thy better world; O'er a cold and weltering sea, Blow thy breezes warm and free. 

 By sad sighs they ne'er were chilled, By sceptic spell were never stilled. Take me to that far-off shore, Where lovers meet to part no more. There doubt and fear and sin are o'er; The star of love shall set no more. 

With the first light of dawn I was up and out, and then was glad I hadnot seen all the night before, it came upon me with such power in itsdewy freshness. O, they are beautiful indeed, these rapids! The graceis so much more obvious than the power. I went up through the oldChippewa burying-ground to their head, and sat down on a large stoneto look. A little way off was one of the home-lodges, unlike in shapeto the temporary ones at Mackinaw, but these have been described byMrs. Jameson. Women, too, I saw coming home from the woods, stoopingunder great loads of cedar-boughs, that were strapped upon theirbacks. But in many European countries women carry great loads, even ofwood, upon their backs. I used to hear the girls singing and laughingas they were cutting down boughs at Mackinaw; this part of theiremployment, though laborious, gives them the pleasure of being a greatdeal in the free woods. 

I had ordered a canoe to take me down the rapids, and presently I sawit coming, with the two Indian canoe-men in pink calico shirts, movingit about with their long poles, with a grace and dexterity worthyfairy-land. Now and then they cast the scoop-net;--all looked just asI had fancied, only far prettier. 

When they came to me, they spread a mat in the middle of the canoe; Isat down, and in less than four minutes we had descended the rapids, a distance of more than three quarters of a mile. I was somewhatdisappointed in this being no more of an exploit than I found it. Having heard such expressions used as of "darting, " or "shootingdown, " these rapids, I had fancied there was a wall of rock somewhere, where descent would somehow be accomplished, and that there would comesome one gasp of terror and delight, some sensation entirely new tome; but I found myself in smooth water, before I had time to feelanything but the buoyant pleasure of being carried so lightly throughthis surf amid the breakers. Now and then the Indians spoke toone another in a vehement jabber, which, however, had no tone thatexpressed other than pleasant excitement. It is, no doubt, an act ofwonderful dexterity to steer amid these jagged rocks, when onerude touch would tear a hole in the birch canoe; but these men areevidently so used to doing it, and so adroit, that the silliest personcould not feel afraid. I should like to have come down twenty times, that I might have had leisure to realize the pleasure. But the fogwhich had detained us on the way shortened the boat's stay at theSault, and I wanted my time to walk about. 

While coming down the rapids, the Indians caught a white-fish for mybreakfast; and certainly it was the best of breakfasts. Thewhite-fish I found quite another thing caught on the spot, and cookedimmediately, from what I had found it at Chicago or Mackinaw. Before, I had had the bad taste to prefer the trout, despite the solemn andeloquent remonstrances of the _habitués_, to whom the superiority ofwhite-fish seemed a cardinal point of faith. 

I am here reminded that I have omitted that indispensable part of atravelling journal, the account of what we found to eat. I cannot hopeto make up, by one bold stroke, all my omissions of daily record;but that I may show myself not destitute of the common feelings ofhumanity, I will observe that he whose affections turn in summertowards vegetables should not come to this region, till the subjectof diet be better understood; that of fruit, too, there is little yet, even at the best hotel tables; that the prairie chickens requireno praise from me, and that the trout and white-fish are worthy thetransparency of the lake waters. 

In this brief mention I by no means intend to give myself an air ofsuperiority to the subject. If a dinner in the Illinois woods, on drybread and drier meat, with water from the stream that flowed hard by, pleased me best of all, yet, at one time, when living at a house wherenothing was prepared for the table fit to touch, and even the breadcould not be partaken of without a headache in consequence, I learntto understand and sympathize with the anxious tone in which fathersof families, about to take their innocent children into some scene ofwild beauty, ask first of all, "Is there a good, table?" I shall askjust so in future. Only those whom the Powers have furnished withsmall travelling cases of ambrosia can take exercise all day, and behappy without even bread morning or night. 

Our voyage back was all pleasure. It was the fairest day. I saw theriver, the islands, the clouds, to the greatest advantage. 

On board was an old man, an Illinois farmer, whom I found a mostagreeable companion. He had just been with his son, and eleven otheryoung men, on an exploring expedition to the shores of Lake Superior. He was the only old man of the party, but he had enjoyed most of anythe journey. He had been the counsellor and playmate, too, of theyoung ones. He was one of those parents--why so rare?--who understandand live a new life in that of their children, instead of wasting timeand young happiness in trying to make them conform to an object andstandard of their own. The character and history of each child maybe a new and poetic experience to the parent, if he will let it. Our farmer was domestic, judicious, solid; the son, inventive, enterprising, superficial, full of follies, full of resources, alwaysliable to failure, sure to rise above it. The father conformed to, andlearnt from, a character he could not change, and won the sweet fromthe bitter. 

His account of his life at home, and of his late adventures among theIndians, was very amusing, but I want talent to write it down, and Ihave not heard the slang of these people intimately enough. There is agood book about Indiana, called the New Purchase, written by a personwho knows the people of the country well enough to describe them intheir own way. It is not witty, but penetrating, valuable for itspractical wisdom and good-humored fun. 

There were many sportsman-stories told, too, by those from Illinoisand Wisconsin. I do not retain any of these well enough, nor any thatI heard earlier, to write them down, though they always interested mefrom bringing wild natural scenes before the mind. It is pleasantfor the sportsman to be in countries so alive with game; yet it is soplenty that one would think shooting pigeons or grouse would seemmore like slaughter, than the excitement of skill to a good sportsman. Hunting the deer is full of adventure, and needs only a Scrope todescribe it to invest the Western woods with _historic_ associations. 

How pleasant it was to sit and hear rough men tell pieces out of theirown common lives, in place of the frippery talk of some fine circlewith its conventional sentiment, and timid, second-hand criticism. Free blew the wind, and boldly flowed the stream, named for Marymother mild. 

A fine thunder-shower came on in the afternoon. It cleared at sunset, just as we came in sight of beautiful Mackinaw, over which, a rainbowbent in promise of peace. 

I have always wondered, in reading travels, at the childish joytravellers felt at meeting people they knew, and their sense ofloneliness when they did not, in places where there was everything newto occupy the attention. So childish, I thought, always to be longingfor the new in the old, and the old in the new. Yet just such sadnessI felt, when I looked on the island glittering in the sunset, canopiedby the rainbow, and thought no friend would welcome me there; justsuch childish joy I felt to see unexpectedly on the landing the faceof one whom I called friend. 

The remaining two or three days were delightfully spent, in walking orboating, or sitting at the window to see the Indians go. This was notquite so pleasant as their coming in, though accomplished withthe same rapidity; a family not taking half an hour to prepare fordeparture, and the departing canoe a beautiful object. But they leftbehind, on all the shore, the blemishes of their stay, --old rags, dried boughs, fragments of food, the marks of their fires. Naturelikes to cover up and gloss over spots and scars, but it would takeher some time to restore that beach to the state it was in before theycame. 

S. And I had a mind for a canoe excursion, and we asked one of thetraders to engage us two good Indians, that would not only take usout, but be sure and bring us back, as we could not hold conversewith them. Two others offered their aid, beside the chief's son, a fine-looking youth of about sixteen, richly dressed in bluebroadcloth, scarlet sash and leggins, with a scarf of brighter redthan the rest, tied around his head, its ends falling gracefullyon one shoulder. They thought it, apparently, fine amusement tobe attending two white women; they carried us into the path ofthe steamboat, which was going out, and paddled with all theirforce, --rather too fast, indeed, for there was something of a swell onthe lake, and they sometimes threw water into the canoe. However, itflew over the waves, light as a seagull. They would say, "Pull away, "and "Ver' warm, " and, after these words, would laugh gayly. Theyenjoyed the hour, I believe, as much as we. 

The house where we lived belonged to the widow of a French trader, anIndian by birth, and wearing the dress of her country She spokeFrench fluently, and was very ladylike in her manners. She is a greatcharacter among them. They were all the time coming to pay her homage, or to get her aid and advice; for she is, I am told, a shrewd woman ofbusiness. My companion carried about her sketch-book with her, andthe Indians were interested when they saw her using her pencil, thoughless so than about the sun-shade. This lady of the tribe wanted toborrow the sketches of the beach, with its lodges and wild groups, "toshow to the _savages_" she said. 

Of the practical ability of the Indian women, a good specimen is givenby McKenney, in an amusing story of one who went to Washington, andacted her part there in the "first circles, " with a tact and sustaineddissimulation worthy of Cagliostro. She seemed to have a thoroughlove of intrigue for its own sake, and much dramatic talent. Like thechiefs of her nation, when on an expedition among the foe, whether forrevenge or profit, no impulses of vanity or way-side seductionshad power to turn her aside from carrying out her plan as she hadoriginally projected it. 

Although I have little to tell, I feel that I have learnt a great dealof the Indians, from observing them even in this broken and degradedcondition. There is a language of eye and motion which cannot be putinto words, and which teaches what words never can. I feel acquaintedwith the soul of this race; I read its nobler thought in their defacedfigures. There _was_ a greatness, unique and precious, which he whodoes not feel will never duly appreciate the majesty of nature in thisAmerican continent. 

I have mentioned that the Indian orator, who addressed the agents onthis occasion, said, the difference between the white man and the redman is this: "The white man no sooner came here, than he thought ofpreparing the way for his posterity; the red man never thought ofthis. " I was assured this was exactly his phrase; and it defines thetrue difference. We get the better because we do

 "Look before and after. "

But, from, the same cause, we

 "Pine for what is not. "

The red man, when happy, was thoroughly happy; when good, was simplygood. He needed the medal, to let him know that he _was_ good. 

These evenings we were happy, looking over the old-fashioned garden, over the beach, over the waters and pretty island opposite, beneaththe growing moon. We did not stay to see it full at Mackinaw; at twoo'clock one night, or rather morning, the Great Western came snortingin, and we must go; and Mackinaw, and all the Northwest summer, is nowto me no more than picture and dream:--

 "A dream within a dream. "

These last days at Mackinaw have been pleasanter than the "lonesome"nine, for I have recovered the companion with whom I set out from theEast, --one who sees all, prizes all, enjoys much, interrupts never. 

At Detroit we stopped for half a day. This place is famous in ourhistory, and the unjust anger at its surrender is still expressedby almost every one who passes there. I had always shared the commonfeeling on this subject; for the indignation at a disgrace to our armsthat seemed so unnecessary has been handed down from father to child, and few of us have taken the pains to ascertain where the blamelay. But now, upon the spot, having read all the testimony, I feltconvinced that it should rest solely with the government, which, byneglecting to sustain General Hull, as he had a right to expect theywould, compelled him to take this step, or sacrifice many lives, andof the defenceless inhabitants, not of soldiers, to the cruelty of asavage foe, for the sake of his reputation. 

I am a woman, and unlearned in such affairs; but, to a personwith common sense and good eyesight, it is clear, when viewingthe location, that, under the circumstances, he had no prospect ofsuccessful defence, and that to attempt it would have been an act ofvanity, not valor. 

I feel that I am not biassed in this judgment by my personalrelations, for I have always heard both sides, and though my feelingshad been moved by the picture of the old man sitting in the midstof his children, to a retired and despoiled old age, after a lifeof honor and happy intercourse with the public, yet tranquil, alwayssecure that justice must be done at last, I supposed, like others, that he deceived himself, and deserved to pay the penalty for failureto the responsibility he had undertaken. Now, on the spot, I change, and believe the country at large must, erelong, change from thisopinion. And I wish to add my testimony, however trifling its weight, before it be drowned in the voice of general assent, that I may dosome justice to the feelings which possess me here and now. 

A noble boat, the Wisconsin, was to be launched this afternoon; thewhole town was out in many-colored array, the band playing. Our boatswept round to a good position, and all was ready but--the Wisconsin, which could not be made to stir. This was quite a disappointment. Itwould have been an imposing sight. 

In the boat many signs admonished that we were floating eastward. Ashabbily-dressed phrenologist laid his hand on every head which wouldbend, with half-conceited, half-sheepish expression, to the trial ofhis skill. Knots of people gathered here and there to discuss pointsof theology. A bereaved lover was seeking religious consolationin--Butler's Analogy, which he had purchased for that purpose. However, he did not turn over many pages before his attention wasdrawn aside by the gay glances of certain damsels that came on boardat Detroit, and, though Butler might afterwards be seen stickingfrom his pocket, it had not weight to impede him from many a feat oflightness and liveliness. I doubt if it went with him from the boat. Some there were, even, discussing the doctrines of Fourier. It seemedpity they were not going to, rather than from, the rich and freecountry where it would be so much easier than with us to try the greatexperiment of voluntary association, and show beyond a doubt that "anounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, " a maxim of the "wisdomof nations" which has proved of little practical efficacy as yet. 

Better to stop before landing at Buffalo, while I have yet theadvantage over some of my readers. 

THE BOOK TO THE READER, WHO OPENS, AS AMERICAN READERS OFTEN DO, --AT THE END. 

 To see your cousin in her country home, If at the time of blackberries you come, "Welcome, my friends, " she cries with ready glee, "The fruit is ripened, and the paths are free. But, madam, you will tear that handsome gown; The little boy be sure to tumble down; And, in the thickets where they ripen best, The matted ivy, too, its bower has drest. And then the thorns your hands are sure to rend, Unless with heavy gloves you will defend; Amid most thorns the sweetest roses blow, Amid most thorns the sweetest berries grow. "

 If, undeterred, you to the fields must go, You tear your dresses and you scratch your hands; But, in the places where the berries grow, A sweeter fruit the ready sense commands, Of wild, gay feelings, fancies springing sweet, -- Of bird-like pleasures, fluttering and fleet. 

 Another year, you cannot go yourself, To win the berries from the thickets wild, And housewife skill, instead, has filled the shelf With blackberry jam, "by best receipts compiled, -- Not made with country sugar, for too strong The flavors that to maple-juice belong; But foreign sugar, nicely mixed 'to suit The taste, ' spoils not the fragrance of the fruit. "

 "'Tis pretty good, " half-tasting, you reply, "I scarce should know it from fresh blackberry. But the best pleasure such a fruit can yield Is to be gathered in the open field; If only as an article of food, Cherry or crab-apple is quite as good; And, for occasions of festivity, West India sweetmeats you had better buy. "

 Thus, such a dish of homely sweets as these In neither way may chance the taste to please. 

 Yet try a little with the evening-bread; Bring a good needle for the spool of thread; Take fact with fiction, silver with the lead, And, at the mint, you can get gold instead; In fine, read me, even as you would be read. 

PART II. 

THINGS AND THOUGHTS IN EUROPE. 

LETTER I. 

PASSAGE IN THE CAMBRIA. --LORD AND LADY FALKLAND. --CAPTAINJUDKINS. --LIVERPOOL. --MANCHESTER. --MECHANICS' INSTITUTE. --"THEDIAL. "--PEACE AND WAR. --THE WORKING-MEN OF ENGLAND. --THEIR TRIBUTE TOSIR ROBERT PEEL. --THE ROYAL INSTITUTE. --STATUES. --CHESTER. --BATHING. 

Ambleside, Westmoreland, 23d August, 1846. 

I take the first interval of rest and stillness to be filled up bysome lines for the Tribune. Only three weeks have passed since leavingNew York, but I have already had nine days of wonder in England, and, having learned a good deal, suppose I may have something to tell. 

Long before receiving this, you know that we were fortunate in theshortest voyage ever made across the Atlantic, [A]--only ten daysand sixteen hours from Boston to Liverpool. The weather and allcircumstances were propitious; and, if some of us were weak of headenough to suffer from the smell and jar of the machinery, or otherills by which the sea is wont to avenge itself on the arrogance ofits vanquishers, we found no pity. The stewardess observed that shethought "any one tempted God Almighty who complained on a voyage wherethey did not even have to put guards to the dishes"!

[Footnote A: True at the time these Letters were written. --ED. ]

As many contradictory counsels were given us with regard to going inone of the steamers in preference to a sailing vessel, I will mentionhere, for the benefit of those who have not yet tried one, that hemust be fastidious indeed who could complain of the Cambria. Theadvantage of a quick passage and certainty as to the time of arrival, would, with us, have outweighed many ills; but, apart from this, wefound more space than we expected and as much as we needed for avery tolerable degree of convenience in our sleeping-rooms, betterventilation than Americans in general can be persuaded to accept, general cleanliness, and good attendance. In the evening, when thewind was favorable, and the sails set, so that the vessel looked likea great winged creature darting across the apparently measurelessexpanse, the effect was very grand, but ah! for such a spectacle onepays too dear; I far prefer looking out upon "the blue and foamingsea" from a firm green shore. 

Our ship's company numbered several pleasant members, and that desireprevailed in each to contribute to the satisfaction of all, which, ifcarried out through the voyage of life, would make this earth as happyas it is a lovely abode. At Halifax we took in the Governor of NovaScotia, returning from his very unpopular administration. His lady waswith, him, a daughter of William the Fourth and the celebrated Mrs. Jordan. The English on board, and the Americans, following their lead, as usual, seemed to attach much importance to her left-handed alliancewith one of the dullest families that ever sat upon a throne, (andthat is a bold word, too, ) none to her descent from one whom Naturehad endowed with her most splendid regalia, --genius that fascinatedthe attention of all kinds and classes of men, grace and winningqualities that no heart could resist. Was the cestus buried with her, that no sense of its pre-eminent value lingered, as far as I couldperceive, in the thoughts of any except myself?

We had a foretaste of the delights of living under an aristocraticalgovernment at the Custom-House, where our baggage was detained, andwe waiting for it weary hours, because of the preference given tothe mass of household stuff carried back by this same Lord and LadyFalkland. 

Captain Judkins of the Cambria, an able and prompt commander, is theman who insisted upon Douglass being admitted to equal rights upon hisdeck with the insolent slave-holders, and assumed a tone toward theirassumptions, which, if the Northern States had had the firmness, goodsense, and honor to use, would have had the same effect, and putour country in a very different position from that she occupies atpresent. He mentioned with pride that he understood the New YorkHerald called him "the Nigger Captain, " and seemed as willing toaccept the distinction as Colonel McKenney is to wear as his lasttitle that of "the Indian's friend. "

At the first sight of the famous Liverpool Docks, extending miles oneach side of our landing, we felt ourselves in a slower, solider, andnot on that account less truly active, state of things than at home. That impression is confirmed. There is not as we travel that rushing, tearing, and swearing, that snatching of baggage, that prodigality ofshoe-leather and lungs, which attend the course of the traveller inthe United States; but we do not lose our "goods, " we do not miss ourcar. The dinner, if ordered in time, is cooked properly, and servedpunctually, and at the end of the day more that is permanent seems tohave come of it than on the full-drive system. But more of this, andwith a better grace, at a later day. 

The day after our arrival we went to Manchester. There we went overthe magnificent warehouse of ---- Phillips, in itself a Bazaar ampleto furnish provision for all the wants and fancies of thousands. Inthe evening we went to the Mechanics' Institute, and saw the boysand young men in their classes. I have since visited the Mechanics'Institute at Liverpool, where more than seventeen hundred pupils arereceived, and with more thorough educational arrangements; but theexcellent spirit, the desire for growth in wisdom and enlightenedbenevolence, is the same in both. For a very small fee, the mechanic, clerk, or apprentice, and the women of their families, can receivevarious good and well-arranged instruction, not only in commonbranches of an English education, but in mathematics, composition, the French and German, languages, the practice and theory of the FineArts, and they are ardent in availing themselves of instruction inthe higher branches. I found large classes, not only in architecturaldrawing, which may be supposed to be followed with a view toprofessional objects, but landscape also, and as large in German asin French. They can attend many good lectures and concerts withoutadditional charge, for a due place is here assigned to music as to itsinfluence on the whole mind. The large and well-furnished librariesare in constant requisition, and the books in most constant demandare not those of amusement, but of a solid and permanent interest andvalue. Only for the last year in Manchester, and for two in Liverpool, have these advantages been extended to girls; but now that part ofthe subject is looked upon as it ought to be, and begins to be treatedmore and more as it must and will be wherever true civilization ismaking its way. One of the handsomest houses in Liverpool has beenpurchased for the girls' school, and room and good arrangement beenafforded for their work and their play. Among other things they aretaught, as they ought to be in all American schools, to cut out andmake dresses. 

I had the pleasure of seeing quotations made from our Boston "Dial, "in the address in which the Director of the Liverpool Institute, avery benevolent and intelligent man, explained to his disciples andothers its objects, and which concludes thus:--

"But this subject of self-improvement is inexhaustible. If traced toits results in action, it is, in fact, 'The Whole Duty of Man. ' Whatof detail it involves and implies, I know that you will, each and all, think out for yourselves. Beautifully has it been said: 'Is not thedifference between spiritual and material things just this, --that inthe one case we must watch details, in the other, keep alive the highresolve, and the details will take care of themselves? Keep the sacredcentral fire burning, and throughout the system, in each of its acts, will be warmth and glow enough. '[A]

[Footnote A: The Dial, Vol. I. P. 188, October, 1840, "Musings of aRecluse. "]

"For myself, if I be asked what my purpose is in relation to you, Iwould briefly reply, It is that I may help, be it ever so feebly, totrain up a race of young men, who shall escape vice by rising aboveit; who shall love truth because it is truth, not because it bringsthem wealth or honor; who shall regard life as a solemn thing, involving too weighty responsibilities to be wasted in idle orfrivolous pursuits; who shall recognize in their daily labors, notmerely a tribute to the "hard necessity of daily bread, " but a fieldfor the development of their better nature by the discharge of duty;who shall judge in all things for themselves, bowing the knee to nosectarian or party watchwords of any kind; and who, while they thinkfor themselves, shall feel for others, and regard their talents, theirattainments, their opportunities, their possessions, as blessings heldin trust for the good of their fellow-men. "

I found that The Dial had been read with earnest interest by some ofthe best minds in these especially practical regions, that it had beenwelcomed as a representative of some sincere and honorable life inAmerica, and thought the fittest to be quoted under this motto:--

 "What are noble deeds but noble thoughts realized?"

Among other signs of the times we bought Bradshaw's Railway Guide, and, opening it, found extracts from the writings of our countrymen, Elihu Burritt and Charles Sumner, on the subject of Peace, occupyinga leading place in the "Collect, " for the month, of this littlehand-book, more likely, in an era like ours, to influence the conductof the day than would an illuminated breviary. Now that peace issecured for the present between our two countries, the spirit isnot forgotten that quelled the storm. Greeted on every side withexpressions of feeling about the blessings of peace, the madness andwickedness of war, that would be deemed romantic in our darker land, I have answered to the speakers, "But you are mightily pleased, andilluminate for your victories in China and Ireland, do you not?" andthey, unprovoked by the taunt, would mildly reply, "_We_ do not, butit is too true that a large part of the nation fail to bring homethe true nature and bearing of those events, and apply principle toconduct with as much justice as they do in the case of a nation nearerto them by kindred and position. But we are sure that feeling isgrowing purer on the subject day by day, and that there will soon be alarge majority against war on any occasion or for any object. "

I heard a most interesting letter read from a tradesman in one of thecountry towns, whose daughters are self-elected instructors of thepeople in the way of cutting out from books and pamphlets fragments onthe great subjects of the day, which they send about in packages, orpaste on walls and doors. He said that one such passage, pasted on adoor, he had seen read with eager interest by hundreds to whom suchthoughts were, probably, quite new, and with some of whom it couldscarcely fail to be as a little seed of a large harvest. Another goodomen I found in written tracts by Joseph Barker, a working-man of thetown of Wortley, published through his own printing-press. 

How great, how imperious the need of such men, of such deeds, we feltmore than ever, while compelled to turn a deaf ear to the squalid andshameless beggars of Liverpool, or talking by night in the streets ofManchester to the girls from the Mills, who were strolling bareheaded, with coarse, rude, and reckless air, through the streets, or seeingthrough the windows of the gin-palaces the women seated drinking, toodull to carouse. The homes of England! their sweetness is melting intofable; only the new Spirit in its holiest power can restore to thosehomes their boasted security of "each man's castle, " for Woman, thewarder, is driven into the street, and has let fall the keys in hersad plight. Yet darkest hour of night is nearest dawn, and there seemsreason to believe that

 "There's a good time coming. "

Blest be those who aid, who doubt not that

 "Smallest helps, if rightly given, Make the impulse stronger; 'Twill be strong enough one day. "

Other things we saw in Liverpool, --the Royal Institute, with thestatue of Roscoe by Chantrey, and in its collection from the worksof the early Italian artists, and otherwise, bearing traces of thatliberality and culture by which the man, happy enough to possess them, and at the same time engaged with his fellow-citizens in practicallife, can do so much more to enlighten and form them, than prince ornoble possibly can with far larger pecuniary means. We saw the statueof Huskisson in the Cemetery. It is fine as a portrait statue, butas a work of art wants firmness and grandeur. I say it is fine as aportrait statue, though we were told it is not like the original; butit is a good conception of an individuality which might exist, if itdoes not yet. It is by Gibson, who received his early education inLiverpool. I saw there, too, the body of an infant borne to the graveby women; for it is a beautiful custom, here, that those who havefulfilled all other tender offices to the little being should hold toit the same relation to the very last. 

From Liverpool we went to Chester, one of the oldest cities inEngland, a Roman station once, and abode of the "Twentieth Legion, ""the Victorious. " Tiles bearing this inscription, heads of Jupiter, and other marks of their occupation, have, not long ago, been detectedbeneath the sod. The town also bears the marks of Welsh invasion anddomestic struggles. The shape of a cross in which it is laid out, itswalls and towers, its four arched gateways, its ramparts and ruined, towers, mantled with ivy, its old houses with Biblical inscriptions, its cathedral, --in which tall trees have grown up amid the arches, afresh garden-plot, with flowers, bright green and red, taken placeof the altar, and a crowd of revelling swallows supplanted the sallowchoirs of a former priesthood, --present a _tout-ensemble_ highlyromantic in itself, and charming, indeed, to Transatlantic eyes. Yetnot to all eyes would it have had charms, for one American traveller, our companion on the voyage, gravely assured us that we should findthe "castles and that sort of thing all humbug, " and that, if wewished to enjoy them, it would "be best to sit at home and read some_handsome_ work on the subject. "

At the hotel in Liverpool and that in Manchester I had found no bath, and asking for one at Chester, the chambermaid said, with earnestgood-will, that "they had none, but she thought she could get mea note from her master to the Infirmary (!!) if I would go there. "Luckily I did not generalize quite as rapidly as travellers in Americausually do, and put in the note-book, --"_Mem. _: None but the sick everbathe in England"; for in the next establishment we tried, I foundthe plentiful provision for a clean and healthy day, which I had readwould be met _everywhere_ in this country. 

All else I must defer to my next, as the mail is soon to close. 

LETTER II. 

CHESTER. --ITS MUSEUM. --TRAVELLING COMPANIONS. --A BENGALESE. --WESTMORELAND. --AMBLESIDE. --COBDEN AND BRIGHT. --A SCOTCHLADY. --WORDSWORTH. --HIS FLOWERS. --MISS MARTINEAU. 

Ambleside. Westmoreland, 27th August, 1846. 

I forgot to mention, in writing of Chester, an object which gave mepleasure. I mentioned, that the wall which enclosed the old town wastwo miles in circumference; far beyond this stretches the modernpart of Chester, and the old gateways now overarch the middle of longstreets. This wall is now a walk for the inhabitants, commanding awide prospect, and three persons could walk abreast on its smoothflags. We passed one of its old picturesque towers, from whose topCharles the First, poor, weak, unhappy king, looked down and saw histroops defeated by the Parliamentary army on the adjacent plain. Alittle farther on, one of these picturesque towers is turned to theuse of a Museum, whose stock, though scanty, I examined with singularpleasure, for it had been made up by truly filial contributionsfrom, all who had derived benefit from Chester, from the Marquisof Westminster--whose magnificent abode, Eton Hall, lies not faroff--down to the merchant's clerk, who had furnished it in his leisurehours with a geological chart, the soldier and sailor, who sent backshells, insects, and petrifactions from their distant wanderings, anda boy of thirteen, who had made, in wood, a model of its cathedral, and even furnished it with a bell to ring out the evening chimes. Manywomen had been busy in filling these magazines for the instructionand the pleasure of their fellow-townsmen. Lady ----, the wife of thecaptain of the garrison, grateful for the gratuitous admission of thesoldiers once a month, --a privilege of which the keeper of the Museum(a woman also, who took an intelligent pleasure in her task) assuredme that they were eager to avail themselves, --had given a finecollection of butterflies, and a ship. An untiring diligence hadbeen shown in adding whatever might stimulate or gratify imperfectlyeducated minds. I like to see women perceive that there are otherways of doing good besides making clothes for the poor or teachingSunday-school; these are well, if well directed, but there are manyother ways, some as sure and surer, and which benefit the giver noless than the receiver. 

I was waked from sleep at the Chester Inn by a loud dispute betweenthe chambermaid and an unhappy elderly gentleman, who insisted that hehad engaged the room in which I was, had returned to sleep in it, and consequently must do so. To her assurances that the lady was longsince in possession, he was deaf; but the lock, fortunately for me, proved a stronger defence. With all a chambermaid's morality, themaiden boasted to me, "He said he had engaged 44, and would notbelieve me when I assured him it was 46; indeed, how could he? I didnot believe myself. " To my assurance that, if I had known the room, was his, I should not have wished for it, but preferred taking aworse, I found her a polite but incredulous listener. 

Passing from Liverpool to Lancaster by railroad, that convenient butmost unprofitable and stupid way of travelling, we there took thecanal-boat to Kendal, and passed pleasantly through a country of thatsoft, that refined and cultivated loveliness, which, however muchwe have heard of it, finds the American eye--accustomed to so muchwildness, so much rudeness, such a corrosive action of man uponnature--wholly unprepared. I feel all the time as if in a sweet dream, and dread to be presently awakened by some rude jar or glare; but nonecomes, and here in Westmoreland--but wait a moment, before we speak ofthat. 

In the canal-boat we found two well-bred English gentlemen, and twowell-informed German gentlemen, with whom we had some agreeable talk. With one of the former was a beautiful youth, about eighteen, whom Isupposed, at the first glance, to be a type of that pure East-Indianrace whose beauty I had never seen represented before except inpictures; and he made a picture, from which I could scarcely take myeyes a moment, and from it could as ill endure to part. He was dressedin a broadcloth robe richly embroidered, leaving his throat and theupper part of his neck bare, except that he wore a heavy gold chain. A rich shawl was thrown gracefully around him; the sleeves of his robewere loose, with white sleeves below. He wore a black satin cap. Thewhole effect of this dress was very fine yet simple, setting off tothe utmost advantage the distinguished beauty of his features, inwhich there was a mingling of national pride, voluptuous sweetness inthat unconscious state of reverie when it affects us as it does in theflower, and intelligence in its newly awakened purity. As he turnedhis head, his profile was like one I used to have of Love asleep, while Psyche leans over him with the lamp; but his front face, with the full, summery look of the eye, was unlike that. He was aBengalese, living in England for his education, as several others areat present. He spoke English well, and conversed on several subjects, literary and political, with grace, fluency, and delicacy of thought. 

Passing from Kendal to Ambleside, we found a charming abode furnishedus by the care of a friend in one of the stone cottages of thisregion, almost the only one _not_ ivy-wreathed, but commanding abeautiful view of the mountains, and truly an English home in itsneatness, quiet, and delicate, noiseless attention to the wants of allwithin its walls. Here we have passed eight happy days, varied bymany drives, boating excursions on Grasmere and Winandermere, and thesociety of several agreeable persons. As the Lake district at thisseason draws together all kinds of people, and a great variety besidecome from, all quarters to inhabit the charming dwellings thatadorn its hill-sides and shores, I met and saw a good deal of therepresentatives of various classes, at once. I found here two landedproprietors from other parts of England, both "travelled English, "one owning a property in Greece, where he frequently resides, both warmly engaged in Reform measures, anti-Corn-Law, anti-Capital-Punishment, --one of them an earnest student of Emerson'sEssays. Both of them had wives, who kept pace with their projects andtheir thoughts, active and intelligent women, true ladies, skilful indrawing and music; all the better wives for the development of everypower. One of them told me, with a glow of pride, that it was not longsince her husband had been "cut" by all his neighbors among the gentryfor the part he took against the Corn Laws; but, she added, he was nowa favorite with them all. Verily, faith will remove mountains, ifonly you do join with it any fair portion of the dove and serpentattributes. 

I found here, too, a wealthy manufacturer, who had written manyvaluable pamphlets on popular subjects. He said: "Now that theprogress of public opinion was beginning to make the Church and theArmy narrower fields for the younger sons of 'noble' families, theysometimes wish to enter into trade; but, beside the aversion which hadbeen instilled into them for many centuries, they had rarely patienceand energy for the apprenticeship requisite to give the neededknowledge of the world and habits of labor. " Of Cobden he said: "Heis inferior in acquirements to very many of his class, as he isself-educated and had everything to learn after he was grown up;but in clear insight there is none like him. " A man of very littleeducation, whom I met a day or two after in the stage-coach, observedto me: "Bright is far the more eloquent of the two, but Cobden ismore felt, just _because_ his speeches are so plain, so merelymatter-of-fact and to the point. "

We became acquainted also with Dr. Gregory, Professor of Chemistryat Edinburgh, a very enlightened and benevolent man, who in many waysboth instructed and benefited us. He is the friend of Liebig, and oneof his chief representatives here. 

We also met a fine specimen of the noble, intelligent Scotchwoman, such as Walter Scott and Burns knew how to prize. Seventy-six yearshave passed over her head, only to prove in her the truth of mytheory, that we need never grow old. She was "brought up" in theanimated and intellectual circle of Edinburgh, in youth an aptdisciple, in her prime a bright ornament of that society. She had beenan only child, a cherished wife, an adored mother, unspoiled by lovein any of these relations, because that love was founded on knowledge. In childhood she had warmly sympathized in the spirit that animatedthe American Revolution, and Washington had been her hero; later, theinterest of her husband in every struggle for freedom had cherishedher own; she had known in the course of her long life many eminentmen, knew minutely the history of efforts in that direction, andsympathized now in the triumph of the people over the Corn Laws, asshe had in the American victories, with as much ardor as when a girl, though with a wiser mind. Her eye was full of light, her manner andgesture of dignity; her voice rich, sonorous, and finely modulated;her tide of talk marked by candor, justice, and showing in everysentence her ripe experience and her noble, genial nature. Dear tomemory will be the sight of her in the beautiful seclusion of her homeamong the mountains, a picturesque, flower-wreathed dwelling, whereaffection, tranquillity, and wisdom were the gods of the hearth, towhom was offered no vain oblation. Grant us more such women, Time!Grant to men the power to reverence, to seek for such!

Our visit to Mr. Wordsworth was very pleasant. He also is seventy-six, but his is a florid, fair old age. He walked with us to all hishaunts about the house. Its situation is beautiful, and the "RydalianLaurels" are magnificent. Still I saw abodes among the hills thatI should have preferred for Wordsworth, more wild and still, moreromantic; the fresh and lovely Rydal Mount seems merely the retirementof a gentleman, rather than the haunt of a poet. He showed hisbenignity of disposition in several little things, especially inhis attentions to a young boy we had with us. This boy had left theCircus, exhibiting its feats of horsemanship in Ambleside "for thatday only, " at his own desire to see Wordsworth, and I feared he wouldbe disappointed, as I know I should have been at his age, if, whencalled to see a poet, I had found no Apollo, flaming with youthfulglory, laurel-crowned and lyre in hand, but, instead, a reverend oldman clothed in black, and walking with cautious step along the levelgarden-path; however, he was not disappointed, but seemed in timidreverence to recognize the spirit that had dictated "Laodamia" and"Dion, "--and Wordsworth, in his turn, seemed to feel and prize acongenial nature in this child. 

Taking us into the house, he showed us the picture of his sister, repeating with much expression some lines of hers, and those so famousof his about her, beginning, "Five years, " &c. ; also his own picture, by Inman, of whom he spoke with esteem. 

Mr. Wordsworth is fond of the hollyhock, a partiality scarcelydeserved by the flower, but which marks the simplicity of histastes. He had made a long avenue of them of all colors, from thecrimson-brown to rose, straw-color, and white, and pleased himselfwith having made proselytes to a liking for them among his neighbors. 

I never have seen such magnificent fuchsias as at Ambleside, and therewas one to be seen in every cottage-yard. They are no longer hereunder the shelter of the green-house, as with us, and as they used tobe in England. The plant, from its grace and finished elegance, beinga great favorite of mine, I should like to see it as frequently and ofas luxuriant a growth at home, and asked their mode of culture, whichI here mark down, for the benefit of all who may be interested. Makea bed of bog-earth and sand, put down slips of the fuchsia, and givethem a great deal of water, --this is all they need. People have themout here in winter, but perhaps they would not bear the cold of ourJanuaries. 

Mr. Wordsworth spoke with, more liberality than we expected of therecent measures about the Corn Laws, saying that "the principle wascertainly right, though as to whether existing interests had been ascarefully attended to as was just, he was not prepared to say. " Hisneighbors were pleased to hear of his speaking thus mildly, and hailedit as a sign that he was opening his mind to more light on thesesubjects. They lament that his habits of seclusion keep him muchignorant of the real wants of England and the world. Living in thisregion, which is cultivated by small proprietors, where there islittle poverty, vice, or misery, he hears not the voice which cries soloudly from other parts of England, and will not be stilled by sweetpoetic suasion or philosophy, for it is the cry of men in the jaws ofdestruction. 

It was pleasant to find the reverence inspired by this great and puremind warmest nearest home. Our landlady, in heaping praises upon him, added, constantly, "And Mrs. Wordsworth, too. " "Do the people here, "said I, "value Mr. Wordsworth most because he is a celebrated writer?""Truly, madam, " said she, "I think it is because he is so kind aneighbor. "

 "True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. "

Dr. Arnold, too, --who lived, as his family still live, here, --diffusedthe same ennobling and animating spirit among those who knew him inprivate, as through the sphere of his public labors. 

Miss Martineau has here a charming residence; it has been finishedonly a few months, but all about it is in unexpectedly fair order, andpromises much beauty after a year or two of growth. Here we found herrestored to full health and activity, looking, indeed, far better thanshe did when in the United States. It was pleasant to see her in thishome, presented to her by the gratitude of England for her course ofenergetic and benevolent effort, and adorned by tributes of affectionand esteem from many quarters. From the testimony of those who werewith her in and since her illness, her recovery would seem to be ofas magical quickness and sure progress as has been represented. Atthe house of Miss Martineau I saw Milman, the author, I must not saypoet, --a specimen of the polished, scholarly man of the world. 

We passed one most delightful day in a visit to Langdale, --the sceneof "The Excursion, "--and to Dungeon-Ghyll Force. I am finishing myletter at Carlisle on my way to Scotland, and will give a slightsketch of that excursion, and one which occupied another day, fromKeswick to Buttermere and Crummock Water, in my next. 

LETTER III. 

WESTMORELAND. --LANGDALE. --DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE. --KESWICK. --CARLISLE. --BRANXHOLM. --SCOTT. --BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 20th September, 1846. 

I have too long delayed writing up my journal. --Many interestingobservations slip from recollection if one waits so many days:yet, while travelling, it is almost impossible to find an hour whensomething of value to be seen will not be lost while writing. 

I said, in closing my last, that I would write a little more aboutWestmoreland; but so much, has happened since, that I must now dismissthat region with all possible brevity. 

The first day of which I wished to speak was passed in visitingLangdale, the scene of Wordsworth's "Excursion. " Our party of eightwent in two of the vehicles called cars or droskas, --open carriages, each drawn by one horse. They are rather fatiguing to ride in, butgood to see from. In steep and stony places all alight, and the driverleads the horse: so many of these there are, that we were four orfive hours in going ten miles, including the pauses when we wished to_look_. 

The scenes through which we passed are, indeed, of the most wild andnoble character. The wildness is not savage, but very calm. Withoutrecurring to details, I recognized the tone and atmosphere of thatnoble poem, which was to me, at a feverish period in my life, as purewaters, free breezes, and cold blue sky, bringing a sense of eternitythat gave an aspect of composure to the rudest volcanic wrecks oftime. 

We dined at a farm-house of the vale, with its stone floors, oldcarved cabinet (the pride of a house of this sort), and readyprovision of oaten cakes. We then ascended a near hill to thewaterfall called Dungeon-Ghyll Force, also a subject touched byWordsworth's Muse. You wind along a path for a long time, hearing thesound of the falling water, but do not see it till, descending by aladder the side of the ravine, you come to its very foot. You findyourself then in a deep chasm, bridged over by a narrow arch of rock;the water falls at the farther end in a narrow column. Looking up, yousee the sky through a fissure so narrow as to make it look very pureand distant. One of our party, passing in, stood some time at the footof the waterfall, and added much to its effect, as his height gave ameasure by which to appreciate that of surrounding objects, and hislook, by that light so pale and statuesque, seemed to inform the placewith the presence of its genius. 

Our circuit homeward from this grand scene led us through somelovely places, and to an outlook upon the most beautiful part ofWestmoreland. Passing over to Keswick we saw Derwentwater, and near itthe Fall of Lodore. It was from Keswick that we made the excursionof a day through Borrowdale to Buttermere and Crummock Water, whichI meant to speak of, but find it impossible at this moment. The minddoes not now furnish congenial colors with which to represent thevision of that day: it must still wait in the mind and bide its time, again to emerge to outer air. 

At Keswick we went to see a model of the Lake country which gives anexcellent idea of the relative positions of all objects. Its maker hadgiven six years to the necessary surveys and drawings. He said thathe had first become acquainted with the country from his taste forfishing, but had learned to love its beauty, till the thought arose ofmaking this model; that while engaged in it, he visited almost everyspot amid the hills, and commonly saw both sunrise and sunset uponthem; that he was happy all the time, but almost too happy when he sawone section of his model coming out quite right, and felt sure at lastthat he should be quite successful in representing to others the homeof his thoughts. I looked upon him as indeed an enviable man, to havea profession so congenial with his feelings, in which he had been sonaturally led to do what would be useful and pleasant for others. 

Passing from Keswick through a pleasant and cultivated country, wepaused at "fair Carlisle, " not voluntarily, but because we could notget the means of proceeding farther that day. So, as it was one inwhich

 "The sun shone fair on Carlisle wall, "

we visited its Cathedral and Castle, and trod, for the first time, insome of the footsteps of the unfortunate Queen of Scots. 

Passing next day the Border, we found the mosses all drained, andthe very existence of sometime moss-troopers would have seemedproblematical, but for the remains of Gilnockie, --the tower of JohnnieArmstrong, so pathetically recalled in one of the finest of theScottish ballads. Its size, as well as that of other keeps, towers, and castles, whose ruins are reverentially preserved in Scotland, gives a lively sense of the time when population was so scanty, andindividual manhood grew to such force. Ten men in Gilnockie werestronger then in proportion to the whole, and probably had in themmore of intelligence, resource, and genuine manly power, than tenregiments now of red-coats drilled to act out manoeuvres they do notunderstand, and use artillery which needs of them no more than thematch to go off and do its hideous message. 

Farther on we saw Branxholm, and the water in crossing which theGoblin Page was obliged to resume his proper shape and fly, crying, "Lost, lost, lost!" Verily these things seem more like home than one'sown nursery, whose toys and furniture could not in actual presenceengage the thoughts like these pictures, made familiar as householdwords by the most generous, kindly genius that ever blessed thisearth. 

On the coach with us was a gentleman coming from London to make hisyearly visit to the neighborhood of Burns, in which he was born. "Ican now, " said he, "go but once a year; when a boy, I never let a weekpass without visiting the house of Burns. " He afterward observed, asevery step woke us to fresh recollections of Walter Scott, that Scott, with all his vast range of talent, knowledge, and activity, was a poetof the past only, and in his inmost heart wedded to the habits of afeudal aristocracy, while Burns is the poet of the present and thefuture, the man of the people, and throughout a genuine man. This istrue enough; but for my part I cannot endure a comparison which by abreath of coolness depreciates either. Both were wanted; eachacted the important part assigned him by destiny with a wonderfulthoroughness and completeness. Scott breathed the breath just fleetingfrom the forms of ancient Scottish heroism and poesy into new, --hemade for us the bridge by which we have gone into the old Ossianichall and caught the meaning just as it was about to pass from us forever. Burns is full of the noble, genuine democracy which seeks notto destroy royalty, but to make all men kings, as he himself was, innature and in action. They belong to the same world; they are pillarsof the same church, though they uphold its starry roof from oppositesides. Burns was much the rarer man; precisely because he had most ofcommon nature on a grand scale; his humor, his passion, his sweetness, are all his own; they need no picturesque or romantic accessories togive them due relief: looked at by all lights they are the same. SinceAdam, there has been none that approached nearer fitness to standup before God and angels in the naked majesty of manhood than RobertBurns;--but there was a serpent in his field also! Yet but for hisfault we could never have seen brought out the brave and patrioticmodesty with which he owned it. Shame on him who could bear to thinkof fault in this rich jewel, unless reminded by such confession. 

We passed Abbotsford without stopping, intending to go there on ourreturn. Last year five hundred Americans inscribed their names in itsporter's book. A raw-boned Scotsman, who gathered his weary lengthinto our coach on his return from a pilgrimage thither, did us thefavor to inform us that "Sir Walter was a vara intelligent mon, " andthe guide-book mentions "the American Washington" as "a worthy oldpatriot. " Lord safe us, cummers, what news be there!

This letter, meant to go by the Great Britain, many interruptionsforce me to close, unflavored by one whiff from the smoke of AuldReekie. More and better matter shall my next contain, for here andin the Highlands I have passed three not unproductive weeks, of whichmore anon. 

LETTER IV. 

EDINBURGH, OLD AND NEW. --SCOTT AND BURNS. --DR. ANDREW COMBE. --AMERICANRE-PUBLISHING. --THE BOOKSELLING TRADE. --THE MESSRS. CHAMBERS. --DEQUINCEY THE OPIUM-EATER. --DR. CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, September 22d, 1846. 

The beautiful and stately aspect of this city has been the theme ofadmiration so general that I can only echo it. We have seen it to thegreatest advantage both from Calton Hill and Arthur's Seat, and ourlodgings in Princess Street allow us a fine view of the Castle, alwaysimpressive, but peculiarly so in the moonlit evenings of our firstweek here, when a veil of mist added to its apparent size, and at thesame time gave it the air with which Martin, in his illustrationsof "Paradise Lost, " has invested the palace which "rose like anexhalation. "

On this our second visit, after an absence of near a fortnight in theHighlands, we are at a hotel nearly facing the new monument to Scott, and the tallest buildings of the Old Town. From my windows I seethe famous Kirk, the spot where the old Tolbooth was, and can almostdistinguish that where Porteous was done to death, and other objectsdescribed in the most dramatic part of "The Heart of Mid-Lothian. " Inone of these tall houses Hume wrote part of his History of England, and on this spot still nearer was the home of Allan Ramsay. A thousandother interesting and pregnant associations present themselves everytime I look out of the window. 

In the open square between us and the Old Town is to be the terminusof the railroad, but as the building will be masked with trees, itis thought it will not mar the beauty of the place; yet Scott couldhardly have looked without regret upon an object that marks sodistinctly the conquest of the New over the Old, and, appropriatelyenough, his statue has its back turned that way. The effect of themonument to Scott is pleasing, though without strict unity of thoughtor original beauty of design. The statue is too much hid within themonument, and wants that majesty of repose in the attitude and draperywhich a sitting figure should have, and which might well accompany themassive head of Scott. Still the monument is an ornament and an honorto the city. This is now the fourth that has been erected within twoyears to commemorate the triumphs of genius. Monuments that have risenfrom the same idea, and in such quick succession, to Schiller, toGoethe, to Beethoven, and to Scott, signalize the character of the newera still more happily than does the railroad coming up almost to thefoot of Edinburgh Castle. 

The statue of Burns has been removed from the monument erected in hishonor, to one of the public libraries, as being there more accessibleto the public. It is, however, entirely unworthy its subject, givingthe idea of a smaller and younger person, while we think of Burnsas of a man in the prime of manhood, one who not only promised, but_was_, and with a sunny glow and breadth, of character of which thisstone effigy presents no sign. 

A Scottish gentleman told me the following story, which would affordthe finest subject for a painter capable of representing the glowingeye and natural kingliness of Burns, in contrast to the poor, meanpuppets he reproved. 

Burns, still only in the dawn of his celebrity, was invited to dinewith one of the neighboring so-called gentry (unhappily quite voidof true gentle blood). On arriving he found his plate set in theservants' room!! After dinner he was invited into a room where guestswere assembled, and, a chair being placed for him at the lower end ofthe board, a glass of wine was offered, and he was requested to singone of his songs for the entertainment of the company. He drank offthe wine, and thundered forth in reply his grand song, "For a' thatand a' that, " with which it will do no harm to refresh the memoriesof our readers, for we doubt there may be, even in Republican America, those who need the reproof as much, and with far less excuse, than hadthat Scottish company. 

 "Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. 

 "What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though, e'er sae poor Is king o' men for a' that. 

 "Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His ribbon, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. 

 "A prince can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might Guid faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense and pride o' worth Are higher ranks than a' that. 

 "Then let us pray that, come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that; For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That man to man, the wide warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. "

And, having finished this prophecy and prayer, Nature's nobleman lefthis churlish entertainers to hide their diminished heads in the homethey had disgraced. 

We have seen all the stock lions. The Regalia people still crowdto see, though the old natural feelings from which they so long layhidden seem almost extinct. Scotland grows English day by day. Thelibraries of the Advocates, Writers to the Signet, &c. , are fineestablishments. The University and schools are now in vacation; we arecompelled by unwise postponement of our journey to see both Edinburghand London at the worst possible season. We should have been here inApril, there in June. There is always enough to see, but now we finda majority of the most interesting persons absent, and a stagnation inthe intellectual movements of the place. 

We had, however, the good fortune to find Dr. Andrew Combe, who, though a great invalid, was able and disposed for conversation atthis time. I was impressed with great and affectionate respect bythe benign and even temper of his mind, his extensive and accurateknowledge, accompanied, as such should naturally be, by a largeand intelligent liberality. Of our country he spoke very wisely andhopefully, though among other stories with which we, as Americans, areput to the blush here, there is none worse than that of the conduct ofsome of our publishers toward him. One of these stories I had heardin New York, but supposed it to be exaggerated till I had it from thebest authority. It is of one of our leading houses who were publishingon their own account and had stereotyped one of his works from anearly edition. When this work had passed through other editions andhe had for years been busy in reforming and amending it, he appliedto this house to republish from the later and better edition. Theyrefused. In vain he urged that it was not only for his own reputationas an author that he was anxious, but for the good of the greatcountry through which writings on such, important subjects were to becirculated, that they might have the benefit of his labors and bestknowledge. Such arguments on the stupid and mercenary tempers of thoseaddressed fell harmless as on a buffalo's hide might a gold-tippedarrow. The book, they thought, answered THEIR purpose sufficiently, for IT SELLS. Other purpose for a book they knew none. And as to thenatural rights of an author over the fruits of his mind, the distilledessence of a life consumed in the severities of mental labor, they hadnever heard of such a thing. His work was in the market, and he hadno more to do with it, that they could see, than the silkworm with thelining of one of their coats. 

Mr. Greeley, the more I look at this subject, the more I mustmaintain, in opposition to your views, that the publisher cannot, ifa mere tradesman, be a man of honor. It is impossible in the nature ofthings. He _must_ have some idea of the nature and value of literarylabor, or he is wholly unfit to deal with its products. He cannotget along by occasional recourse to paid critics or readers; he musthimself have some idea what he is about. One partner, at least, inthe firm, must be a man of culture. All must understand enough toappreciate their position, and know that he who, for his sordid aims, circulates poisonous trash amid a great and growing people, andmakes it almost impossible for those whom Heaven has appointed as itsinstructors to do their office, are the worst of traitors, and to becondemned at the bar of nations under a sentence no less severe thanfalse statesmen and false priests. This matter should and must belooked to more conscientiously. 

Dr. Combe, repelled by all this indifference to conscience and naturalequity in the firm who had taken possession of his work, applied toothers. But here he found himself at once opposed by the invisiblebarrier that makes this sort of tyranny so strong and so pernicious. "It was the understanding among the trade that they were not tointerfere with one another; indeed, they could have no chance, " &c. , &c. When at last he did get the work republished in another part ofthe country less favorable for his purposes, the bargain made as tothe pecuniary part of the transaction was in various ways so evaded, that, up to this time, he has received no compensation from thatwidely-circulated work, except a lock of Spurzheim's hair!!

I was pleased to hear the true view expressed by one of the Messrs. Chambers. These brothers have worked their way up to wealth andinfluence by daily labor and many steps. One of them is more thebusiness man, the other the literary curator of their Journal. Of thisJournal they issue regularly eighty thousand copies, and it isdoing an excellent work, by awakening among the people a desire forknowledge, and, to a considerable extent, furnishing them with goodmaterials. I went over their fine establishment, where I found morethan a hundred and fifty persons, in good part women, employed, allin well-aired, well-lighted rooms, seemingly healthy and content. Connected with the establishment is a Savings Bank, and eveninginstruction in writing, singing, and arithmetic. There was also areading-room, and the same valuable and liberal provision we hadfound attached to some of the Manchester warehouses. Such accessoriesdignify and gladden all kinds of labor, and show somewhat of the truespirit of human brotherhood in the employer. Mr. Chambers said hetrusted they should never look on publishing _chiefly_ as _business_, or a lucrative and respectable employment, but as the means of mentaland moral benefit to their countrymen. To one so wearied and disgustedas I have been by vulgar and base avowals on such subjects, it wasvery refreshing to hear this from the lips of a successful publisher. 

Dr. Combe spoke with high praise of Mr. Hurlbart's book, "Human Rightsand their Political Guaranties, " which was published at the Tribuneoffice. He observed that it was the work of a real thinker, andextremely well written. It is to be republished here. Dr. Combe saidthat it must make its way slowly, as it could interest those only whowere willing to read thoughtfully; but its success was sure at last. 

He also spoke with, great interest and respect of Mrs. Farnham, of whose character and the influence she has exerted on the femaleprisoners at Sing Sing he had heard some account. 

A person of a quite different character and celebrity is De Quincey, the English Opium-Eater, and who lately has delighted us again withthe papers in Blackwood headed "Suspiria de Profundis. " I had thesatisfaction, not easily attainable now, of seeing him for some hours, and in the mood of conversation. As one belonging to the Wordsworth, and Coleridge constellation, (he too is now seventy-six years of age, )the thoughts and knowledge of Mr. De Quincey lie in the past; andoftentimes he spoke of matters now become trite to one of a laterculture. But to all that fell from his lips, his eloquence, subtileand forcible as the wind, full and gently falling as the evening dew, lent a peculiar charm. He is an admirable narrator, not rapid, butgliding along like a rivulet through a green meadow, giving and takinga thousand little beauties not absolutely required to give his storydue relief, but each, in itself, a separate boon. 

I admired, too, his urbanity, so opposite to the rapid, slang, Vivian-Greyish style current in the literary conversation of theday. "Sixty years since, " men had time to do things better and moregracefully than now. 

With Dr. Chalmers we passed a couple of hours. He is old now, butstill full of vigor and fire. We had an opportunity of hearing afine burst of indignant eloquence from him. "I shall blush to my verybones, " said he, "if the _Chaarrch_"--(sound these two _rr_'s withas much burr as possible and you will get at an idea of his mode ofpronouncing that unweariable word)--"if the Chaarrch yields to thestorm. " He alluded to the outcry now raised against the Free Church bythe Abolitionists, whose motto is, "Send back the money, " i. E. Moneytaken from the American slaveholders. Dr. Chalmers felt that, if theydid not yield from conviction, they must not to assault. His mannerof speaking on this subject gave me an idea of the nature of hiseloquence. He seldom preaches now. 

A fine picture was presented by the opposition of figure andlineaments between a young Indian, son of the celebrated DwarkanauthTagore, who happened to be there that morning, and Dr. Chalmers, asthey were conversing together. The swarthy, half-timid, yet elegantface and form of the Indian made a fine contrast with the florid, portly, yet intellectually luminous appearance of the Doctor; halfshepherd, half orator, he looked a Shepherd King opposed to someArabian story-teller. 

I saw others in Edinburgh of a later date who haply gave more valuableas well as fresher revelations of the spirit, and whose names may beby and by more celebrated than those I have cited; but for the presentthis must suffice. It would take a week, if I wrote half I saw orthought in Edinburgh, and I must close for to-day. 

LETTER V. 

PERTH. --TRAVELLING BY COACH. --LOCH LEVEN. --QUEEN MARY. --LOCHKATRINE. --THE TROSACHS. --ROWARDENNAN. --A NIGHT ON BEN LOMOND. --SCOTCHPEASANTRY. 

Birmingham, September 30th, 1846. 

I was obliged to stop writing at Edinburgh before the better halfof my tale was told, and must now begin there again, to speak of anexcursion into the Highlands, which occupied about a fortnight. 

We left Edinburgh, by coach for Perth, and arrived there about threein the afternoon. I have reason to be very glad that I visit thisisland before the reign of the stage-coach is quite over. I have beenconstantly on the top of the coach, even one day of drenching rain, and enjoy it highly. Nothing can be more inspiring than this swift, steady progress over such smooth roads, and placed so high as tooverlook the country freely, with the lively flourish of the hornpreluding every pause. Travelling by railroad is, in my opinion, themost stupid process on earth; it is sleep without the refreshment ofsleep, for the noise of the train makes it impossible either to read, talk, or sleep to advantage. But here the advantages are immense; youcan fly through this dull trance from one beautiful place to another, and stay at each during the time that would otherwise be spent onthe road. Already the artists, who are obliged to find their homein London, rejoice that all England is thrown open to them forsketching-ground, since they can now avail themselves of a day'sleisure at a great distance, and with choice of position, whereasformerly they were obliged to confine themselves to a few "green, andbowery" spots in the neighborhood of the metropolis. But while in thecar, it is to me that worst of purgatories, the purgatory of dulness. 

Well, on the coach we went to Perth, and passed through Kinross, andsaw Loch Leven, and the island where Queen Mary passed those sorrowfulmonths, before her romantic escape under care of the Douglas. As thisunhappy, lovely woman stands for a type in history, death, time, anddistance do not destroy her attractive power. Like Cleopatra, she hasstill her adorers; nay, some are born to her in each new generation ofmen. Lately she has for her chevalier the Russian Prince Labanoff, whohas spent fourteen years in studying upon all that related to her, and thinks now that he can make out a story and a picture about themysteries of her short reign, which shall satisfy the desire of herlovers to find her as pure and just as she was charming. I have onlyseen of his array of evidence so much, as may be found in the pages ofChambers's Journal, but that much does not disturb the original view Ihave taken of the case; which is, that from a princess educatedunder the Medici and Guise influence, engaged in the meshes of secretintrigue to favor the Roman Catholic faith, her tacit acquiescence, at least, in the murder of Darnley, after all his injurious conducttoward her, was just what was to be expected. From a poor, beautifulyoung woman, longing to enjoy life, exposed both by her positionand her natural fascinations to the utmost bewilderment of flattery, whether prompted by interest or passion, her other acts of folly aremost natural, and let all who feel inclined harshly to condemn herremember to

 "Gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman. "

Surely, in all the stern pages of life's account-book there is none onwhich a more terrible price is exacted for every precious endowment. Her rank and reign only made her powerless to do good, and exposed herto danger; her talents only served to irritate her foes and disappointher friends. This most charming of women was the destruction of herlovers: married three times, she had never any happiness as a wife, but in both the connections of her choice found that she had eithernever possessed or could not retain, even for a few weeks, the love ofthe men she had chosen, so that Darnley was willing to risk her lifeand that of his unborn child to wreak his wrath upon Rizzio, and aftera few weeks with Bothwell she was heard "calling aloud for a knife tokill herself with. " A mother twice, and of a son and daughter, both the children were brought forth in loneliness and sorrow, andseparated from her early, her son educated to hate her, herdaughter at once immured in a convent. Add the eighteen years of herimprisonment, and the fact that this foolish, prodigal world, whenthere was in it one woman fitted by her grace and loveliness to charmall eyes and enliven all fancies, suffered her to be shut up to waterwith her tears her dull embroidery during all the full rose-blossom ofher life, and you will hardly get beyond this story for a tragedy, notnoble, but pallid and forlorn. 

Such were the bootless, best thoughts I had while looking at the dullblood-stain and blocked-up secret stair of Holyrood, at the ruins ofLoch Leven castle, and afterward at Abbotsford, where the pictureof Queen Mary's head, as it lay on the pillow when severed from theblock, hung opposite to a fine caricature of "Queen Elizabeth dancinghigh and disposedly. " In this last the face is like a mask, sofrightful is the expression of cold craft, irritated, vanity, and themalice of a lonely breast in contrast with the attitude and elaboratefrippery of the dress. The ambassador looks on dismayed; the littlepage can scarcely control the laughter which swells his boyish cheeks. Such can win the world which, better hearts (and such Mary's was, evenif it had a large black speck in it) are most like to lose. 

That was a most lovely day on which we entered Perth, and saw in fullsunshine its beautiful meadows, among them the North-Inch, the famousbattle-ground commemorated in "The Fair Maid of Perth, " adorned withgraceful trees like those of the New England country towns. In theafternoon we visited the modern Kinfauns, the stately home of LordGrey. The drive to it is most beautiful, on the one side the Park, with noble heights that skirt it, on the other through a belt of treeswas seen the river and the sweep of that fair and cultivated country. The house is a fine one, and furnished with taste, the library large, and some good works in marble. Among the family pictures onearrested my attention, --the face of a girl full of the most patheticsensibility, and with no restraint of convention upon its ardent, gentle expression. She died young. 

Returning, we were saddened, as almost always on leaving any suchplace, by seeing such swarms of dirty women and dirtier children atthe doors of the cottages almost close by the gate of the avenue. Tothe horrors and sorrows of the streets in such places as Liverpool, Glasgow, and, above all, London, one has to grow insensible or diedaily; but here in the sweet, fresh, green country, where there seemsto be room for everybody, it is impossible to forget the frightfulinequalities between the lot of man and man, or believe that God cansmile upon a state of things such as we find existent here. Can anyman who has seen these things dare blame the Associationists for theirattempt to find prevention against such misery and wickedness in ourland? Rather will not every man of tolerable intelligence and goodfeeling commend, say rather revere, every earnest attempt in thatdirection, nor dare interfere with any, unless he has a better tooffer in its place?

Next morning we passed on to Crieff, in whose neighborhood we visitedDrummond Castle, the abode, or rather one of the abodes, of LordWilloughby D'Eresby. It has a noble park, through which you pass byan avenue of two miles long. The old keep is still ascended to getthe fine view of the surrounding country; and during Queen Victoria'svisit, her Guards were quartered there. But what took my fancy mostwas the old-fashioned garden, full of old shrubs and new flowers, withits formal parterres in the shape of the family arms, and its clippedyew and box trees. It was fresh from a shower, and now glittering andfragrant in bright sunshine. 

This afternoon we pursued our way, passing through the plantationsof Ochtertyre, a far more charming place to my taste than DrummondCastle, freer and more various in its features. Five or six of thesefine places lie in the neighborhood of Crieff, and the traveller maygive two or three days to visiting them with a rich reward of delight. But we were pressing on to be with the lakes and mountains rather, andthat night brought us to St. Fillan's, where we saw the moon shiningon Loch Earn. 

All this region, and that of Loch Katrine and the Trosachs, whichwe reached next day, Scott has described exactly in "The Lady ofthe Lake"; nor is it possible to appreciate that poem, without goingthither, neither to describe the scene better than he has done afteryou have seen it. I was somewhat disappointed in the pass of theTrosachs itself; it is very grand, but the grand part lasts solittle while. The opening view of Loch Katrine, however, surpassed, expectation. It was late in the afternoon when we launched our littleboat there for Ellen's isle. 

The boatmen recite, though not _con molto espressione_, the parts ofthe poem which describe these localities. Observing that they spoke ofthe personages, too, with the same air of confidence, we asked if theywere sure that all this really happened. They replied, "Certainly; ithad been told from father to son through so many generations. " Suchis the power of genius to interpolate what it will into the regularlog-book of Time's voyage. 

Leaving Loch Katrine the following day, we entered Rob Roy's country, and saw on the way the house where Helen MacGregor was born, and RobRoy's sword, which is shown in a house by the way-side. 

We came in a row-boat up Loch Katrine, though both on that and LochLomond you _may_ go in a hateful little steamer with a squeakingfiddle to play Rob Roy MacGregor O. I walked almost all the waythrough the pass from Loch Katrine to Loch Lomond; it was a distanceof six miles; but you feel as if you could walk sixty in that pure, exhilarating air. At Inversnaid we took boat again to go down LochLomond to the little inn of Rowardennan, from which the ascent is madeof Ben Lomond, the greatest elevation in these parts. The boatmenare fine, athletic men; one of those with us this evening, a handsomeyoung man of two or three and twenty, sang to us some Gaelic songs. The first, a very wild and plaintive air, was the expostulation of agirl whose lover has deserted her and married another. It seems he isashamed, and will not even look at her when they meet upon the road. She implores him, if he has not forgotten all that scene of bygonelove, at least to lift up his eyes and give her one friendly glance. The sad _crooning_ burden of the stanzas in which she repeats thisrequest was very touching. When the boatman had finished, he hung hishead and seemed ashamed of feeling the song too much; then, when weasked for another, he said he would sing another about a girl that washappy. This one was in three parts. First, a tuneful address from amaiden to her absent lover; second, his reply, assuring her of hisfidelity and tenderness; third, a strain which expresses their joywhen reunited. I thought this boatman had sympathies which wouldprevent his tormenting any poor women, and perhaps make some onehappy, and this was a pleasant thought, since probably in theHighlands, as elsewhere, "Maidens lend an ear too oft To the careless wooer; Maidens' hearts are _always soft_; Would that men's were truer!"

I don't know that I quote the words correctly, but that is the sum andsubstance of a masculine report on these matters. 

The first day at Rowardennan not being propitious for ascending themountain, we went down the lake to sup, and got very tired in variousways, so that we rose very late next morning. Their we found a dayof ten thousand for our purpose; but unhappily a large party had comewith the sun and engaged all the horses, so that, if we went, it mustbe on foot. This was something of an enterprise for me, as the ascentis four miles, and toward the summit quite fatiguing; however, in thepride of newly gained health and strength, I was ready, and set forthwith Mr. S. Alone. We took no guide, --and the people of the house didnot advise it, as they ought. They told us afterward they thought theday was so clear that there was no probability of danger, and theywere afraid of seeming mercenary about it. It was, however, wrong, asthey knew what we did not, that even the shepherds, if a mist comeson, can be lost in these hills; that a party of gentlemen were so afew weeks before, and only by accident found their way to a house onthe other side; and that a child which had been lost was not found forfive days, long after its death. We, however, nothing doubting, setforth, ascending slowly, and often stopping to enjoy the points ofview, which are many, for Ben Lomond consists of a congeries of hills, above which towers the true Ben, or highest peak, as the head of amany-limbed body. 

On reaching the peak, the night was one of beauty and grandeur such asimagination never painted. You see around you no plain ground, but onevery side constellations or groups of hills exquisitely dressed inthe soft purple of the heather, amid which gleam the lakes, like eyesthat tell the secrets of the earth and drink in those of the heavens. Peak beyond peak caught from the shifting light all the colors of theprism, and on the farthest, angel companies seemed hovering in theirglorious white robes. 

Words are idle on such subjects; what can I say, but that it was anoble vision, that satisfied the eye and stirred the imagination inall its secret pulses? Had that been, as afterward seemed likely, the last act of my life, there could not have been a finer decorationpainted on the curtain which was to drop upon it. 

About four o'clock we began our descent. Near the summit the traces ofthe path are not distinct, and I said to Mr. S. , after a while, thatwe had lost it. He said, he thought that was of no consequence, wecould find oar way down. I thought however it was, as the ground wasfull of springs that were bridged over in the pathway. He accordinglywent to look for it, and I stood still because so tired that I did notlike to waste any labor. Soon he called to me that he had found it, and I followed in the direction where he seemed to be. But I mistook, overshot it, and saw him no more. In about ten minutes I becamealarmed, and called him many times. It seems he on his side did thesame, but the brow of some hill was between us, and we neither saw norheard one another. 

I then thought I would make the best of my way down, and I shouldfind him upon my arrival. But in doing so I found the justice of myapprehension about the springs, as, so soon as I got to the foot ofthe hills, I would sink up to my knees in bog, and have to go up thehills again, seeking better crossing-places. Thus I lost much time;nevertheless, in the twilight I saw at last the lake and the inn ofRowardennan on its shore. 

Between me and it lay direct a high heathery hill, which I afterwardfound is called "The Tongue, " because hemmed in on three sides by awatercourse. It looked as if, could I only get to the bottom of that, I should be on comparatively level ground. I then attempted to descendin the watercourse, but, finding that impracticable, climbed on thehill again and let myself down by the heather, for it was very steepand full of deep holes. With great fatigue I got to the bottom, butwhen about to cross the watercourse there, it looked so deep in thedim twilight that I felt afraid. I got down as far as I could by theroot of a tree, and threw down a stone; it sounded very hollow, andmade me afraid to jump. The shepherds told me afterward, if I had, Ishould probably have killed myself, it was so deep and the bed of thetorrent full of sharp stones. 

I then tried to ascend the hill again, for there was no other way toget off it, but soon sunk down utterly exhausted. When able to get upagain and look about me, it was completely dark. I saw far below mea light, that looked about as big as a pin's head, which I knew to befrom the inn at Rowardennan, but heard no sound except the rush of thewaterfall, and the sighing of the night-wind. 

For the first few minutes after I perceived I had got to my night'slodging, such as it was, the prospect seemed appalling. I was verylightly clad, --my feet and dress were very wet, --I had only a littleshawl to throw round me, and a cold autumn wind had already come, andthe night-mist was to fall on me, all fevered and exhausted as I was. I thought I should not live through the night, or, if I did, livealways a miserable invalid. There was no chance to keep myself warm bywalking, for, now it was dark, it would be too dangerous to stir. 

My only chance, however, lay in motion, and my only help in myself, and so convinced was I of this, that I did keep in motion the wholeof that long night, imprisoned as I was on such a little perch of thatgreat mountain. _How_ long it seemed under such circumstances onlythose can guess who may have been similarly circumstanced. The mentalexperience of the time, most precious and profound, --for it was indeeda season lonely, dangerous, and helpless enough for the birth ofthoughts beyond what the common sunlight will ever call to being, --maybe told in another place and time. 

For about two hours I saw the stars, and very cheery and companionablethey looked; but then the mist fell, and I saw nothing more, exceptsuch apparitions as visited Ossian on the hill-side when he went outby night and struck the bosky shield and called to him the spirits ofthe heroes and the white-armed maids with their blue eyes of grief. Tome, too, came those visionary shapes; floating slowly and gracefully, their white robes would unfurl from the great body of mist in whichthey had been engaged, and come upon me with a kiss pervasively coldas that of death. What they might have told me, who knows, if Ihad but resigned myself more passively to that cold, spirit-likebreathing!

At last the moon rose. I could not see her, but the silver lightfilled the mist. Then I knew it was two o'clock, and that, havingweathered out so much of the night, I might the rest; and the hourshardly seemed long to me more. 

It may give an idea of the extent of the mountain to say that, thoughI called every now and then with all my force, in case by chance someaid might be near, and though no less than twenty men with their dogswere looking for me, I never heard a sound except the rush of thewaterfall and the sighing of the night-wind, and once or twice thestartling of the grouse in the heather. It was sublime indeed, --anever-to-be-forgotten presentation of stern, serene realities. 

At last came the signs of day, the gradual clearing and breaking up;some faint sounds, from I know not what. The little flies, too, arosefrom their bed amid the purple heather, and bit me; truly they werevery welcome to do so. But what was my disappointment to find the mistso thick, that I could see neither lake nor inn, nor anything to guideme. I had to go by guess, and, as it happened, my Yankee method servedme well. I ascended the hill, crossed the torrent in the waterfall, first drinking some of the water, which was as good at that time asambrosia. I crossed in that place because the waterfall made steps, as it were, to the next hill; to be sure they were covered with water, but I was already entirely wet with the mist, so that it did notmatter. I then kept on scrambling, as it happened, in the rightdirection, till, about seven, some of the shepherds found me. Themoment they came, all my feverish strength departed, though, ifunaided, I dare say it would have kept me up during the day; and theycarried me home, where my arrival relieved my friends of distressfar greater than I had undergone, for I had had my grand solitude, myOssianic visions, and the pleasure of sustaining myself while theyhad only doubt amounting to anguish and a fruitless search through thenight. 

Entirely contrary to my expectations, I only suffered for this a fewdays, and was able to take a parting look at my prison, as I wentdown the lake, with feelings of complacency. It was a majestic-lookinghill, that Tongue, with the deep ravines on either side, and therichest robe of heather I have seen anywhere. 

Mr. S. Gave all the men who were looking for me a dinner in the barn, and he and Mrs. S. Ministered to them, and they talked of Burns, really the national writer, and known by them, apparently, as noneother is, and of hair-breadth escapes by flood and fell. Afterwardsthey were all brought up to see me, and it was pleasing indeed toobserve the good breeding and good, feeling with which they deportedthemselves on the occasion. Indeed, this adventure created quite anintimate feeling between us and the people there. I had been muchpleased, with them before, in attending one of their dances, onaccount of the genuine independence and politeness of their conduct. They were willing and pleased to dance their Highland flings andstrathspeys for our amusement, and did it as naturally and as freelyas they would have offered the stranger the best chair. 

All the rest must wait a while. I cannot economize time to keep upmy record in any proportion with what happens, nor can I get out ofScotland on this page, as I had intended, without utterly slightingmany gifts and graces. 

LETTER VI. 

INVERARY. --THE ARGYLE FAMILY. --DUMBARTON. --SUNSET ON THECLYDE. --GLASGOW. --DIRT AND INTELLECT. --STIRLING. --"THE SCOTTISHCHIEFS. "--STIRLING CASTLE. --THE TOURNAMENT GROUND. --EDINBURGH. --JAMESSIMPSON. --INFANT SCHOOLS. --FREE BATHS. --MELROSE. --ABBOTSFORD. --WALTERSCOTT. --DRYBURGH ABBEY. --SCOTT'S TOMB. 

Paris, November, 1846. 

I am very sorry to leave such a wide gap between my letters, but I wasinevitably prevented from finishing one that was begun for the steamerof the 4th of November. I then hoped to prepare one after my arrivalhere in time for the Hibernia, but a severe cold, caught on the way, unfitted me for writing. It is now necessary to retrace my steps along way, or lose sight of several things it has seemed desirable tomention to friends in America, though I shall make out my narrativemore briefly than if nearer the time of action. 

If I mistake not, my last closed just as I was looking back on thehill where I had passed the night in all the miserable chill and amidthe ghostly apparitions of a Scotch mist, but which looked in themorning truly beautiful, and (had I not known it too well to bedeceived) alluring, in its mantle of rich pink heath, the tallest andmost full of blossoms we anywhere saw, and with, the waterfall makingmusic by its side, and sparkling in the morning sun. 

Passing from Tarbet, we entered the grand and beautiful pass ofGlencoe, --sublime with purple shadows with bright lights between, andin one place showing an exquisitely silent and lonely little lake. The wildness of the scene was heightened by the black Highland cattlefeeding here and there. They looked much at home, too, in the park atInverary, where I saw them next day. In Inverary I was disappointed. I found, indeed, the position of every object the same as indicatedin the "Legend of Montrose, " but the expression of the whole seemedunlike what I had fancied. The present abode of the Argyle family isa modern structure, and boasts very few vestiges of the old romantichistory attached to the name. The park and look-out upon the lake arebeautiful, but except from the brief pleasure derived from these, theold cross from Iona that stands in the market-place, and the drone ofthe bagpipe which lulled me to sleep at night playing some melancholyair, there was nothing to make me feel that it was "a far cry toLochawe, " but, on the contrary, I seemed in the very midst of theprosaic, the civilized world. 

Leaving Inverary, we left that day the Highlands too, passing through. Hell Glen, a very wild and grand defile. Taking boat then on LochLevy, we passed down the Clyde, stopping an hour or two on our way atDumbarton. Nature herself foresaw the era of picture when she made andplaced this rock: there is every preparation for the artist's stealinga little piece from her treasures to hang on the walls of a room. HereI saw the sword of "Wallace wight, " shown by a son of the nineteenthcentury, who said that this hero lived about fifty years ago, and whodid not know the height of this rock, in a cranny of which he lived, or at least ate and slept and "donned his clothes. " From the top ofthe rock I saw sunset on the beautiful Clyde, animated that day by anendless procession of steamers, little skiffs, and boats. In one ofthe former, the Cardiff Castle, we embarked as the last light of daywas fading, and that evening found ourselves in Glasgow. 

I understand there is an intellectual society of high merit inGlasgow, but we were there only a few hours, and did not see any one. Certainly the place, as it may be judged of merely from the generalaspect of the population and such objects as may be seen in thestreets, more resembles an _Inferno_ than any other we have yetvisited. The people are more crowded together, and the stamp ofsqualid, stolid misery and degradation more obvious and appalling. The English and Scotch do not take kindly to poverty, like those ofsunnier climes; it makes them fierce or stupid, and, life presentingno other cheap pleasure, they take refuge in drinking. 

I saw here in Glasgow persons, especially women, dressed in dirty, wretched tatters, worse than none, and with an expression of listless, unexpecting woe upon their faces, far more tragic than the inscriptionover the gate of Dante's _Inferno_. To one species of misery sufferedhere to the last extent, I shall advert in speaking of London. 

But from all these sorrowful tokens I by no means inferred thefalsehood of the information, that here was to be found a circlerich in intellect and in aspiration. The manufacturing and commercialtowns, burning focuses of grief and vice, are also the centres ofintellectual life, as in forcing-beds the rarest flowers and fruitsare developed by use of impure and repulsive materials. Where evilcomes to an extreme, Heaven seems busy in providing means for theremedy. Glaring throughout Scotland and England is the necessity forthe devoutest application of intellect and love to the cure of illsthat cry aloud, and, without such application, erelong help _must_ besought by other means than words. Yet there is every reason to hopethat those who ought to help are seriously, though, slowly, becomingalive to the imperative nature of this duty; so we must not ceaseto hope, even in the streets of Glasgow, and the gin-palaces ofManchester, and the dreariest recesses of London. 

From Glasgow we passed to Stirling, like Dumbarton endeared to themind which cherishes the memory of its childhood more by associationwith Miss Porter's Scottish Chiefs, than with "Snowdon's knight andScotland's king. " We reached the town too late to see the castlebefore the next morning, and I took up at the inn "The ScottishChiefs, " in which I had not read a word since ten or twelve years old. We are in the habit now of laughing when this book is named, as if itwere a representative of what is most absurdly stilted or bombastic, but now, in reading, my maturer mind was differently impressed fromwhat I expected, and the infatuation with which childhood and earlyyouth regard this book and its companion, "Thaddeus of Warsaw, " wasjustified. The characters and dialogue are, indeed, out of nature, butthe sentiment that animates them is pure, true, and no less healthythan noble. Here is bad drawing, bad drama, but good music, to whichthe unspoiled heart will always echo, even when the intellect haslearned to demand a better organ for its communication. 

The castle of Stirling is as rich as any place in romanticassociations. We were shown its dungeons and its Court of Lions, where, says tradition, wild animals, kept in the grated cellsadjacent, were brought out on festival occasions to furnishentertainment for the court. So, while lords and ladies gay danced andsang above, prisoners pined and wild beasts starved below. This, atfirst blush, looks like a very barbarous state of things, but, onreflection, one does not find that we have outgrown it in our presentso-called state of refined civilization, only the present way ofexpressing the same facts is a little different. Still lords andladies dance and sing, unknowing or uncaring that the laborers whominister to their luxuries starve or are turned into wild beasts. Manneed not boast his condition, methinks, till he can weave his costlytapestry without the side that is kept under looking thus sadly. 

The tournament ground is still kept green and in beautiful order, nearStirling castle, as a memento of the olden time, and as we passedaway down the beautiful Firth, a turn of the river gave us a veryadvantageous view of it. So gay it looked, so festive in the brightsunshine, one almost seemed to see the graceful forms of knight andnoble pricking their good steeds to the encounter, or the stalwartDouglas, vindicating his claim to be indeed a chief by conquest in therougher sports of the yeomanry. 

Passing along the Firth to Edinburgh, we again passed two or threedays in that beautiful city, which I could not be content to leaveso imperfectly seen, if I had not some hope of revisiting it when thebright lights that adorn it are concentred there. In summer almostevery one is absent. I was very fortunate to see as many interestingpersons as I did. On this second visit I saw James Simpson, awell-known philanthropist, and leader in the cause of populareducation. Infant schools have been an especial care of his, andAmerica as well as Scotland has received the benefit of his thoughtson this subject. His last good work has been to induce the erectionof public baths in Edinburgh, and the working people of that place, already deeply in his debt for the lectures he has been unweariedin delivering for their benefit, have signified their gratitude bypresenting him with a beautiful model of a fountain in silver as anornament to his study. Never was there a place where such a measurewould be more important; if cleanliness be akin to godliness, Edinburgh stands at great disadvantage in her devotions. The impureair, the terrific dirt which surround the working people, must makeall progress in higher culture impossible; and I saw nothing whichseemed to me so likely to have results of incalculable good, as thispractical measure of the Simpsons in support of the precept, "Wash and be clean every whit. "

We returned into England by the way of Melrose, not content to leaveScotland without making our pilgrimage to Abbotsford. The universalfeeling, however, has made this pilgrimage so common that thereis nothing left for me to say; yet, though I had read a hundreddescriptions, everything seemed new as I went over this epitome ofthe mind and life of Scott. As what constitutes the great man is morecommonly some extraordinary combination and balance of qualities, thanthe highest development of any one, so you cannot but here be struckanew by the singular combination in Scott's mind of love for thepicturesque and romantic with the plainest common sense, --a delightin heroic excess with the prudential habit of order. Here the mostpleasing order pervades emblems of what men commonly esteem disorderand excess. 

Amid the exquisite beauty of the ruins of Dryburgh, I saw with regretthat Scott's body rests in almost the only spot that is not green, andcannot well be made so, for the light does not reach it. That is nota fit couch for him who dressed so many dim and time-worn relics withliving green. 

Always cheerful and beneficent, Scott seemed to the common eye in likemeasure prosperous and happy, up to the last years, and the chair inwhich, under the pressure of the sorrows which led to his death, hewas propped up to write when brain and eye and hand refused theiraid, the product remaining only as a guide to the speculator as to theworkings of the mind in case of insanity or approaching imbecility, would by most persons be viewed as the only saddening relic of hiscareer. Yet when I recall some passages in the Lady of the Lake, andthe Address to his Harp, I cannot doubt that Scott had the full shareof bitter in his cup, and feel the tender hope that we do about othergentle and generous guardians and benefactors of our youth, that in anobler career they are now fulfilling still higher duties with serenermind. Doubtless too they are trusting in us that we will try to filltheir places with kindly deeds, ardent thoughts, nor leave the world, in their absence, "A dim, vast vale of tears, Vacant and desolate. "

LETTER VII. 

NEWCASTLE. --DESCENT INTO A COAL-MINE. --YORK WITH ITS MINSTER. --SHEFFIELD. --CHATSWORTH. --WARWICK CASTLE. --LEAMINGTON ANDSTRATFORD. --SHAKESPEARE. --BIRMINGHAM. --GEORGE DAWSON. --JAMESMARTINEAU. --W. J. FOX. --W. H. CHARMING AND THEODORE PARKER. --LONDONAND PARIS. 

Paris, 1846. 

We crossed the moorland in a heavy rain, and reached Newcastle lateat night. Next day we descended into a coal-mine; it was quite an oddsensation to be taken off one's feet and dropped down into darknessby the bucket. The stables under ground had a pleasant Gil-Blas air, though the poor horses cannot like it much; generally they see thelight of day no more after they have once been let down into thesegloomy recesses, but pass their days in dragging cars along the railsof the narrow passages, and their nights in eating hay and dreamingof grass!! When we went down, we meant to go along the gallery to theplace where the miners were then at work, but found this was a walkof a mile and a half, and, beside the weariness of picking one's stepsslowly along by the light of a tallow candle, too wet and dirty anenterprise to be undertaken by way of amusement; so, after proceedinghalf a mile or so, we begged to be restored to our accustomed level, and reached it with minds slightly edified and face and hands muchblackened. 

Passing thence we saw York with its Minster, that dream of beautyrealized. From, its roof I saw two rainbows, overarching that lovelycountry. Through its aisles I heard grand music pealing. But howsorrowfully bare is the interior of such a cathedral, despoiled of thestatues, the paintings, and the garlands that belong to the Catholicreligion! The eye aches for them. Such a church is ruined byProtestantism; its admirable exterior seems that of a sepulchre; thereis no correspondent life within. 

Within the citadel, a tower half ruined and ivy-clad, is life thathas been growing up while the exterior bulwarks of the old feudal timecrumbled to ruin. George Fox, while a prisoner at York for obedienceto the dictates of his conscience, planted here a walnut, and the talltree that grew from it still "bears testimony" to his living presenceon that spot. The tree is old, but still bears nuts; one of them wastaken away by my companions, and may perhaps be the parent of a treesomewhere in America, that shall shade those who inherit the spirit, if they do not attach importance to the etiquettes, of Quakerism. 

In Sheffield I saw the sooty servitors tending their furnaces. I sawthem, also on Saturday night, after their work was done, going toreceive its poor wages, looking pallid and dull, as if they had spenton tempering the steel that vital force that should have temperedthemselves to manhood. 

We saw, also, Chatsworth, with its park and mock wilderness, andimmense conservatory, and really splendid fountains and wealth ofmarbles. It is a fine expression of modern luxury and splendor, butdid not interest me; I found little there of true beauty or grandeur. 

Warwick Castle is a place entirely to my mind, a real representativeof the English aristocracy in the day of its nobler life. The grandeurof the pile itself, and its beauty of position, introduce you fitlyto the noble company with which the genius of Vandyke has peopledits walls. But a short time was allowed to look upon these nobles, warriors, statesmen, and ladies, who gaze upon us in turn with such amajesty of historic association, yet was I very well satisfied. Itis not difficult to see men through the eyes of Vandyke. His way ofviewing character seems superficial, though commanding; he sees theman in his action on the crowd, not in his hidden life; he does not, like some painters, amaze and engross us by his revelations as to thesecret springs of conduct. I know not by what hallucination I foreboreto look at the picture I most desired to see, --that of Lucy, Countessof Carlisle. I was looking at something else, and when the fat, pompous butler announced her, I did not recognize her name from hismouth. Afterward it flashed across me, that I had really been standingbefore her and forgotten to look. But repentance was too late; I hadpassed the castle gate to return no more. 

Pretty Leamington and Stratford are hackneyed ground. Of the latterI only observed what, if I knew, I had forgotten, that the room whereShakespeare was born has been an object of devotion only for fortyyears. England has learned much of her appreciation of Shakespearefrom the Germans. In the days of innocence, I fondly supposed thatevery one who could understand English, and was not a cannibal, adoredShakespeare and read him on Sundays always for an hour or more, and onweek days a considerable portion of the time. But I have lived to knowsome hundreds of persons in my native land, without finding ten whohad any direct acquaintance with their greatest benefactor, and I daresay in England as large an experience would not end more honorablyto its subjects. So vast a treasure is left untouched, while men arecomplaining of being poor, because they have not toothpicks exactly totheir mind. 

At Stratford I handled, too, the poker used to such good purpose byGeoffrey Crayon. The muse had fled, the fire was out, and the pokerrusty, yet a pleasant influence lingered even in that cold littleroom, and seemed to lend a transient glow to the poker under theinfluence of sympathy. 

In Birmingham I heard two discourses from one of the rising lights ofEngland, George Dawson, a young man of whom I had earlier heard muchin praise. He is a friend of the people, in the sense of brotherhood, not of a social convenience or patronage; in literature catholic; inmatters of religion antisectarian, seeking truth in aspiration andlove. He is eloquent, with good method in his discourse, fire anddignity when wanted, with a frequent homeliness in enforcement andillustration which offends the etiquettes of England, but fits him thebetter for the class he has to address. His powers are uncommon andunfettered in their play; his aim is worthy. He is fulfilling and willfulfil an important task as an educator of the people, if all benot marred by a taint of self-love and arrogance now obvious in hisdiscourse. This taint is not surprising in one so young, who hasdone so much, and in order to do it has been compelled to greatself-confidence and light heed of the authority of other minds, andwho is surrounded almost exclusively by admirers; neither is it, at present, a large speck; it may be quite purged from him by theinfluence of nobler motives and the rise of his ideal standard; but, on the other hand, should it spread, all must be vitiated. Let us hopethe best, for he is one that could ill be spared from the band whohave taken up the cause of Progress in England. 

In this connection I may as well speak of James Martineau, whom Iheard in Liverpool, and W. J. Fox, whom I heard in London. 

Mr. Martineau looks like the over-intellectual, the partiallydeveloped man, and his speech confirms this impression. He issometimes conservative, sometimes reformer, not in the sense ofeclecticism, but because his powers and views do not find a trueharmony. On the conservative side he is scholarly, acute, --on theother, pathetic, pictorial, generous. He is no prophet and no sage, yet a man full of fine affections and thoughts, always suggestive, sometimes satisfactory; he is well adapted to the wants of that class, a large one in the present day, who love the new wine, but do not feelthat they can afford to throw away _all_ their old bottles. 

Mr. Fox is the reverse of all this: he is homogeneous in his materialsand harmonious in the results he produces. He has great persuasivepower; it is the persuasive power of a mind warmly engaged in seekingtruth for itself. He sometimes carries homeward convictions with greatenergy, driving in the thought as with golden nails. A glow of kindlyhuman sympathy enlivens his argument, and the whole presents thoughtin a well-proportioned, animated body. But I am told he is farsuperior in speech on political or social problems, than on such as Iheard him discuss. 

I was reminded, in hearing all three, of men similarly engaged in ourcountry, W. H. Charming and Theodore Parker. None of them comparein the symmetrical arrangement of extempore discourse, or in pureeloquence and communication of spiritual beauty, with Charming, nor infulness and sustained flow with Parker, but, in power of practical andhomely adaptation of their thought to common wants, they are superiorto the former, and all have more variety, finer perceptions, and aremore powerful in single passages, than Parker. 

And now my pen has run to 1st October, and still I have suchnotabilities as fell to my lot to observe while in London, and thesethat are thronging upon me here in Paris to record for you. I am sadlyin arrears, but 't is comfort to think that such meats as I have toserve up are as good cold as hot. At any rate, it is just impossibleto do any better, and I shall comfort myself, as often before, withthe triplet which I heard in childhood from a sage (if only sages wearwigs!):--

 "As said the great Prince Fernando, What _can_ a man do, More than he can do?"

LETTER VIII. 

RECOLLECTIONS OF LONDON. --THE ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. --LONDON CLIMATE. --OUTOF SEASON. --LUXURY AND MISERY. --A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. --TERRORSOF POVERTY. --JOANNA BAILLIE AND MADAME ROLAND. --HAMPSTEAD. --MISSBERRY. --FEMALE ARTISTS. --MARGARET GILLIES. --THE PEOPLE'SJOURNAL. --THE TIMES. --THE HOWITTS. --SOUTH WOOD SMITH. --HOUSES FOR THEPOOR. --SKELETON OF JEREMY BENTHAM. --COOPER THE POET. --THOM. 

Paris, December, 1846. 

I sit down here in Paris to narrate some recollections of London. The distance in space and time is not great, yet I seem in wholly adifferent world. Here in the region of wax-lights, mirrors, brightwood fires, shrugs, vivacious ejaculations, wreathed smiles, andadroit courtesies, it is hard to remember John Bull, with hiscoal-smoke, hands in pockets, except when extended for ungraciousdemand of the perpetual half-crown, or to pay for the all butperpetual mug of beer. John, seen on that side, is certainly the mostchurlish of clowns, and the most clownish of churls. But thenthere are so many other sides! When a gentleman, he is so truly thegentleman, when a man, so truly the man of honor! His graces, when hehas any, grow up from his inmost heart. 

Not that he is free from humbug; on the contrary, he is prone to themost solemn humbug, generally of the philanthrophic or otherwise moralkind. But he is always awkward beneath the mask, and can never imposeupon anybody--but himself. Nature meant him to be noble, generous, sincere, and has furnished him with no faculties to make himselfagreeable in any other way or mode of being. 'Tis not so with yourFrenchman, who can cheat you pleasantly, and move with grace in thedevious and slippery path. You would be almost sorry to see him quitedisinterested and straightforward, so much of agreeable talent andnaughty wit would thus lie hid for want of use. But John, O John, wemust admire, esteem, or be disgusted with thee. 

As to climate, there is not much to choose at this time of year. InLondon, for six weeks, we never saw the sun for coal-smoke and fog. InParis we have not been blessed with its cheering rays above three orfour days in the same length of time, and are, beside, tormented withan oily and tenacious mud beneath the feet, which makes it almostimpossible to walk. This year, indeed, is an uncommonly severe one atParis; but then, if they have their share of dark, cold days, it mustbe admitted that they do all they can to enliven them. 

But to dwell first on London, --London, in itself a world. We arrivedat a time which the well-bred Englishman considers as no time atall, --quite out of "the season, " when Parliament is in session, andLondon thronged with the equipages of her aristocracy, her titledwealthy nobles. I was listened to with a smile of contempt when Ideclared that the stock shows of London would yield me amusement andemployment more than sufficient for the time I had to stay. ButI found that, with my way of viewing things, it would be to me aninexhaustible studio, and that, if life were only long enough, I wouldlive there for years obscure in some corner, from which I could issueforth day by day to watch unobserved the vast stream of life, or todecipher the hieroglyphics which ages have been inscribing on thewalls of this vast palace (I may not call it a temple), which humaneffort has reared for means, not yet used efficaciously, of humanculture. 

And though I wish to return to London in "the season, " when that cityis an adequate representative of the state of things in England, Iam glad I did not at first see all that pomp and parade of wealth andluxury in contrast with the misery, squalid, agonizing, ruffianly, which stares one in the face in every street of London, and hoots atthe gates of her palaces more ominous a note than ever was that of owlor raven in the portentous times when empires and races have crumbledand fallen from inward decay. 

It is impossible, however, to take a near view of the treasurescreated by English genius, accumulated by English industry, without aprayer, daily more fervent, that the needful changes in the conditionof this people may be effected by peaceful revolution, which shalldestroy nothing except the shocking inhumanity of exclusiveness, which now prevents their being used, for the benefit of all. May theirpresent possessors look to it in time! A few already are earnest ina good spirit. For myself, much as I pitied the poor, abandoned, hopeless wretches that swarm in the roads and streets of England, Ipity far more the English noble, with this difficult problem beforehim, and such need of a speedy solution. Sad is his life, if aconscientious man; sadder still, if not. Poverty in England hasterrors of which I never dreamed at home. I felt that it would beterrible to be poor there, but far more so to be the possessor of thatfor which so many thousands are perishing. And the middle class, too, cannot here enjoy that serenity which the sages have described asnaturally their peculiar blessing. Too close, too dark throng theevils they cannot obviate, the sorrows they cannot relieve. To a manof good heart, each day must bring purgatory which he knows not how tobear, yet to which he fears to become insensible. 

From these clouds of the Present, it is pleasant to turn the thoughtsto some objects which have cast a light upon the Past, and which, bythe virtue of their very nature, prescribe hope for the Future. I havementioned with satisfaction seeing some persons who illustratedthe past dynasty in the progress of thought here: Wordsworth, Dr. Chalmers, De Quincey, Andrew Combe. With a still higher pleasure, because to one of my own sex, whom I have honored almost above any, I went to pay my court to Joanna Baillie. I found on her brow, notindeed a coronal of gold, but a serenity and strength undimmed andunbroken by the weight of more than fourscore years, or by the scantyappreciation which her thoughts have received. 

I prize Joanna Baillie and Madame Roland as the best specimens whichhave been hitherto offered of women of a Roman strength and singlenessof mind, adorned by the various culture and capable of the variousaction opened to them by the progress of the Christian Idea. They arenot sentimental; they do not sigh and write of withered flowers offond affection, and woman's heart born to be misunderstood by theobject or objects of her fond, inevitable choice. Love (the passion), when spoken of at all by them, seems a thing noble, religious, worthyto be felt. They do not write of it always; they did not think of italways; they saw other things in this great, rich, suffering world. Insuperior delicacy of touch, they show the woman, but the hand is firm;nor was all their speech, one continued utterance of mere personalexperience. It contained things which are good, intellectually, universally. 

I regret that the writings of Joanna Baillie are not more known inthe United States. The Plays on the Passions are faulty in theirplan, --all attempts at comic, even at truly dramatic effect, fail; butthere are masterly sketches of character, vigorous expressions of wisethought, deep, fervent ejaculations of an aspiring soul!

We found her in her little calm retreat at Hampstead, surrounded bymarks of love and reverence from distinguished and excellent friends. Near her was the sister, older than herself, yet still sprightly andfull of active kindness, whose character and their mutual relation shehas, in one of her last poems, indicated with such a happy mixture ofsagacity, humor, and tender pathos, and with so absolute a truth ofoutline. Although no autograph collector, I asked for theirs, and whenthe elder gave hers as "sister to Joanna Baillie, " it drew a tear frommy eye, --a good tear, a genuine pearl, --fit homage to that fairestproduct of the soul of man, humble, disinterested tenderness. 

Hampstead has still a good deal of romantic beauty. I was told it wasthe favorite sketching-ground of London artists, till the railroadsgave them easy means of spending a few hours to advantage fartheroff. But, indeed, there is a wonderful deal of natural beauty lying inuntouched sweetness near London. Near one of our cities it would allhave been grabbed up the first thing. But we, too, are beginning togrow wiser. 

At Richmond I went to see another lady of more than threescore years'celebrity, more than fourscore in age, Miss Berry the friend of HoraceWalpole, and for her charms of manner and conversation long and stilla reigning power. She has still the vivacity, the careless nature, orrefined art, that made her please so much in earlier days, --still isgirlish, and gracefully so. Verily, with her was no sign of labor orsorrow. 

From the older turning to the young, I must speak with pleasureof several girls I know in London, who are devoting themselves topainting as a profession. They have really wise and worthy views ofthe artist's avocation; if they remain true to them, they will enjoya free, serene existence, unprofaned by undue care or sentimentalsorrow. Among these, Margaret Gillies has attained some celebrity;she may be known to some in America by engravings in the "People'sJournal" from her pictures; but, if I remember right, these arecoarse things, and give no just notion of her pictures, which aredistinguished for elegance and refinement; a little mannerized, butshe is improving in that respect. 

The "People's Journal" comes nearer being a fair sign of the timesthan any other publication of England, apparently, if we except Punch. As for the Times, on which you all use your scissors so industriously, it is managed with vast ability, no doubt, but the blood would tinglemany a time to the fingers' ends of the body politic, before thatsolemn organ which claims to represent the heart would dare to beat inunison. Still it would require all the wise management of the Times, or wisdom enough to do without it, and a wide range and diversity oftalent, indeed, almost sweeping the circle, to make a People's Journalfor England. The present is only a bud of the future flower. 

Mary and William Howitt are its main support. I saw them several timesat their cheerful and elegant home. In Mary Howitt I found the sameengaging traits of character we are led to expect from her booksfor children. Her husband is full of the same agreeable information, communicated in the same lively yet precise manner we find in hisbooks; it was like talking with old friends, except that now theeloquence of the eye was added. At their house I became acquaintedwith Dr. Southwood Smith, the well-known philanthropist. He is atpresent engaged on the construction of good tenements calculated toimprove the condition of the working people. His plans look promising, and should they succeed, you shall have a detailed account of them. Onvisiting him, we saw an object which I had often heard celebrated, and had thought would be revolting, but found, on the contrary, anagreeable sight; this is the skeleton of Jeremy Bentham. It was atBentham's request that the skeleton, dressed in the same dress hehabitually wore, stuffed out to an exact resemblance of life, and witha portrait mark in wax, the best I ever saw, sits there, as assistantto Dr. Smith in the entertainment of his guests and companion of hisstudies. The figure leans a little forward, resting the hands on a, stout stick which Bentham always carried, and had named "Dapple";the attitude is quite easy, the expression of the whole quite mild, winning, yet highly individual. It is a pleasing mark of that unityof aim and tendency to be expected throughout the life of such a mind, that Bentham, while quite a young man, had made a will, in which, tooppose in the most convincing manner the prejudice against dissectionof the human subject, he had given his body after death to be used inservice of the cause of science. "I have not yet been able, " said thewill, "to do much service to my fellow-men by my life, but perhaps Imay in this manner by my death. " Many years after, reading a pamphletby Dr. Smith on the same subject, he was much pleased with it, became his friend, and bequeathed his body to his care and use, withdirections that the skeleton should finally be disposed of in the wayI have described. 

The countenance of Dr. Smith has an expression of expansive, sweet, almost childlike goodness. Miss Gillies has made a charming picture ofhim, with a favorite little granddaughter nestling in his arms. 

Another marked figure that I encountered on this great showboard wasCooper, the author of "The Purgatory of Luicides, " a very remarkablepoem, of which, had there been leisure before my departure, I shouldhave made a review, and given copious extracts in the Tribune. Cooperis as strong a man, and probably a milder one, than when in the prisonwhere that poem was written. The earnestness in seeking freedomand happiness for all men, which drew upon him that penalty, seemsunabated; he is a very significant type of the new era, and also anagent in bringing it near. One of the poets of the people, also, Isaw, --the sweetest singer of them all, --Thom. "A Chieftain unknownto the Queen" is again exacting a cruel tribute from him. I wish muchthat some of those of New York who have taken an interest in him wouldprovide there a nook in which he might find refuge and solace for theevening of his days, to sing or to work as likes him best, and wherehe could bring up two fine boys to happier prospects than the parentland will afford them. Could and would America but take from otherlands more of the talent, as well as the bone and sinew, she would berich. 

But the stroke of the clock warns me to stop now, and begin to-morrowwith fresher eye and hand on some interesting topics. My sketches areslight; still they cannot be made without time, and I find none to behad in this Europe except late at night. I believe it is what all theinhabitants use, but I am too sleepy a genius to carry the practicefar. 

LETTER IX. 

WRITING AT NIGHT. --LONDON. --NATIONAL GALLERY. --MURILLO. --THE FLOWERGIRL. --NURSERY-MAIDS AND WORKING-MEN. --HAMPTON COURT. --ZOÖLOGICALGARDENS. --KING OF ANIMALS. --ENGLISH PIETY. --EAGLES. --SIR JOHN SOANE'SMUSEUM. --KEW GARDENS. --THE GREAT CACTUS. --THE REFORM CLUB HOUSE. --MENCOOKS. --ORDERLY KITCHEN. --A GILPIN EXCURSION. --THE BELL AT EDMONTON. --OMNIBUS. --CHEAPSIDE. --ENGLISH SLOWNESS. --FREILIGRATH. --ARCADIA. --ITALIAN SCHOOL. --MAZZINI. --ITALY. --ITALIAN REFUGEES. --CORREGGIO. --HOPE OF ITALIANS. --ADDRESSES. --SUPPER. --CARLYLE, HIS APPEARANCE, CONVERSATION, &C. 

Again I must begin to write late in the evening. I am told it is thecustom of the literati in these large cities to work in the night. Itis easy to see that it must be almost impossible to do otherwise; yetnot only is the practice very bad for the health, and one that bringson premature old age, but I cannot think this night-work will prove asfirm in texture and as fair of hue as what is done by sunlight. Giveme a lonely chamber, a window from which through the foliage you cancatch glimpses of a beautiful prospect, and the mind finds itselftuned to action. 

But London, London! I have yet some brief notes to make on London. Wehad scarcely any sunlight by which to see pictures, and I postponedall visits to private collections, except one, in the hope of being inEngland next time in the long summer days. In the National Gallery Isaw little except the Murillos; they were so beautiful, that with me, who had no true conception of his kind of genius before, they tookaway the desire to look into anything else at the same time. Theydid not affect me much either, except with a sense of content in thisgenius, so rich and full and strong. It was a cup of sunny wine thatrefreshed but brought no intoxicating visions. There is somethingvery noble in the genius of Spain, there is such an intensity andsingleness; it seems to me it has not half shown itself, and must havean important part to play yet in the drama of this planet. 

At the Dulwich Gallery I saw the Flower Girl of Murillo, an enchantingpicture, the memory of which must always

 "Cast a light upon the day, A light that will not pass away, A sweet forewarning. "

Who can despair when he thinks of a form like that, so full of lifeand bliss! Nature, that made such human forms to match the butterflyand the bee on June mornings when the lime-trees are in blossom, hassurely enough of happiness in store to satisfy us all, somewhere, sometime. 

It was pleasant, indeed, to see the treasures of those galleries, ofthe British Museum, and of so charming a place as Hampton Court, open to everybody. In the National Gallery one finds a throng ofnursery-maids, and men just come from their work; true, they make agreat deal of noise thronging to and fro on the uncarpeted floorsin their thick boots, and noise from which, when penetrated bythe atmosphere of Art, men in the thickest boots would know how torefrain; still I felt that the sight of such objects must be graduallydoing them a great deal of good. The British Museum would, in itself, be an education for a man who should go there once a week, and thinkand read at his leisure moments about what he saw. 

Hampton Court I saw in the gloom, and rain, and my chief recollectionsare of the magnificent yew-trees beneath whose shelter--the workof ages--I took refuge from the pelting shower. The expectationscherished from childhood about the Cartoons were all baffled; therewas no light by which they could be seen. But I must hope to visitHampton Court again in the time of roses. 

The Zoölogical Gardens are another pleasure of the million, since, although something is paid there, it is so little that almost all canafford it. To me, it is a vast pleasure to see animals where they canshow out their habits or instincts, and to see them assembled from, all climates and countries, amid verdure and with room enough, as theyare here, is a true poem. They have a fine lion, the first I ever sawthat realized the idea we have of the king of the animal world; butthe groan and roar of this one were equally royal. The eagles werefine, but rather disgraced themselves. It is a trait of English piety, which would, no doubt, find its defenders among ourselves, not to feedthe animals on Sunday, that their keepers may have rest; at leastthis was the explanation given us by one of these men of the state ofravenous hunger in which we found them on the Monday. I half hopehe was jesting with us. Certain it is that the eagles were wild withfamine, and even the grandest of them, who had eyed us at first as ifwe were not fit to live in the same zone with him, when the meat cameround, after a short struggle to maintain his dignity, joined in wildshriek and scramble with the rest. 

Sir John Soane's Museum I visited, containing the sarcophagusdescribed by Dr. Waagen, Hogarth's pictures, a fine Canaletto, anda manuscript of Tasso. It fills the house once the residence of hisbody, still of his mind. It is not a mind with which I have sympathy;I found there no law of harmony, and it annoyed me to see things alljumbled together as if in an old curiosity-shop. Nevertheless it was agenerous bequest, and much may perhaps be found there of value to himwho takes time to seek. 

The Gardens at Kew delighted me, thereabouts all was so green, andstill one could indulge at leisure in the humorous and fantasticassociations that cluster around the name of Kew, like the curls ofa "big wig" round the serene and sleepy face of its wearer. Here arefourteen green-houses: in one you find all the palms; in another, the productions of the regions of snow; in another, those squibs andhumorsome utterances of Nature, the cactuses, --ay! there I saw thegreat-grandfather of all the cactuses, a hoary, solemn plant, declaredto be a thousand years old, disdaining to say if it is not reallymuch, older; in yet another, the most exquisitely minute plants, delicate as the tracery of frostwork, too delicate for the bowers offairies, such at least as visit the gross brains of earthly poets. 

The Reform Club was the only one of those splendid establishments thatI visited. Certainly the force of comfort can no farther go, nor cananything be better contrived to make dressing, eating, news-getting, and even sleeping (for there are bedrooms as well as dressing-roomsfor those who will), as comfortable as can be imagined. Yet to me thispalace of so many "single gentlemen rolled into one" seemed _stupidly_comfortable, in the absence of that elegant arrangement and vivaciousatmosphere which only women can inspire. In the kitchen, indeed, Imet them, and on that account it seemed the pleasantest part of thebuilding, --though even there they are but the servants of servants. There reigned supreme a genius in his way, who has published a workon Cookery, and around him his pupils, --young men who pay a handsomeyearly fee for novitiate under his instruction. I was not sorry, however, to see men predominant in the cooking department, as I hopeto see that and washing transferred to their care in the progress ofthings, since they are "the stronger sex. "

The arrangements of this kitchen were very fine, combining greatconvenience with neatness, and even elegance. Fourier himself mighthave taken pleasure in them. Thence we passed into the privateapartments of the artist, and found them full of pictures by his wife, an artist in another walk. One or two of them had been engraved. _She_was an Englishwoman. 

A whimsical little excursion we made on occasion of the anniversary ofthe wedding-day of two of my friends. They had often enjoyed readingthe account of John Gilpin's in America, and now thought that, as theywere in England and near enough, they would celebrate theirs also at"the Bell at Edmonton. " I accompanied them with "a little foot-page, "to eke out the train, pretty and graceful and playful enough forthe train of a princess. But our excursion turned out somewhat of afailure, in an opposite way to Gilpin's. Whereas he went too fast, wewent too slow. First we took coach and went through Cheapside to takeomnibus at (strange misnomer!) the Flower-Pot. But Gilpin could neverhave had his race through Cheapside as it is in its present crowdedstate; we were obliged to proceed at a funeral pace. We missed theomnibus, and when we took the next one it went with the slowness of a"family horse" in the old chaise of a New England deacon, and, afterall, only took us half-way. At the half-way house a carriage was tobe sought. The lady who let it, and all her grooms, were to be allowedtime to recover from their consternation at so unusual a move asstrangers taking a carriage to dine at the little inn at Edmonton, nowa mere alehouse, before we could be allowed to proceed. The Englishstand lost in amaze at "Yankee notions, " with their quick come andgo, and it is impossible to make them "go ahead" in the zigzagchain-lightning path, unless you push them. A rather old part of theplan had been a pilgrimage to the grave of Lamb, with a collateralview to the rural beauties of Edmonton, but night had fallen on allsuch hopes two hours at least before we reached the Bell. _There_, indeed, we found them somewhat more alert to comprehend our wishes;they laughed when we spoke of Gilpin, showed us a print of the raceand the window where Mrs. Gilpin must have stood, --balcony, alas!there was none; allowed us to make our own fire, and provided us awedding dinner of tough meat and stale bread. Nevertheless we danced, dined, paid (I believe), and celebrated the wedding quite to oursatisfaction, though in the space of half an hour, as we knewfriends were even at that moment expecting us to _tea_ at some miles'distance. But it is always pleasant in this world of routine to actout a freak. "Such a one, " said an English gentleman, "one of _us_would rarely have dreamed of, much, less acted. " "Why, was it notpleasant?" "Oh, _very_! but _so_ out of the way!"

Returning, we passed the house where Freiligrath finds a temporaryhome, earning the bread, of himself and his family in a commercialhouse. England houses the exile, but not without house-tax, window-tax, and head-tax. Where is the Arcadia that dares inviteall genius to her arms, and change her golden wheat for their greenlaurels and immortal flowers? Arcadia?--would the name were America!

And now returns naturally to my mind one of the most interestingthings I have seen here or elsewhere, --the school for poor Italianboys, sustained and taught by a few of their exiled compatriots, andespecially by the mind and efforts of Mazzini. The name of JosephMazzini is well known to those among us who take an interest in thecause of human freedom, who, not content with the peace and easebought for themselves by the devotion and sacrifices of their fathers, look with anxious interest on the suffering nations who are preparingfor a similar struggle. Those who are not, like the brutes thatperish, content with the enjoyment of mere national advantages, indifferent to the idea they represent, cannot forget that the humanfamily is one, "And beats with one great heart. "

They know that there can be no genuine happiness, no salvation forany, unless the same can be secured for all. 

To this universal interest in all nations and places where man, understanding his inheritance, strives to throw off an arbitrary ruleand establish a state of things where he shall be governed as becomesa man, by his own conscience and intelligence, --where he may speakthe truth as it rises in his mind, and indulge his natural emotionsin purity, --is added an especial interest in Italy, the mother ofour language and our laws, our greatest benefactress in the giftsof genius, the garden of the world, in which our best thoughts havedelighted to expatiate, but over whose bowers now hangs a perpetualveil of sadness, and whose noblest plants are doomed to removal, --for, if they cannot bear their ripe and perfect fruit in another climate, they are not permitted to lift their heads to heaven in their own. 

Some of these generous refugees our country has received kindly, ifnot with a fervent kindness; and the word _Correggio_ is still inmy ears as I heard it spoken in New York by one whose heart longoppression could not paralyze. _Speranza_ some of the Italian youthnow inscribe on their banners, encouraged by some traits of apparentpromise in the new Pope. However, their only true hope is inthemselves, in their own courage, and in that wisdom winch may only belearned through many disappointments as to how to employ it so that itmay destroy tyranny, not themselves. 

Mazzini, one of these noble refugees, is not only one of the heroic, the courageous, and the faithful, --Italy boasts many such, --but he isalso one of the wise;--one of those who, disappointed in the outwardresults of their undertakings, can yet "bate no jot of heart andhope, " but _must_ "steer right onward "; for it was no superficialenthusiasm, no impatient energies, that impelled him, but anunderstanding of what _must_ be the designs of Heaven with regard toman, since God is Love, is Justice. He is one who can live fervently, but steadily, gently, every day, every hour, as well as on great, occasions, cheered by the light of hope; for, with Schiller, he issure that "those who live for their faith shall behold it living. "He is one of those same beings who, measuring all things by the idealstandard, have yet no time to mourn over failure or imperfection;there is too much to be done to obviate it. 

Thus Mazzini, excluded from publication in his native language, hasacquired the mastery both of French and English, and through hisexpressions in either shine the thoughts which animated his earliereffort with mild and steady radiance. The misfortunes of his countryhave only widened the sphere of his instructions, and made him anexponent of the better era to Europe at large. Those who wish to forman idea of his mind could not do better than to read his sketches ofthe Italian Martyrs in the "People's Journal. " They will find there, on one of the most difficult occasions, an ardent friend speaking ofhis martyred friends with, the purity of impulse, warmth of sympathy, largeness and steadiness of view, and fineness of discrimination whichmust belong to a legislator for a CHRISTIAN commonwealth. 

But though I have read these expressions with great delight, thisschool was one to me still more forcible of the same ideas. Here thesepoor boys, picked up from the streets, are redeemed from bondage andgross ignorance by the most patient and constant devotion of time andeffort. What love and sincerity this demands from minds capable ofgreat thoughts, large plans, and rapid progress, only their peers cancomprehend, yet exceeding great shall he the reward; and as amongthe fishermen, and poor people of Judęa were picked up those who havebecome to modern Europe a leaven that leavens the whole mass, so maythese poor Italian boys yet become more efficacious as missionariesto their people than would an Orphic poet at this period. These youthshave very commonly good faces, and eyes from which that Italianfire that has done so much to warm the world glows out. We saw thedistribution of prizes to the school, heard addresses from Mazzini, Pistracci, Mariotti (once a resident in our country), and an Englishgentleman who takes a great interest in the work, and then adjournedto an adjacent room, where a supper was provided for the boys andother guests, among whom we saw some of the exiled Poles. The wholeevening gave a true and deep pleasure, though tinged with sadness. Wesaw a planting of the kingdom of Heaven, though now no larger than agrain of mustard-seed, and though perhaps none of those who watch thespot may live to see the birds singing in its branches. 

I have not yet spoken of one of _our_ benefactors, Mr. Carlyle, whom Isaw several times. I approached him with more reverence after a littleexperience of England and Scotland had taught me to appreciate thestrength and height of that wall of shams and conventions which hemore than any man, or thousand men, --indeed, he almost alone, --hasbegun to throw down. Wherever there was fresh thought, generous hope, the thought of Carlyle has begun the work. He has torn off the veilsfrom hideous facts; he has burnt away foolish illusions; he hasawakened thousands to know what it is to be a man, --that we must live, and not merely pretend to others that we live. He has touched therocks and they have given forth musical answer; little more waswanting to begin to construct the city. 

But that little was wanting, and the work of construction is left tothose that come after him: nay, all attempts of the kind he is thereadiest to deride, fearing new shams worse than the old, unable totrust the general action of a thought, and finding no heroic man, nonatural king, to represent it and challenge his confidence. 

Accustomed to the infinite wit and exuberant richness of his writings, his talk is still an amazement and a splendor scarcely to be facedwith steady eyes. He does not converse, --only harangues. It is theusual misfortune of such marked men (happily not one invariable orinevitable) that they cannot allow other minds room to breathe andshow themselves in their atmosphere, and thus miss the refreshmentand instruction, which the greatest never cease to need from theexperience of the humblest. Carlyle allows no one a chance, butbears down all opposition, not only by his wit and onset of words, resistless in their sharpness as so many bayonets, but by actualphysical superiority, raising his voice and rushing on his opponentwith a torrent of sound. This is not the least from unwillingness toallow freedom to others; on the contrary, no man would more enjoya manly resistance to his thought; but it is the impulse of a mindaccustomed to follow out its own impulse as the hawk its prey, andwhich knows not how to stop in the chase. Carlyle, indeed, is arrogantand overbearing, but in his arrogance there is no littleness orself-love: it is the heroic arrogance of some old Scandinavianconqueror, --it is his nature and the untamable impulse that has givenhim power to crush the dragons. You do not love him, perhaps, norrevere, and perhaps, also, he would only laugh at you if you did; butyou like him heartily, and like to see him the powerful smith, theSiegfried, melting all the old iron in his furnace till it glows to asunset red, and burns you if you senselessly go too near. He seemed tome quite isolated, lonely as the desert; yet never was man more fittedto prize a man, could he find one to match his mood. He finds such, but only in the past. He sings rather than talks. He pours upon you akind of satirical, heroical, critical poem, with regular cadences, andgenerally catching up near the beginning some singular epithet, which, serves as a _refrain_ when his song is full, or with which as with aknitting-needle he catches up the stitches if he has chanced nowand then to let fall a row. For the higher kinds of poetry he has nosense, and his talk on that subject is delightfully and gorgeouslyabsurd; he sometimes stops a minute to laugh at it himself, thenbegins anew with fresh vigor; for all the spirits he is driving beforehim seem to him as Fata Morganas, ugly masks, in fact, if he can butmake them turn about, but he laughs that they seem to others suchdainty Ariels. He puts out his chin sometimes till it looks like thebeak of a bird, and his eyes flash bright instinctive meanings likeJove's bird; yet he is not calm and grand enough for the eagle: heis more like the falcon, and yet not of gentle blood enough for thateither. He is not exactly like anything but himself, and therefore youcannot see him without the most hearty refreshment and good-will, forhe is original, rich, and strong enough to afford a thousand, faults;one expects some wild land in a rich kingdom. His talk, like hisbooks, is full of pictures, his critical strokes masterly; allow forhis point of view, and his survey is admirable. He is a large subject;I cannot speak more or wiselier of him now, nor needs it; his worksare true, to blame and praise him, the Siegfried of England, great andpowerful, if not quite invulnerable, and of a might rather to destroyevil than legislate for good. At all events, he seems to be whatDestiny intended, and represents fully a certain side; so we make noremonstrance as to his being and proceeding for himself, though wesometimes must for us. 

I had meant some remarks on some fine pictures, and the little I sawof the theatre in England; but these topics must wait till my next, where they may connect themselves naturally enough with what I have tosay of Paris. 

LETTER X. 

MORE OF LONDON. --THE MODEL PRISON AT PENTONVILLE. --BATHINGESTABLISHMENT FOR THE POOR. --ALSO ONE FOR WASHING CLOTHES. --THECRČCHES OF PARIS, FOR POOR PEOPLE'S CHILDREN. --OLD DRURYIN LONDON. --SADLER'S WELLS. --ENGLISH AND FRENCH ACTING COMPARED. --MADEMOISELLE RACHEL. --FRENCH TRAGEDY. --ROSE CHENY. --DUMAS. --GUIZOT. --THE PRESENTATION AT COURT OF THE YOUNG DUCHESS. --BALL AT THETUILERIES. --AMERICAN AND FRENCH WOMEN. --LEVERRIER. --THE SORBONNE. --ARAGO. --DISCUSSIONS ON SUICIDE AND THE CRUSADES. --RÉMUSAT. --THEACADEMY. --LA MENNAIS. --BÉRANGER. --REFLECTIONS. 

Paris. 

When I wrote last I could not finish with London, and there remainyet two or three things I wish to speak of before passing to myimpressions of this wonder-full Paris. 

I visited the model prison at Pentonville; but though in somerespects an improvement upon others I have seen, --though there was theappearance of great neatness and order in the arrangements of life, kindness and good judgment in the discipline of the prisoners, --yetthere was also an air of bleak forlornness about the place, and itfell far short of what my mind demands of such abodes considered asredemption schools. But as the subject of prisons is now engaging theattention of many of the wisest and best, and the tendency is in whatseems to me the true direction, I need not trouble myself to makeprude and hasty suggestions; it is a subject to which persons whowould be of use should give the earnest devotion of calm and leisurelythought. 

The same day I went to see an establishment which gave me unmixedpleasure; it is a bathing establishment put at a very low rate toenable the poor to avoid one of thee worst miseries of their lot, andwhich yet promises _to pay_. Joined with this is an establishment forwashing clothes, where the poor can go and hire, for almost nothing, good tubs, water ready heated, the use of an apparatus for rinsing, drying, and ironing, all so admirably arranged that a poor womancan in three hours get through an amount of washing and ironingthat would, under ordinary circumstances, occupy three or four days. Especially the drying closets I contemplated with great satisfaction, and hope to see in our own country the same arrangements throughoutthe cities, and even in the towns and villages. Hanging out theclothes is a great exposure for women, even when they have a goodplace for it; but when, as is so common in cities, they must dry themin the house, how much they suffer! In New York, I know, those poorwomen who take in washing endure a great deal of trouble and toil fromthis cause; I have suffered myself from being obliged to sendback what had cost them so much toil, because it had been, perhapsinevitably, soiled in the drying or ironing, or filled with the smellof their miscellaneous cooking. In London it is much worse. An eminentphysician told me he knew of two children whom he considered to havedied because their mother, having but one room to live in, was obligedto wash and dry clothes close to their bed when they were ill. Thepoor people in London naturally do without washing all they can, andbeneath that perpetual fall of soot the result may be guessed. All butthe very poor in England put out their washing, and this custom oughtto be universal in civilized countries, as it can be done much betterand quicker by a few regular laundresses than by many families, and "the washing day" is so malignant a foe to the peace and joy ofhouseholds that it ought to be effaced from the calendar. But as longas we are so miserable as to have any very poor people in this world, _they_ cannot put out their washing, because they cannot earn enoughmoney to pay for it, and, preliminary to something better, washingestablishments like this of London are desirable. 

One arrangement that they have here in Paris will be a good one, evenwhen we cease to have any very poor people, and, please Heaven, alsoto have any very rich. These are the _Crčches_, --houses where poorwomen leave their children to be nursed during the day while they areat work. 

I must mention that the superintendent of the washing establishmentobserved, with a legitimate triumph, that it had been built withoutgiving a single dinner or printing a single puff, --an extraordinarything, indeed, for England!

To turn to something a little gayer, --the embroidery on this tatteredcoat of civilized life, --I went into only two theatres; one the OldDrury, once the scene of great glories, now of execrable music andmore execrable acting. If anything can be invented more excruciatingthan an English opera, such as was the fashion at the time I was inLondon, I am sure no sin of mine deserves the punishment of bearingit. 

At the Sadler's Wells theatre I saw a play which I had much admired inreading it, but found still better in actual representation; indeed, it seems to me there can be no better acting play: this is "ThePatrician's Daughter, " by J. W. Marston. The movement is rapid, yetclear and free; the dialogue natural, dignified, and flowing; thecharacters marked with few, but distinct strokes. Where the toneof discourse rises with manly sentiment or passion, the audienceapplauded with bursts of generous feeling that gave me great pleasure, for this play is one that, in its scope and meaning, marks the new erain England; it is full of an experience which is inevitable to a manof talent there, and is harbinger of the day when the noblest commonershall be the only noble possible in England. 

But how different all this acting to what I find in France! Here thetheatre is living; you see something really good, and good throughout. Not one touch of that stage strut and vulgar bombast of tone, whichthe English actor fancies indispensable to scenic illusion, istolerated here. For the first time in my life I saw somethingrepresented in a style uniformly good, and should have foundsufficient proof, if I had needed any, that all men will prefer whatis good to what is bad, if only a fair opportunity for choicebe allowed. When I came here, my first thought was to go and seeMademoiselle Rachel. I was sure that in her I should find a truegenius, absolutely the diamond, and so it proved. I went to see herseven or eight times, always in parts that required great force ofsoul and purity of taste even to conceive them, and only once hadreason to find fault with her. On one single occasion I saw herviolate the harmony of the character to produce effect at a particularmoment; but almost invariably I found her a true artist, worthyGreece, and worthy at many moments to have her conceptionsimmortalized in marble. 

Her range even in high tragedy is limited. She can only express thedarker passions, and grief in its most desolate aspects. Nature hasnot gifted her with those softer and more flowery attributes that lendto pathos its utmost tenderness. She does not melt to tears, or calmor elevate the heart by the presence of that tragic beauty that needsall the assaults of Fate to make it show its immortal sweetness. Hernoblest aspect is when sometimes she expresses truth in some severeshape, and rises, simple and austere, above the mixed elements aroundher. On the dark side, she is very great in hatred and revenge. Iadmired her more in Phedre than in any other part in which I saw her. The guilty love inspired by the hatred of a goddess was expressed inall its symptoms with a force and terrible naturalness that almostsuffocated the beholder. After she had taken the poison, theexhaustion and paralysis of the system, the sad, cold, calm submissionto Fate, were still more grand. 

I had heard so much about the power of her eye in one fixed look, andthe expression she could concentrate in a single word, that the utmostresults could only satisfy my expectations. It is, indeed, somethingmagnificent to see the dark cloud give out such sparks, each one fitto deal a separate death; but it was not that I admired most in her:it was the grandeur, truth, and depth of her conception of each part, and the sustained purity with which she represented it. 

For the rest, I shall write somewhere a detailed _critique_ upon theparts in which I saw her. It is she who has made me acquainted withthe true way of viewing French tragedy. I had no idea of its powersand symmetry till now, and have received from the revelation highpleasure and a crowd of thoughts. 

The French language from her lips is a divine dialect; it is strippedof its national and personal peculiarities, and becomes what anylanguage must, moulded by such a genius, the pure music of the heartand soul. I never could remember her tone in speaking any word; itwas too perfect; you had received the thought quite direct. Yet, hadI never heard her speak a word, my mind would, be filled by herattitudes. Nothing more graceful can be conceived, nor could thegenius of sculpture surpass her management of the antique drapery. 

She has no beauty except in the intellectual severity of her outline, and bears marks of age which will grow stronger every year, and makeher ugly before long. Still it will be a _grandiose_, gypsy, or ratherSibylline ugliness, well adapted to the expression of some tragicparts. Only it seems as if she could not live long; she expends forceenough upon a part to furnish out a dozen common lives. 

Though the French tragedy is well acted throughout, yet unhappilythere is no male actor now with a spark of fire, and these men seemthe meanest pigmies by the side of Rachel;--so on the scene, besidethe tragedy intended by the author, you see also that common tragedy, a woman of genius who throws away her precious heart, lives and diesfor one unworthy of her. In parts this effect is productive of toomuch pain. I saw Rachel one night with her brother and sister. Thesister imitated her so closely that you could not help seeing shehad a manner, and an imitable manner. Her brother was in the play herlover, --a wretched automaton, and presenting the most unhappy familylikeness to herself. Since then I have hardly cared to go and see her. We could wish with geniuses, as with the Phoenix, to see only one ofthe family at a time. 

In the pathetic or sentimental drama Paris boasts another youngactress, nearly as distinguished in that walk as Rachel in hers. This is Rose Cheny, whom we saw in her ninety-eighth personation ofClarissa Harlowe, and afterward in Genevieve and the _Protégé sansle Savoir_, --a little piece written expressly for her by Scribe. The "Miss Clarisse" of the French drama is a feeble and partialreproduction of the heroine of Richardson; indeed, the original in allits force of intellect and character would have been too much forthe charming Rose Cheny, but to the purity and lovely tenderness ofClarissa she does full justice. In the other characters she wasthe true French girl, full of grace and a mixture of _naļveté_ andcunning, sentiment and frivolity, that is winning and _piquant_, ifnot satisfying. Only grief seems very strange to those bright eyes; wedo not find that they can weep much and bear the light of day, and theinhaling of charcoal seems near at hand to their brightest pleasures. 

At the other little theatres you see excellent acting, and a sparkleof wit unknown to the world out of France. The little pieces in whichall the leading topics of the day are reviewed are full of drolleriesthat make you laugh at each instant. _Poudre-Colon_ is the only one ofthese I have seen; in this, among other jokes, Dumas, in the characterof Monte-Christo and in a costume half Oriental, half juggler, is madeto pass the other theatres in review while seeking candidates for hisnew one. 

Dumas appeared in court yesterday, and defended his own cause againstthe editors who sue him for evading some of his engagements. I wasvery desirous to hear him speak, and went there in what I was assuredwould be very good season; but a French audience, who knew the groundbetter, had slipped in before me, and I returned, as has been toooften the case with me in Paris, having seen nothing but endlessstaircases, dreary vestibules, and _gens d'armes_. The hospitality of_le grande nation_ to the stranger is, in many respects, admirable. Galleries, libraries, cabinets of coins, museums, are opened in themost liberal manner to the stranger, warmed, lighted, ay, and guarded, for him almost all days in the week; treasures of the past are at hisservice; but when anything is happening in the present, the French runquicker, glide in more adroitly, and get possession of the ground. Ifind it not the most easy matter to get to places even where there isnothing going on, there is so much tiresome fuss of getting _billets_from one and another to be gone through; but when something ishappening it is still worse. I missed hearing M. Guizot in his speechon the Montpensier marriage, which would have given a very good ideaof his manner, and which, like this defence of M. Dumas, was a skilfulpiece of work as regards evasion of the truth. The good feeling towardEngland which had been fostered with so much care and toil seems tohave been entirely dissipated by the mutual recriminations about thismarriage, and the old dislike flames up more fiercely for having beenhid awhile beneath the ashes. I saw the little Duchess, the innocentor ignorant cause of all this disturbance, when presented at court. She went round the circle on the arm of the Queen. Though onlyfourteen, she looks twenty, but has something fresh, engaging, andgirlish about her. I fancy it will soon be rubbed out under the drillof the royal household. 

I attended not only at the presentation, but at the ball given atthe Tuileries directly after. These are fine shows, as the suiteof apartments is very handsome, brilliantly lighted, and the Frenchladies surpass all others in the art of dress; indeed, it gave memuch, pleasure to see them. Certainly there are many ugly ones, butthey are so well dressed, and have such an air of graceful vivacity, that the general effect was that of a flower-garden. As often happens, several American women were among the most distinguished for positivebeauty; one from Philadelphia, who is by many persons consideredthe prettiest ornament of the dress circle at the Italian Opera, wasespecially marked by the attention of the king. However, these ladies, even if here a long time, do not attain the air and manner of Frenchwomen; the magnetic atmosphere that envelops them is less brilliantand exhilarating in its attractions. 

It was pleasant to my eye, which has always been so wearied inour country by the sombre masses of men that overcloud our publicassemblies, to see them now in so great variety of costume, color, anddecoration. 

Among the crowd wandered Leverrier, in the costume of Academician, looking as if he had lost, not found, his planet. French _savants_ aremore generally men of the world, and even men of fashion, than thoseof other climates; but, in his case, he seemed not to find it easy toexchange the music of the spheres for the music of fiddles. 

Speaking of Leverrier leads to another of my disappointments. I wentto the Sorbonne to hear him lecture, nothing dreaming that the oldpedantic and theological character of those halls was strictly kept upin these days of light. An old guardian of the inner temple, seeingme approach, had his speech all ready, and, manning the entrance, saidwith a disdainful air, before we had time to utter a word, "Monsieurmay enter if he pleases, but Madame must remain here" (i. E. Inthe court-yard). After some exclamations of surprise, I found analternative in the Hotel de Clugny, where I passed an hour verydelightfully while waiting for my companion. The rich remains of othercenturies are there so arranged that they can be seen to the bestadvantage; many of the works in ivory, china, and carved wood aretruly splendid or exquisite. I saw a dagger with jewelled hilt whichtalked whole poems to my mind. In the various "Adorations of theMagi, " I found constantly one of the wise men black, and with themarked African lineaments. Before I had half finished, my companioncame and wished me at least to visit the lecture-rooms of theSorbonne, now that the talk, too good for female ears, was over. But the guardian again interfered to deny me entrance. "You can go, Madame, " said he, "to the College of France; you can go to this andt'other place, but you cannot enter here. " "What, sir, " said I, "isit your institution alone that remains in a state of barbarism?" "Quevoulez vous, Madame?" he replied, and, as he spoke, his littledog began to bark at me, --"Que voulez vous, Madame? c'est laregle, "--"What would you have, Madam? IT IS THE RULE, "--a reply whichmakes me laugh even now, as I think how the satirical wits of formerdays might have used it against the bulwarks of learned dulness. 

I was more fortunate in hearing Arago, and he justified all myexpectations. Clear, rapid, full and equal, his discourse is worthyits celebrity, and I felt repaid for the four hours one is obliged tospend in going, in waiting, and in hearing; for the lecture begins athalf past one, and you must be there before twelve to get a seat, soconstant and animated is his popularity. 

I have attended, with some interest, two discussions at theAthenée, --one on Suicide, the other on the Crusades. They are amateuraffairs, where, as always at such times, one hears much, nonsense andvanity, much making of phrases and sentimental grimace; but there wasone excellent speaker, adroit and rapid as only a Frenchman could be. With admirable readiness, skill, and rhetorical polish, he examinedthe arguments of all the others, and built upon their failuresa triumph for himself. His management of the language, too, was masterly, and French is the best of languages for such apurpose, --clear, flexible, full of sparkling points and quick, picturesque turns, with a subtile blandness that makes the dart ticklewhile it wounds. Truly he pleased the fancy, filled the ear, andcarried us pleasantly along over the smooth, swift waters; but thencame from the crowd a gentleman, not one of the appointed oratorsof the evening, but who had really something in his heart to say, --agrave, dark man, with Spanish eyes, and the simple dignity of honorand earnestness in all his gesture and manner. He said in few andunadorned words his say, and the sense of a real presence filled theroom, and those charms of rhetoric faded, as vanish the beauties ofsoap-bubbles from the eyes of astonished childhood. 

I was present on one good occasion at the Academy the day that M. Rémusat was received there in the place of Royer-Collard. I lookeddown from one of the tribunes upon the flower of the celebrities ofFrance, that is to say, of the celebrities which are authentic, _commeil faut_. Among them were many marked faces, many fine heads; butin reading the works of poets we always fancy them about the age ofApollo himself, and I found with pain some of my favorites quite old, and very unlike the company on Parnassus as represented by Raphael. Some, however, were venerable, even noble, to behold. Indeed, theliterary dynasty of France is growing old, and here, as in Englandand Germany, there seems likely to occur a serious gap before theinauguration of another, if indeed another is coming. 

However, it was an imposing sight; there are men of real distinctionnow in the Academy, and Moličre would have a fair chance if hewere proposed to-day. Among the audience I saw many ladies of fineexpression and manner, as well as one or two _precieuses ridicules_, arace which is never quite extinct. 

M. Rémusat, as is the custom on these occasions, painted the portraitof his predecessor; the discourse was brilliant and discriminatingin the details, but the orator seemed to me to neglect drawing someobvious inferences which would have given a better point of view forhis subject. 

A _séance_ to me much more impressive find interesting was one whichborrowed nothing from dress, decorations, or the presence of titledpomp. I went to call on La Mennais, to whom I had a letter, I foundhim in a little study; his secretary was writing in a larger roomthrough which I passed. With him was a somewhat citizen-looking, but vivacious, elderly man, whom I was at first sorry to see, having wished for half an hour's undisturbed visit to the apostle ofDemocracy. But how quickly were those feelings displaced by joy whenhe named to me the great national lyrist of France, the unequalledBéranger. I had not expected to see him at all, for he is not one tobe seen in any show place; he lives in the hearts of the people, andneeds no homage from their eyes. I was very happy in that little studyin presence of these two men, whose influence has been so great, soreal. To me Béranger has been much; his wit, his pathos, his exquisitelyric grace, have made the most delicate strings vibrate, and I canfeel, as well as see, what he is in his nation and his place. I havenot personally received anything from La Mennais, as, born under othercircumstances, mental facts which he, once the pupil of Rome, haslearned by passing through severe ordeals, are at the basis of allmy thoughts. But I see well what he has been and is to Europe, and ofwhat great force of nature and spirit. He seems suffering and pale, but in his eyes is the light of the future. 

These are men who need no flourish of trumpets to announce theircoming, --no band of martial music upon their steps, --no obsequiousnobles in their train. They are the true kings, the theocratic kings, the judges in Israel. The hearts of men make music at their approach;the mind of the age is the historian of their passage; and only men ofdestiny like themselves shall be permitted to write their eulogies, orfill their vacant seats. 

Wherever there is a genius like his own, a germ of the finest fruitstill hidden beneath the soil, the "_Chante pauvre petit_" of Bérangershall strike, like a sunbeam, and give it force to emerge, andwherever there is the true Crusade, --for the spirit, not the tomb ofChrist, --shall be felt an echo of the "_Que tes armes soient benisjeune soldat_" of La Mennais. 

LETTER XI. 

FRANCE AND HER ARTISTIC EXCELLENCE. --THE PICTURES OF HORACEVERNET. --DE LA ROCHE. --LEOPOLD ROBERT. --CONTRAST BETWEEN THE FRENCHAND ENGLISH SCHOOLS OF ART. --THE GENERAL APPRECIATION OF TURNER'SPICTURES. --BOTANICAL MODELS IN WAX. --MUSIC. --THE OPERA. --DUPREZ. --LABLACHE. --RONCONI. --GRISI. --PERSIANA. --"SEMIRAMIDE" AS PERFORMED BYTHE NEW YORK AND PARIS OPERAS. --MARIO. --COLETTI. --GARDINI. --"DON GIOVANNI. "--THE WRITER'S TRIAL OF THE "LETHEON. "--ITS EFFECTS. 

It needs not to speak in this cursory manner of the treasures of Art, pictures, sculptures, engravings, and the other riches which Francelays open so freely to the stranger in her Musées. Any examinationworth writing of such objects, or account of the thoughts theyinspire, demands a place by itself, and an ample field in which toexpatiate. The American, first introduced to some good pictures by thetruly great geniuses of the religious period in Art, must, if capableat all of mental approximation to the life therein embodied, be toodeeply affected, too full of thoughts, to be in haste to say anything, and for me, I bide my time. 

No such great crisis, however, is to be apprehended from acquaintancewith the productions of the modern French school. They are, indeed, full of talent and of vigor, but also melodramatic and exaggerated toa degree that seems to give the nightmare passage through the freshand cheerful day. They sound no depth of soul, and are marked with thesignet of a degenerate age. 

Thus speak I generally. To the pictures of Horace Vernet one cannotbut turn a gracious eye, they are so faithful a transcript of the lifewhich circulates around us in the present state of things, and weare willing to see his nobles and generals mounted on such excellenthorses. De la Roche gives me pleasure; there is in his pictures asimple and natural poesy; he is a man who has in his own heart a wellof good water, whence he draws for himself when the streams are mixedwith strange soil and bear offensive marks of the bloody battles oflife. 

The pictures of Leopold Robert I find charming. They are full of vigorand nobleness; they express a nature where all is rich, young, and ona large scale. Those that I have seen are so happily expressive of thethoughts and perceptions of early manhood, I can hardly regret hedid not live to enter on another stage of life, the impression nowreceived is so single. 

The effort of the French school in Art, as also its main tendency inliterature, seems to be to turn the mind inside out, in the coarsestacceptation of such a phrase. Art can only be truly Art by presentingan adequate outward symbol of some fact in the interior life. But thenit _is_ a symbol that Art seeks to present, and not the fact itself. These French painters seem to have no idea of this; they have notstudied the method of Nature. With the true artist, as with Natureherself, the more full the representation, the more profound andenchanting is the sense of mystery. We look and look, as on a flowerof which we cannot scrutinize the secret life, yet b; looking seemconstantly drawn nearer to the soul that causes and governs that life. But in the French pictures suffering is represented by streams ofblood, --wickedness by the most ghastly contortions. 

I saw a movement in the opposite direction in England; it was inTurner's pictures of the later period. It is well known that Turner, so long an idol of the English public, paints now in a manner whichhas caused the liveliest dissensions in the world of connoisseurs. There are two parties, one of which maintains, not only that thepictures of the late period are not good, but that they are notpictures at all, --that it is impossible to make out the design, orfind what Turner is aiming at by those strange blotches of color. The other party declare that these pictures are not only good, butdivine, --that whoever looks upon them in the true manner will not failto find there somewhat ineffably and transcendently admirable, --thesoul of Art. Books have been written to defend this side of thequestion. 

I had become much interested about this matter, as the fervor offeeling on either side seemed to denote that there was something realand vital going on, and, while time would not permit my visiting otherprivate collections in London and its neighborhood, I insisted ontaking it for one of Turner's pictures. It was at the house of one ofhis devoutest disciples, who has arranged everything in the rooms toharmonize with them. There were a great many of the earlier period;these seemed to me charming, but superficial, views of Nature. Theywere of a character that he who runs may read, --obvious, simple, graceful. The later pictures were quite a different matter;mysterious-looking things, --hieroglyphics of picture, rather thanpicture itself. Sometimes you saw a range of red dots, which, afterlong looking, dawned on you as the roofs of houses, --shining streaksturned out to be most alluring rivulets, if traced with patience anda devout eye. Above all, they charmed the eye and the thought. Still, these pictures, it seems to me, cannot be considered fine works ofArt, more than the mystical writing common to a certain class of mindsin the United States can be called good writing. A great work of Artdemands a great thought, or a thought of beauty adequately expressed. Neither in Art nor literature more than in life can an ordinarythought be made interesting because well dressed. But in a transitionstate, whether of Art or literature, deeper thoughts are imperfectlyexpressed, because they cannot yet be held and treated masterly. This seems to be the case with Turner. He has got beyond the Englishgentleman's conventional view of Nature, which implies a _little_sentiment and a _very_ cultivated taste; he has become awake to whatis elemental, normal, in Nature, --such, for instance, as one sees inthe working of water on the sea-shore. He tries to represent theseprimitive forms. In the drawings of Piranesi, in the pictures ofRembrandt, one sees this grand language exhibited more truly. It isnot picture, but certain primitive and leading effects of light andshadow, or lines and contours, that captivate the attention. I saw apicture of Rembrandt's at the Louvre, whose subject I do not knowand have never cared to inquire. I cannot analyze the group, but Iunderstand and feel the thought it embodies. At something similarTurner seems aiming; an aim so opposed to the practical and outwardtendency of the English mind, that, as a matter of course, themajority find themselves mystified, and thereby angered, but for thesame reason answering to so deep and seldom satisfied a want in theminds of the minority, as to secure the most ardent sympathy where anyat all can be elicited. 

Upon this topic of the primitive forms and operations of nature, I amreminded of something interesting I was looking at yesterday. Theseare botanical models in wax, with microscopic dissections, by anartist from Florence, a pupil of Calamajo, the Director of theWax-Model Museum there. I saw collections of ten different genera, embracing from fifty to sixty species, of Fungi, Mosses, and Lichens, detected and displayed in all the beautiful secrets of their lives;many of them, as observed by Dr. Leveillé of Paris. The artist told methat a fisherman, introduced to such acquaintance with the marvelsof love and beauty which we trample under foot or burn in the chimneyeach careless day, exclaimed, "'Tis the good God who protects uson the sea that made all these"; and a similar recognition, acorrespondent feeling, will not be easily evaded by the most callousobserver. This artist has supplied many of these models to themagnificent collection of the _Jardin des Plantes_, to Edinburgh, andto Bologna, and would furnish them, to our museums at a much cheaperrate than they can elsewhere be obtained. I wish the Universities ofCambridge, New York, and other leading institutions of our country, might avail themselves of the opportunity. 

In Paris I have not been very fortunate in hearing the best music. At the different Opera-Houses, the orchestra is always good, but thevocalization, though far superior to what I have heard at home, falls so far short of my ideas and hopes that--except to the ItalianOpera--I have not been often. The _Opera Comique_ I visited onlyonce; it was tolerably well, and no more, and, for myself, I find thetolerable intolerable in music. At the Grand Opera I heard _Robert leDiable_ and _Guillaume Tell_ almost with ennui; the decorations anddresses are magnificent, the instrumental performance good, but notone fine singer to fill these fine parts. Duprez has had a greatreputation, and probably has sung better In former days; still hehas a vulgar mind, and can never have had any merit as an artist. Atpresent I find him unbearable. He forces his voice, sings in the mostcoarse, showy style, and aims at producing effects without regard tothe harmony of his part; fat and vulgar, he still takes the part ofthe lover and young chevalier; to my sorrow I saw him in Ravenswood, and he has well-nigh disenchanted for me the Bride of Lammermoor. 

The Italian Opera is here as well sustained, I believe, as anywhere inthe world at present; all about it is certainly quite good, but alas!nothing excellent, nothing admirable. Yet no! I must not say nothing:Lablache is excellent, --voice, intonation, manner of song, action. Ronconi I found good in the Doctor of "_L'Elisire d'Amore_". For thehigher parts Grisi, though now much too large for some of her parts, and without a particle of poetic grace or dignity, has certainlybeauty of feature, and from nature a fine voice. But I find herconception of her parts equally coarse and shallow. Her love is thelove of a peasant; her anger, though having the Italian picturesquerichness and vigor, is the anger of an Italian fishwife, entirelyunlike anything in the same rank elsewhere; her despair is that of aperson with the toothache, or who has drawn a blank in the lottery. The first time I saw her was in _Norma_; then the beauty of heroutline, which becomes really enchanting as she recalls the firstemotions of love, the force and gush of her song, filled my ear, andcharmed the senses, so that I was pleased, and did not perceive hergreat defects; but with each time of seeing her I liked her less, andnow I do not like her at all. 

Persiani is more generally a favorite here; she is indeed skilfulboth as an actress and in the management of her voice, but I findher expression meretricious, her singing mechanical. Neither of thesewomen is equal to Pico in natural force, if she had but the sameadvantages of culture and environment. In hearing _Semiramide_ here, I first learned to appreciate the degree of talent with which itwas cast in New York. Grisi indeed is a far better Semiramis thanBorghese, but the best parts of the opera lost all their charm fromthe inferiority of Brambilla, who took Pico's place. Mario has acharming voice, grace and tenderness; he fills very well the part ofthe young, chivalric lover, but he has no range of power. Coletti isa very good singer; he has not from Nature a fine voice or personalbeauty; but he has talent, good taste, and often surpasses theexpectation he has inspired. Gardini, the new singer, I have onlyheard once, and that was in a lovesick-shepherd part; he showeddelicacy, tenderness, and tact. In fine, among all these male singersthere is much to please, but little to charm; and for the women, theynever fail absolutely to fill their parts, but no ray of the Muse hasfallen on them. 

_Don Giovanni_ conferred on me a benefit, of which certainly its greatauthor never dreamed. I shall relate it, --first begging pardon ofMozart, and assuring him I had no thought of turning his music tothe account of a "vulgar utility. " It was quite by accident. Aftersuffering several days very much with the toothache, I resolved to getrid of the cause of sorrow by the aid of ether; not sorry, either, totry its efficacy, after all the marvellous stories I had heard. The first time I inhaled it, I did not for several seconds feel theeffect, and was just thinking, "Alas! this has not power to soothenerves so irritable as mine, " when suddenly I wandered off, Idon't know where, but it was a sensation like wandering in longgarden-walks, and through many alleys of trees, --many impressions, butall pleasant and serene. The moment the tube was removed, I startedinto consciousness, and put my hand to my cheek; but, sad! thethrobbing tooth was still there. The dentist said I had not seemed tohim insensible. He then gave me the ether in a stronger dose, and thistime I quitted the body instantly, and cannot remember any detail ofwhat I saw and did; but the impression was as in the Oriental tale, where the man has his head in the water an instant only, but in hisvision a thousand years seem to have passed. I experienced that samesense of an immense length of time and succession of impressions;even, now, the moment my mind was in that state seems to me a farlonger period in time than my life on earth does as I look back uponit. Suddenly I seemed to see the old dentist, as I had for themoment before I inhaled the gas, amid his plants, in his nightcapand dressing-gown; in the twilight the figure had somewhat of aFaust-like, magical air, and he seemed to say, "_C'est inutile. _"Again I started up, fancying that once more he had not dared toextract the tooth, but it was gone. What is worth, noticing is themental translation I made of his words, which, my ear must havecaught, for my companion tells me he said, "_C'est le moment_, " aphrase of just as many syllables, but conveying just the oppositesense. 

Ah! I how I wished then, that you had settled, there in the UnitedStates, who really brought this means of evading a portion of themisery of life into use. But as it was, I remained at a loss whom toapostrophize with my benedictions, whether Dr. Jackson, Morton, orWells, and somebody thus was robbed of his clue;--neither does Europeknow to whom to address her medals. 

However, there is no evading the heavier part of these miseries. Youavoid the moment of suffering, and escape the effort of screwing upyour courage for one of these moments, but not the jar to the wholesystem. I found the effect of having taken the ether bad for me. Iseemed to taste it all the time, and neuralgic pain continued; thislasted three days. For the evening of the third, I had taken a ticketto _Don Giovanni_, and could not bear to give up this opera, which Ihad always been longing to hear; still I was in much suffering, and, as it was the sixth day I had been so, much weakened. However, I went, expecting to be obliged to come out; but the music soothed thenerves at once. I hardly suffered at all during the opera; however, Isupposed the pain would return as soon as I came out; but no! it leftme from that time. Ah! if physicians only understood the influenceof the mind over the body, instead of treating, as they so often do, their patients like machines, and according to precedent! But I mustpause here for to-day. 

LETTER XII. 

ADIEU TO PARIS. --ITS SCENES. --THE PROCESSION OF THE FATOX. --DESTITUTION OF THE POORER CLASSES. --NEED OF A REFORM. --THEDOCTRINES OF FOURIER MAKING PROGRESS. --REVIEW OF FOURIER'S LIFE ANDCHARACTER. --THE PARISIAN PRESS ON THE SPANISH MARRIAGE. --GUIZOT'SPOLICY. --NAPOLEON. --THE MANUSCRIPTS OF ROUSSEAU IN THE CHAMBEROF DEPUTIES. --HIS CHARACTER. --SPEECH OF M. BERRYER IN THECHAMBER. --AMERICAN AND FRENCH ORATORY. --THE AFFAIR OF CRACOW. --DULLSPEAKERS IN THE CHAMBER. --FRENCH VIVACITY. --AMUSING SCENE. --GUIZOTSPEAKING. --INTERNATIONAL EXCHANGE OF BOOKS. --THE EVENING SCHOOL OF THE_FRČRES CHRETIENS_. --THE GREAT GOOD ACCOMPLISHED BY THEM. --SUGGESTIONSFOR THE LIKE IN AMERICA. --THE INSTITUTION OF THE DEACONESSES. --THENEW YORK "HOME. "--SCHOOL FOR IDIOTS NEAR PARIS. --THE RECLAMATION OFIDIOTS. 

I bade adieu to Paris on the 25th of February, just as we had hadone fine day. It was the only one of really delightful weather, frommorning till night, that I had to enjoy all the while I was at Paris, from the 13th of November till the 25th of February. Let no one abuseour climate; even in winter it is delightful, compared to the Parisianwinter of mud and mist. 

This one day brought out the Parisian world in its gayest colors. Inever saw anything more animated or prettier, of the kind, thanthe promenade that day in the _Champs Elysées_. Such crowds of gayequipages, with _cavaliers_ and their _amazons_ flying through theirmidst on handsome and swift horses! On the promenade, what groups ofpassably pretty ladies, with excessively pretty bonnets, announcing intheir hues of light green, peach-blossom, and primrose the approachof spring, and charming children, for French children are charming! Icannot speak with equal approbation of the files of men saunteringarm in arm. One sees few fine-looking men in Paris: the air, half-military, half-dandy, of self-esteem and _savoir-faire_, is notparticularly interesting; nor are the glassy stare and fumes of badcigars exactly what one most desires to encounter, when the heartis opened by the breath of spring zephyrs and the hope of buds andblossoms. 

But a French crowd is always gay, full of quick turns and drolleries;most amusing when most petulant, it represents what is so agreeablein the character of the nation. We have now seen it on two goodoccasions, the festivities of the new year, and just after we came wasthe procession of the _Fat Ox_, described, if I mistake not, by EugeneSue. An immense crowd thronged the streets this year to see it, but few figures and little invention followed the emblem of plenty;indeed, few among the people could have had the heart for such a sham, knowing how the poorer classes have suffered from hunger this winter. All signs of this are kept out of sight in Paris. A pamphlet, called"The Voice of Famine, " stating facts, though in the tone of vulgarand exaggerated declamation, unhappily common to productions on theradical side, was suppressed almost as soon as published; but the factcannot be suppressed, that the people in the provinces have sufferedmost terribly amid the vaunted prosperity of France. 

While Louis Philippe lives, the gases, compressed by his strong grasp, may not burst up to light; but the need of some radical measures ofreform is not less strongly felt in France than elsewhere, and thetime will come before long when such will be imperatively demanded. The doctrines of Fourier are making considerable progress, andwherever they spread, the necessity of some practical application ofthe precepts of Christ, in lieu of the mummeries of a worn-out ritual, cannot fail to be felt. The more I see of the terrible ills whichinfest the body politic of Europe, the more indignation I feel atthe selfishness or stupidity of those in my own country who opposean examination of these subjects, --such as is animated by the hope ofprevention. The mind of Fourier was, in many respects, uncongenial tomine. Educated in an age of gross materialism, he was tainted by itsfaults. In attempts to reorganize society, he commits the error ofmaking soul the result of health of body, instead of body the clothingof soul; but his heart was that of a genuine lover of his kind, of aphilanthropist in the sense of Jesus, --his views were large and noble. His life was one of devout study on these subjects, and I shouldpity the person who, after the briefest sojourn in Manchester andLyons, --the most superficial acquaintance with the population ofLondon and Paris, --could seek to hinder a study of his thoughts, orbe wanting in reverence for his purposes. But always, always, theunthinking mob has found stones on the highway to throw at theprophets. 

Amid so many great causes for thought and anxiety, how childish hasseemed the endless gossip of the Parisian press on the subject ofthe Spanish marriage, --how melancholy the flimsy falsehoods of M. Guizot, --more melancholy the avowal so naļvely made, amid thosefalsehoods, that to his mind expediency is the best policy! This isthe policy, said he, that has made France so prosperous. Indeed, thesuccess is correspondent with the means, though in quite another sensethan that he meant. 

I went to the _Hotel des Invalides_, supposing I should be admittedto the spot where repose the ashes of Napoleon, for though I love notpilgrimages to sepulchres, and prefer paying my homage to the livingspirit rather than to the dust it once animated, I should haveliked to muse a moment beside his urn; but as yet the visitor isnot admitted there. In the library, however, one sees the picture ofNapoleon crossing the Alps, opposite to that of the present King ofthe French. Just as they are, these should serve as frontispieces totwo chapters of history. In the first, the seed was sown in a field ofblood indeed, yet was it the seed of all that is vital in the presentperiod. By Napoleon the career was really laid open to talent, and allthat is really great in France now consists in the possibility thattalent finds of struggling to the light. 

Paris is a great intellectual centre, and there is a Chamber ofDeputies to represent the people, very different from the poor, limited Assembly politically so called. Their tribune is that ofliterature, and one needs not to beg tickets to mingle with theaudience. To the actually so-called Chamber of Deputies I was indebtedfor two pleasures. First and greatest, a sight of the manuscriptsof Rousseau treasured in their Library. I saw them and touchedthem, --those manuscripts just as he has celebrated them, written onthe fine white paper, tied with ribbon. Yellow and faded age hasmade them, yet at their touch I seemed to feel the fire of youth, immortally glowing, more and more expansive, with which his soul haspervaded this century. He was the precursor of all we most prize. True, his blood was mixed with madness, and the course of his actuallife made some detours through villanous places, but his spirit wasintimate with the fundamental truths of human nature, and fraught withprophecy. There is none who has given birth to more life for this age;his gifts are yet untold; they are too present with us; but he whothinks really must often think with Rousseau, and learn of him evenmore and more: such is the method of genius, to ripen fruit for thecrowd of those rays of whose heat they complain. 

The second pleasure was in the speech of M. Berryer, when the Chamberwas discussing the Address to the King. Those of Thiers and Guizothad been, so far, more interesting, as they stood for more that wasimportant; but M. Berryer is the most eloquent speaker of the House. His oratory is, indeed, very good; not logical, but plausible, fulland rapid, with occasional bursts of flame and showers of sparks, though indeed no stone of size and weight enough to crush any man wasthrown out of the crater. Although the oratory of our country isvery inferior to what might be expected from the perfect freedomand powerful motive for development of genius in this province, itpresents several examples of persons superior in both force and scope, and equal in polish, to M. Berryer. 

Nothing can be more pitiful than the manner in which the infamousaffair of Cracow is treated on all hands. There is not even theaffectation of noble feeling about it. La Mennais and his coadjutorspublished in _La Reforme_ an honorable and manly protest, which thepublic rushed to devour the moment it was out of the press;--and nowonder! for it was the only crumb of comfort offered to those who havethe nobleness to hope that the confederation of nations may yet beconducted on the basis of divine justice and human right. Most men whotouched the subject apparently weary of feigning, appeared in theirgenuine colors of the calmest, most complacent selfishness. Asdescribed by Körner in the prayer of such a man:--

 "O God, save me, My wife, child, and hearth, Then my harvest also; Then will I bless thee, Though thy lightning scorch to blackness All the rest of human kind. "

A sentiment which finds its paraphrase in the following vulgate of ourland:--

 "O Lord, save me, My wife, child, and brother Sammy, Us four, _and no more_. "

The latter clause, indeed, is not quite frankly avowed as yet bypoliticians. 

It is very amusing to be in the Chamber of Deputies when some dullperson is speaking. The French have a truly Greek vivacity; theycannot endure to be bored. Though their conduct is not very dignified, I should like a corps of the same kind of sharp-shooters in ourlegislative assemblies when honorable gentlemen are addressing theirconstituents and not the assembly, repeating in lengthy, windy, clumsyparagraphs what has been the truism of the newspaper press formonths previous, wickedly wasting the time that was given us to learnsomething for ourselves, and help our fellow-creatures. In the FrenchChamber, if a man who has nothing to say ascends the tribune, theaudience-room is filled with the noise as of myriad beehives; thePresident rises on his feet, and passes the whole time of the speechin taking the most violent exercise, stretching himself to lookimposing, ringing his bell every two minutes, shouting to therepresentatives of the nation to be decorous and attentive. In vain:the more he rings, the more they won't be still. I saw an orator inthis situation, fighting against the desires of the audience, as onlya Frenchman could, --certainly a man of any other nation would havedied of embarrassment rather, --screaming out his sentences, stretchingout both arms with an air of injured dignity, panting, growing red inthe face; but the hubbub of voices never stopped an instant. At lasthe pretended to be exhausted, stopped, and took out his snuff-box. Instantly there was a calm. He seized the occasion, and shouted out asentence; but it was the only one he was able to make heard. Theywere not to be trapped so a second time. When any one is speaking thatcommands interest, as Berryer did, the effect of this vivacity is verypleasing, the murmur of feeling that rushes over the assembly is soquick and electric, --light, too, as the ripple on the lake. I heardGuizot speak one day for a short time. His manner is very deficientin dignity, --has not even the dignity of station; you see the man ofcultivated intellect, but without inward strength; nor is even hispanoply of proof. 

I saw in the Library of the Deputies some books intended to be sentto our country through M. Vattemare. The French have shown greatreadiness and generosity with regard to his project, and I earnestlyhope that our country, if it accept these tokens of good-will, willshow both energy and judgment in making a return. I do not speak frommyself alone, but from others whose opinion is entitled to the highestrespect, when I say it is not by sending a great quantity of documentsof merely local interest, that would be esteemed lumber in our garretsat home, that you pay respect to a nation able to look beyond, thebinding of a book. If anything is to be sent, let persons of abilitybe deputed to make a selection honorable to us and of value tothe French. They would like documents from our Congress, --what isimportant as to commerce and manufactures; they would also like muchwhat can throw light on the history and character of our aborigines. This project of international exchange could not be carried on to anypermanent advantage without accredited agents on either side, but inits present shape it wears an aspect of good feeling that is valuable, and may give a very desirable impulse to thought and knowledge. M. Vattemare has given himself to the plan with indefatigableperseverance, and I hope our country will not be backward to accordhim that furtherance he has known how to conquer from his countrymen. 

To his complaisance I was indebted for opportunity of a leisurelysurvey of the _Imprimeri Royale_, which gave me several suggestionsI shall impart at a more favorable time, and of the operations of theMint also. It was at his request that the Librarian of the Chambershowed me the manuscripts of Rousseau, which are not always seen bythe traveller. He also introduced me to one of the evening schools ofthe _Frčres Chretiens_, where I saw, with pleasure, how much can bedone for the working classes only by evening lessons. In reading andwriting, adults had made surprising progress, and still more so indrawing. I saw with the highest pleasure, excellent copies of goodmodels, made by hard-handed porters and errand-boys with their brassbadges on their breasts. The benefits of such an accomplishment are, in my eyes, of the highest value, giving them, by insensible degrees, their part in the glories of art and science, and in the tranquilrefinements of home. Visions rose in my mind of all that might be donein our country by associations of men and women who have received thebenefits of literary culture, giving such evening lessons throughoutour cities and villages. Should I ever return, I shall propose tosome of the like-minded an association for such a purpose, and try theexperiment of one of these schools of Christian brothers, with the vowof disinterestedness, but without the robe and the subdued priestlymanner, which even in these men, some of whom seemed to me truly good, I could not away with. 

I visited also a Protestant institution, called that of theDeaconesses, which pleased me in some respects. Beside the regular_Crčche_, they take the sick children of the poor, and nurse them tillthey are well. They have also a refuge like that of the Home which, the ladies of New York have provided, through which members ofthe most unjustly treated class of society may return to peace andusefulness. There are institutions of the kind in Paris, but tooformal, --and the treatment shows ignorance of human nature. I seenothing that shows so enlightened a spirit as the Home, a little germof good which I hope flourishes and finds active aid in the community. I have collected many facts with regard to this suffering class ofwomen, both in England and in France. I have seen them under the thinveil of gayety, and in the horrible tatters of utter degradation. Ihave seen the feelings of men with regard to their condition, and thegeneral heartlessness in women of more favored and protected lives, which I can only ascribe to utter ignorance of the facts. If aproclamation of some of these can remove it, I hope to make such a onein the hour of riper judgment, and after a more extensive survey. 

Sad as are many features of the time, we have at least thesatisfaction of feeling that if something true can be revealed, ifsomething wise and kind shall be perseveringly tried, it stands achance of nearer success than ever before; for much light has been letin at the windows of the world, and many dark nooks have been touchedby a consoling ray. The influence of such a ray I felt in visitingthe School for Idiots, near Paris, --idiots, so called long time bythe impatience of the crowd; yet there are really none such, but onlybeings so below the average standard, so partially organized, that itis difficult for them to learn or to sustain themselves. I wept thewhole time I was in this place a shower of sweet and bitter tears; ofjoy at what had been done, of grief for all that I and others possessand cannot impart to these little ones. But patience, and the Fatherof All will give them all yet. A good angel these of Paris have intheir master. I have seen no man that seemed to me more worthy ofenvy, if one could envy happiness so pure and tender. He is a manof seven or eight and twenty, who formerly came there only to givelessons in writing, but became so interested in his charge that hecame at last to live among them and to serve them. They sing the hymnshe writes for them, and as I saw his fine countenance looking inlove on those distorted and opaque vases of humanity, where he hadsucceeded in waking up a faint flame, I thought his heart could neverfail to be well warmed and buoyant. They sang well, both in parts andin chorus, went through gymnastic exercises with order and pleasure, then stood in a circle and kept time, while several danced extremelywell. One little fellow, with whom the difficulty seemed to be thatan excess of nervous sensibility paralyzed instead of exciting thepowers, recited poems with a touching, childish grace and perfectmemory. They write well, draw well, make shoes, and do carpenter'swork. One of the cases most interesting to the metaphysician is thatof a boy, brought there about two years and a half ago, at the age ofthirteen, in a state of brutality, and of ferocious brutality. I readthe physician's report of him at that period. He discovered no ray ofdecency or reason; entirely beneath the animals in the exercise of thesenses, he discovered a restless fury beyond that of beasts of prey, breaking and throwing down whatever came in his way; was a voraciousglutton, and every way grossly sensual. Many trials and vast patiencewere necessary before an inlet could be obtained to his mind; then itwas through the means of mathematics. He delights in the figures, candraw and name them all, detects them by the touch when blindfolded. Each, mental effort of the kind he still follows up with an imbecilechuckle, as indeed his face and whole manner are still that of anidiot; but he has been raised from his sensual state, and can nowdiscriminate and name colors and perfumes which before were all aliketo him. He is partially redeemed; earlier, no doubt, far more mighthave been done for him, but the degree of success is an earnest whichmust encourage to perseverance in the most seemingly hopeless cases. Ithought sorrowfully of the persons of this class whom I have knownin our country, who might have been so raised and solaced by similarcare. I hope ample provision may erelong be made for these Pariahs ofthe human race; every case of the kind brings its blessings with it, and observation on these subjects would be as rich in suggestion forthe thought, as such acts of love are balmy for the heart. 

LETTER XIII. 

MUSIC IN PARIS. --CHOPIN AND THE CHEVALIER NEUKOMM. --ADIEU TO PARIS. --AMIDNIGHT DRIVE IN A DILIGENCE. --LYONS AND ITS WEAVERS. --THEIR MANNEROF LIFE. --A YOUNG WIFE. --THE WEAVERS' CHILDREN. --THE BANKS OFTHE RHONE. --DREARY WEATHER FOR SOUTHERN FRANCE. --THE OLD ROMANAMPHITHEATRE AT ARLES. --THE WOMEN OF ARLES. --MARSEILLES. --PASSAGETO GENOA. --ITALY. --GENOA AND NAPLES. --BAIĘ. --VESUVIUS. --THE ITALIANCHARACTER AT HOME. --PASSAGE FROM LEGHORN IN A SMALL STEAMER. --NARROWESCAPE. --A CONFUSION OF LANGUAGES. --DEGRADATION OF THE NEAPOLITANS. 

Naples. 

In my last days at Paris I was fortunate in hearing some delightfulmusic. A friend of Chopin's took me to see him, and I had thepleasure, which the delicacy of Iris health makes a rare one for thepublic, of hearing him play. All the impressions I had received fromhearing his music imperfectly performed were justified, for it hasmarked traits, which can be veiled, but not travestied; but to feelit as it merits, one must hear himself; only a person as exquisitelyorganized as he can adequately express these subtile secrets of thecreative spirit. 

It was with, a very different sort of pleasure that I listened to theChevalier Neukomm, the celebrated composer of "David, " which hasbeen so popular in our country. I heard him improvise on the _orgueexpressif_, and afterward on a great organ which has just been builthere by Cavaille for the cathedral of Ajaccio. Full, sustained, ardent, yet exact, the stream, of his thought bears with it theattention of hearers of all characters, as his character, full of_bonhommie_, open, friendly, animated, and sagacious, would seem tohave something to present for the affection and esteem of all kinds ofmen. 

Chopin is the minstrel, Neukomm the orator of music: we want themboth, --the mysterious whispers and the resolute pleadings from thebetter world, which calls us not to slumber here, but press dailyonward to claim our heritage. 

Paris! I was sad to leave thee, thou wonderful focus, where ignoranceceases to be a pain, because there we find such means daily to lessenit. It is the only school where I ever found abundance of teachers whocould bear being examined by the pupil in their special branches. Imust go to this school more before I again cross the Atlantic, whereoften for years I have carried about some trifling question withoutfinding the person who could answer it. Really deep questions we mustall answer for ourselves; the more the pity, then, that we get notquickly through with a crowd of details, where the experience ofothers might accelerate our progress. 

Leaving by _diligence_, we pursued our way from twelve o'clock onThursday till twelve at night on Friday, thus having a large share ofmagnificent moonlight upon the unknown fields we were traversing. AtChalons we took boat and reached Lyons betimes that afternoon. Sosoon as refreshed, we sallied out to visit some of the garrets of theweavers. As we were making inquiries about these, a sweet little girlwho heard us offered to be our guide. She led us by a weary, windingway, whose pavement was much easier for her feet in their wooden_sabots_ than for ours in Paris shoes, to the top of a hill, fromwhich we saw for the first time "the blue and arrowy Rhone. " Enteringthe light buildings on this high hill, I found each chambertenanted by a family of weavers, --all weavers; wife, husband, sons, daughters, --from nine years old upward, --each was helping. On one sidewere the looms; nearer the door the cooking apparatus; the beds wereshelves near the ceiling: they climbed up to them on ladders. My sweetlittle girl turned out to be a wife of six or seven years' standing, with two rather sickly-looking children; she seemed to have thegreatest comfort that is possible amid the perplexities of a hard andanxious lot, to judge by the proud and affectionate manner in whichshe always said "_mon mari_, " and by the courteous gentleness of hismanner toward her. She seemed, indeed, to be one of those persons onwhom "the Graces have smiled in their cradle, " and to whom a naturalloveliness of character makes the world as easy as it can be madewhile the evil spirit is still so busy choking the wheat with tares. I admired her graceful manner of introducing us into those dark littlerooms, and she was affectionately received by all her acquaintance. But alas! that voice, by nature of such bird-like vivacity, repeatedagain and again, "Ah! we are all very unhappy now. " "Do you singtogether, or go to evening schools?" "We have not the heart. When wehave a piece of work, we do not stir till it is finished, and then werun to try and get another; but often we have to wait idle for weeks. It grows worse and worse, and they say it is not likely to be anybetter. We can think of nothing, but whether we shall be able to payour rent. Ah! the workpeople are very unhappy now. " This poor, lovelylittle girl, at an age when the merchant's daughters of Boston and NewYork are just gaining their first experiences of "society, " knew toa farthing the price of every article of food and clothing that iswanted by such a household. Her thought by day and her dream by nightwas, whether she should long be able to procure a scanty supply ofthese, and Nature had gifted her with precisely those qualities, which, unembarrassed by care, would have made her and all she lovedreally happy; and she was fortunate now, compared with many of her sexin Lyons, --of whom a gentleman who knows the class well said: "Whentheir work fails, they have no resource except in the sale of theirpersons. There are but these two ways open to them, weaving orprostitution, to gain their bread. " And there are those who dare tosay that such a state of things is _well enough_, and what Providenceintended for man, --who call those who have hearts to suffer at thesight, energy and zeal to seek its remedy, visionaries and fanatics!To themselves be woe, who have eyes and see not, ears and hear not, the convulsions and sobs of injured Humanity!

My little friend told me she had nursed both her children, --thoughalmost all of her class are obliged to put their children outto nurse; "but, " said she, "they are brought back so little, somiserable, that I resolved, if possible, to keep mine with me. " Nextday in the steamboat I read a pamphlet by a physician of Lyons inwhich he recommends the establishment of _Crčches_, not merely likethose of Paris, to keep the children by day, but to provide wet-nursesfor them. Thus, by the infants receiving nourishment from more healthypersons, and who under the supervision of directors would treat themwell, he hopes to counteract the tendency to degenerate in this raceof sedentary workers, and to save the mothers from too heavy a burdenof care and labor, without breaking the bond between them and theirchildren, whom, under such circumstances, they could visit often, andsee them taken care of as they, brought up to know nothing except howto weave, cannot take care of them. Here, again, how is one remindedof Fourier's observations and plans, still more enforced by the recentdevelopments at Manchester as to the habit of feeding children onopium, which has grown out of the position of things there. 

Descending next day to Avignon, I had the mortification of finding thebanks of the Rhone still sheeted with white, and there waded throughmelting snow to Laura's tomb. We did not see Mr. Dickens's Tower andGoblin, --it was too late in the day, --but we saw a snowball fightbetween two bands of the military in the castle yard that was gayenough to make a goblin laugh. And next day on to Arles, stillsnow, --snow and cutting blasts in the South of France, where everybodyhad promised us bird-songs and blossoms to console us for thedreary winter of Paris. At Arles, indeed, I saw the little saxifrageblossoming on the steps of the Amphitheatre, and fruit-trees in floweramid the tombs. Here for the first time I saw the great handwriting ofthe Romans in its proper medium of stone, and I was content. It lookedus grand and solid as I expected, as if life in those days was thoughtworth the having, the enjoying, and the using. The sunlight was warmthis day; it lay deliciously still and calm upon the ruins. One oldwoman sat knitting where twenty-five thousand persons once gazed downin fierce excitement on the fights of men and lions. Coming back, wewere refreshed all through the streets by the sight of the women ofArles. They answered to their reputation for beauty; tall, erect, andnoble, with high and dignified features, and a full, earnest gaze ofthe eye, they looked as if the Eagle still waved its wings over theircity. Even the very old women still have a degree of beauty, becausewhen the colors are all faded, and the skin wrinkled, the faceretains this dignity of outline. The men do not share in thesecharacteristics; some priestess, well beloved of the powers of oldreligion, must have called down an especial blessing on her sex inthis town. 

Hence to Marseilles, --where is little for the traveller to see, exceptthe mixture of Oriental blood in the crowd of the streets. Thenceby steamer to Genoa. Of this transit, he who has been on theMediterranean in a stiff breeze well understands I can have nothing tosay, except "I suffered. " It was all one dull, tormented dream to me, and, I believe, to most of the ship's company, --a dream too of thirtyhours' duration, instead of the promised sixteen. 

The excessive beauty of Genoa is well known, and the impression uponthe eye alone was correspondent with what I expected; but, alas! theweather was still so cold I could not realize that I had actuallytouched those shores to which I had looked forward all my life, whereit seemed that the heart would expand, and the whole nature be turnedto delight. Seen by a cutting wind, the marble palaces, the gardens, the magnificent water-view of Genoa, failed to charm, --"I _saw, notfelt_, how beautiful they were. " Only at Naples have I found _my_Italy, and here not till after a week's waiting, --not till I beganto believe that all I had heard in praise of the climate of Italywas fable, and that there is really no spring anywhere except in theimagination of poets. For the first week was an exact copy of themiseries of a New England spring; a bright sun came for an hour or twoin the morning, just to coax you forth without your cloak, and thencame up a villanous, horrible wind, exactly like the worst east windof Boston, breaking the heart, racking the brain, and turning hope andfancy to an irrevocable green and yellow hue, in lieu of their nativerose. 

However, here at Naples I _have_ at last found _my_ Italy; I havepassed through the Grotto of Pausilippo, visited Cuma, Baię, andCapri, ascended Vesuvius, and found all familiar, except the sense ofenchantment, of sweet exhilaration, this scene conveys. 

 "Behold how brightly breaks the morning!"

and yet all new, as if never yet described, for Nature here, mostprolific and exuberant in her gifts, has touched them all with a charmunhackneyed, unhackneyable, which the boots of English dandies cannottrample out, nor the raptures of sentimental tourists daub or fade. Baię had still a hid divinity for me, Vesuvius a fresh baptism offire, and Sorrento--O Sorrento was beyond picture, beyond poesy, forthe greatest Artist had been at work there in a temper beyond thereach of human art. 

Beyond this, reader, my old friend and valued acquaintance on otherthemes, I shall tell you nothing of Naples, for it is a thing apartin the journey of life, and, if represented at all, should be so in afairer form than offers itself at present. Now the actual life here isover, I am going to Rome, and expect to see that fane of thought thelast day of this week. 

At Genoa and Leghorn, I saw for the first time Italians in theirhomes. Very attractive I found them, charming women, refined men, eloquent and courteous. If the cold wind hid Italy, it could not theItalians. A little group of faces, each so full of character, dignity, and, what is so rare in an American face, the capacity for pure, exalting passion, will live ever in my memory, --the fulfilment of ahope!

We started from Leghorn in an English boat, highly recommended, and aslittle deserving of such praise as many another bepuffed article. In the middle of a fine, clear night, she was run into by the mailsteamer, which all on deck clearly saw coming upon her, for no reasonthat could be ascertained, except that the man at the wheel said _he_had turned the right way, and it never seemed to occur to him thathe could change when he found the other steamer had taken the samedirection. To be sure, the other steamer was equally careless, but asa change on our part would have prevented an accident that narrowlymissed sending us all to the bottom, it hardly seemed worth while topersist, for the sake of convicting them of error. 

Neither the Captain nor any of his people spoke French, and we hadbeen much amused before by the chambermaid acting out the old story of"Will you lend me the loan of a gridiron?" A Polish lady was on board, with a French waiting-maid, who understood no word of English. Thedaughter of John Bull would speak to the lady in English, and, whenshe found it of no use, would say imperiously to the _suivante_, "Goand ask your mistress what she will have for breakfast. " And now whenI went on deck there was a parley between the two steamers, which theCaptain was obliged to manage by such interpreters as he couldfind; it was a long and confused business. It ended at last in theNeapolitan steamer taking us in tow for an inglorious return toLeghorn. When she had decided upon this she swept round, her lightsglancing like sagacious eyes, to take us. The sea was calm as a lake, the sky full of stars; she made a long detour, with her black hull, her smoke and lights, which look so pretty at night, then came roundto us like the bend of an arm embracing. It was a pretty picture, worth the stop and the fright, --perhaps the loss of twenty-four hours, though I did not think so at the time. 

At Leghorn we changed the boat, and, retracing our steps, came now atlast to Naples, --to this priest-ridden, misgoverned, full of dirty, degraded men and women, yet still most lovely Naples, --of which themost I can say is that the divine aspect of nature _can_ make youforget the situation of man in this region, which was surely intendedfor him as a princely child, angelic in virtue, genius, and beauty, and not as a begging, vermin-haunted, image kissing Lazzarone. 

LETTER XIV. 

ITALY. --MISFORTUNE OF TRAVELLERS. --ENGLISH TRAVELLERS. --COCKNEYISM. --MACDONALD THE SCULPTOR. --BRITISH ARISTOCRACY. --TENERANI. --WOLFF'S DIANA AND SEASONS. --GOTT. --CRAWFORD. --OVERBECKTHE PAINTER. --AMERICAN PAINTERS IN ROME. --TERRY. --GRANCH. --HICKS. --REMAINS OF THE ANTIQUE. --ITALIAN PAINTERS. --DOMENICHIMO ANDTITIAN. --FRESCOS OF RAPHAEL. --MICHEL ANGELO. --THE COLOSSEUM. --HOLYWEEK. --ST. PETER'S. --PIUS IX. AND HIS MEASURES. --POPULARENTHUSIASM. --PUBLIC DINNER AT THE BATHS OF TITUS. --AUSTRIANJEALOUSY. --THE "CONTEMPORANEO. "

Rome, May, 1847. 

There is very little that I can like to write about Italy. Italy isbeautiful, worthy to be loved and embraced, not talked about. Yet Iremember well that, when afar, I liked to read what was written abouther; now, all thought of it is very tedious. 

The traveller passing along the beaten track, vetturinoed from innto inn, ciceroned from gallery to gallery, thrown, through indolence, want of tact, or ignorance of the language, too much into thesociety of his compatriots, sees the least possible of the country;fortunately, it is impossible to avoid seeing a great deal. The greatfeatures of the part pursue and fill the eye. 

Yet I find that it is quite out of the question to know Italy; to sayanything of her that is full and sweet, so as to convey any idea ofher spirit, without long residence, and residence in the districtsuntouched by the scorch and dust of foreign invasion (the invasionof the _dilettanti_ I mean), and without an intimacy of feeling, anabandonment to the spirit of the place, impossible to most Americans. They retain too much, of their English blood; and the travellingEnglish, as a class, seem to me the most unseeing of all possibleanimals. There are exceptions; for instance, the perceptions andpictures of Browning seem as delicate and just here on the spot asthey did at a distance; but, take them as a class, they have thevulgar familiarity of Mrs. Trollope without her vivacity, thecockneyism of Dickens without his graphic power and love of theodd corners of human nature. I admired the English at home intheir island; I admired their honor, truth, practical intelligence, persistent power. But they do not look well in Italy; they are not thefigures for this landscape. I am indignant at the contempt they havepresumed to express for the faults of our semi-barbarous state. Whatis the vulgarity expressed in our tobacco-chewing, and way of eatingeggs, compared to that which elbows the Greek marbles, guide-book inhand, --chatters and sneers through the Miserere of the Sistine Chapel, beneath the very glance of Michel Angelo's Sibyls, --praisesSt. Peter's as "_nice_"--talks of "_managing_" the Colosseum bymoonlight, --and snatches "_bits_" for a "_sketch_" from the sublimesilence of the Campagna. 

Yet I was again reconciled with them, the other day, in visitingthe studio of Macdonald. There I found a complete gallery of thearistocracy of England; for each lord and lady who visits Romeconsiders it a part of the ceremony to sit to him for a bust. And whata fine race! how worthy the marble! what heads of orators, statesmen, gentlemen! of women chaste, grave, resolute, and tender!Unfortunately, they do not look as well in flesh and blood; thenthey show the habitual coldness of their temperament, the habitualsubservience to frivolous conventionalities. They need some greatoccasion, some exciting crisis, in order to make them look as free anddignified as these busts; yet is the beauty there, though, imprisoned, and clouded, and such a crisis would show us more then one Boadicea, more than one Alfred. Tenerani has just completed a statue which ishighly-spoken of; it is called the Angel of the Resurrection. I wasnot so fortunate as to find it in his studio. In that of Wolff I saw aDiana, ordered by the Emperor of Russia. It is modern and sentimental;as different from, the antique Diana as the trance of a novel-readyoung lady of our day from the thrill with which the ancient shepherdsdeprecated the magic pervasions of Hecate, but very beautiful andexquisitely wrought. He has also lately finished the Four Seasons, represented as children. Of these, Winter is graceful and charming. 

Among the sculptors I delayed longest in the work-rooms of Gott. I found his groups of young figures connected with animals veryrefreshing after the grander attempts of the present time. They seemreal growths of his habitual mind, --fruits of Nature, full of joy andfreedom. His spaniels and other frisky poppets would please Apollo farbetter than most of the marble nymphs and muses of the present day. 

Our Crawford has just finished a bust of Mrs. Crawford, which isextremely beautiful, full of grace and innocent sweetness. All itsaccessaries are charming, --the wreaths, the arrangement of drapery, the stuff of which the robe is made. I hope it will be much seen onits arrival in New York. He has also an Herodias in the clay, which isindividual in expression, and the figure of distinguished elegance. I liked the designs of Crawford better than those of Gibson, who isestimated as highest in the profession now. 

Among the studios of the European painters I have visited only that ofOverbeck. It is well known in the United States what his pictures are. I have much to say at a more favorable time of what they representedto me. He himself looks as if he had just stepped out of one ofthem, --a lay monk, with a pious eye and habitual morality of thoughtwhich limits every gesture. 

Painting is not largely represented here by American artists atpresent. Terry has two pleasing pictures on the easel: one is acostume picture of Italian life, such as I saw it myself, enchantedbeyond my hopes, on coming to Naples on a day of grand festival inhonor of Santa Agatha. Cranch sends soon to America a picture of theCampagna, such as I saw it on my first entrance into Rome, all lightand calmness; Hicks, a charming half-length of an Italian girl, holding a mandolin: it will be sure to please. His pictures are fullof life, and give the promise of some real achievement in Art. 

Of the fragments of the great time, I have now seen nearly all thatare treasured up here: I have, however, as yet nothing of consequenceto say of them. I find that others have often given good hints as tohow they _look_; and as to what they _are_, it can only be known byapproximating to the state of soul out of which they grew. They shouldnot be described, but reproduced. They are many and precious, yet isthere not so much of high excellence as I had expected: they will notfloat the heart on a boundless sea of feeling, like the starry nighton our Western prairies. Yet I love much to see the galleries ofmarbles, even when there are not many separately admirable, amid thecypresses and ilexes of Roman villas; and a picture that is good atall looks very good in one of these old palaces. 

The Italian painters whom I have learned most to appreciate, sinceI came abroad, are Domenichino and Titian. Of others one may learnsomething by copies and engravings: but not of these. The portraitsof Titian look upon me from the walls things new and strange. They areportraits of men such as I have not known. In his picture, absurdlycalled _Sacred and Profane Love_, in the Borghese Palace, one of thefigures has developed my powers of gazing to an extent unknown before. 

Domenichino seems very unequal in his pictures; but when he is grandand free, the energy of his genius perfectly satisfies. The frescosof Caracci and his scholars in the Farnese Palace have been to me asource of the purest pleasure, and I do not remember to have heard ofthem. I loved Guercino much before I came here, but I have lookedtoo much at his pictures and begin to grow sick of them; he is a verylimited genius. Leonardo I cannot yet like at all, but I suppose thepictures are good for some people to look at; they show a wonderfuldeal of study and thought. That is not what I can best appreciate ina work of art. I hate to see the marks of them. I want a simpleand direct expression of soul. For the rest, the ordinary cant ofconnoisseur-ship on these matters seems in Italy even more detestablethan elsewhere. 

I have not yet so sufficiently recovered from my pain at finding thefrescos of Raphael in such a state, as to be able to look at them, happily. I had heard of their condition, but could not realize it. However, I have gained nothing by seeing his pictures in oil, whichare well preserved. I find I had before the full impression of hisgenius. Michel Angelo's frescos, in like manner, I seem to haveseen as far as I can. But it is not the same with the sculptures: mythought had not risen to the height of the Moses. It is the only thingin Europe, so far, which has entirely outgone my hopes. Michel Angelowas my demigod before; but I find no offering worthy to cast at thefeet of his Moses. I like much, too, his Christ. It is a refreshingcontrast with all the other representations of the same subject. I like it even as contrasted with Raphael's Christ of theTransfiguration, or that of the cartoon of _Feed my Lambs_. 

I have heard owls hoot in the Colosseum by moonlight, and they spokemore to the purpose than I ever heard any other voice upon thatsubject. I have seen all the pomps and shows of Holy Week in thechurch of St. Peter, and found them less imposing than an habitualacquaintance with the place, with processions of monks and nunsstealing in now and then, or the swell of vespers from some sidechapel. I have ascended the dome, and seen thence Rome and itsCampagna, its villas with, their cypresses and pines serenely sad asis nothing else in the world, and the fountains of the Vatican gardengushing hard by. I have been in the Subterranean to see a poor littleboy introduced, much to his surprise, to the bosom of the Church;and then I have seen by torch-light the stone popes where they lie ontheir tombs, and the old mosaics, and virgins with gilt caps. It isall rich, and full, --very impressive in its way. St. Peter's must beto each one a separate poem. 

The ceremonies of the Church, have been numerous and splendid duringour stay here; and they borrow unusual interest from the love andexpectation inspired by the present Pontiff. He is a man of nobleand good aspect, who, it is easy to see, has set his heart upon doingsomething solid for the benefit of man. But pensively, too, mustone feel how hampered and inadequate are the means at his commandto accomplish these ends. The Italians do not feel it, but deliverthemselves, with all the vivacity of their temperament, to perpetualhurras, vivas, rockets, and torch-light processions. I often think howgrave and sad must the Pope feel, as he sits alone and hears all thisnoise of expectation. 

A week or two ago the Cardinal Secretary published a circular invitingthe departments to measures which would give the people a sort ofrepresentative council. Nothing could seem more limited than thisimprovement, but it was a great measure for Rome. At night the Corsoin which, we live was illuminated, and many thousands passed throughit in a torch-bearing procession. I saw them first assembled in thePiazza del Popolo, forming around its fountain a great circle of fire. Then, as a river of fire, they streamed slowly through the Corso, ontheir way to the Quirinal to thank the Pope, upbearing a banner onwhich the edict was printed. The stream, of fire advanced slowly, witha perpetual surge-like sound of voices; the torches flashed on theanimated Italian faces. I have never seen anything finer. Ascendingthe Quirinal they made it a mount of light. Bengal fires were thrownup, which cast their red and white light on the noble Greek figures ofmen and horses that reign over it. The Pope appeared on his balcony;the crowd shouted three vivas; he extended his arms; the crowd fell ontheir knees and received his benediction; he retired, and the torcheswere extinguished, and the multitude dispersed in an instant. 

The same week came the natal day of Rome. A great dinner was given atthe Baths of Titus, in the open air. The company was on the grass inthe area; the music at one end; boxes filled with the handsome Romanwomen occupied the other sides. It was a new thing here, this populardinner, and the Romans greeted it in an intoxication of hope andpleasure. Sterbini, author of "The Vestal, " presided: many others, like him, long time exiled and restored to their country by thepresent Pope, were at the tables. The Colosseum, and triumphal archeswere in sight; an effigy of the Roman wolf with her royal nurslingwas erected on high; the guests, with shouts and music, congratulatedthemselves on the possession, in Pius IX. , of a new and nobler founderfor another state. Among the speeches that of the Marquis d'Azeglio, a man of literary note in Italy, and son-in-law of Manzoni, containedthis passage (he was sketching the past history of Italy):--

"The crown passed to the head of a German monarch; but he wore it notto the benefit, but the injury, of Christianity, --of the world. TheEmperor Henry was a tyrant who wearied out the patience of God. Godsaid to Rome, 'I give you the Emperor Henry'; and from these hillsthat surround us, Hildebrand, Pope Gregory VII. , raised his austereand potent voice to say to the Emperor, 'God did not give you Italythat you might destroy her, ' and Italy, Germany, Europe, saw herbutcher prostrated at the feet of Gregory in penitence. Italy, Germany, Europe, had then kindled in the heart the first spark ofliberty. "

The narrative of the dinner passed the censor, and was published: theAmbassador of Austria read it, and found, with a modesty and candortruly admirable, that this passage was meant to allude to his Emperor. He must take his passports, if such home thrusts are to be made. Andso the paper was seized, and the account of the dinner only told from, mouth to mouth, from those who had already read it. Also the idea of adinner for the Pope's fźte-day is abandoned, lest something too frankshould again be said; and they tell me here, with a laugh, "I fancyyou have assisted at the first and last popular dinner. " Thus we maysee that the liberty of Rome does not yet advance with seven-leaguedboots; and the new Romulus will need to be prepared for deeds at leastas bold as his predecessor, if he is to open a new order of things. 

I cannot well wind up my gossip on this subject better than bytranslating a passage from the programme of the _Contemporaneo_, whichrepresents the hope of Rome at this moment. It is conducted by men ofwell-known talent. 

"The _Contemporaneo_ (Contemporary) is a journal of progress, buttempered, as the good and wise think best, in conformity with thewill of our best of princes, and the wants and expectations of thepublic. .. . 

"Through discussion it desires to prepare minds to receive reforms sosoon and far as they are favored by the law of _opportunity_. 

"Every attempt which is made contrary to this social law must fail. Itis vain to hope fruits from a tree out of season, and equally in vainto introduce the best measures into a country not prepared to receivethem. "

And so on. I intended to have translated in full the programme, but time fails, and the law of opportunity does not favor, as my"opportunity" leaves for London this afternoon. I have given enough tomark the purport of the whole. It will easily be seen that it wasnot from the platform assumed by the _Contemporaneo_ that Lycurguslegislated, or Socrates taught, --that the Christian religion waspropagated, or the Church, was reformed by Luther. The opportunitythat the martyrs found here in the Colosseum, from whose blood grewup this great tree of Papacy, was not of the kind waited for by thesemoderate progressists. Nevertheless, they may be good schoolmastersfor Italy, and are not to be disdained in these piping times of peace. 

More anon, of old and new, from Tuscany. 

LETTER XV. 

ITALY. --FRUITS AND FLOWERS ON THE ROUTE FROM FLORENCE TO ROME. --THEPLAIN OF UMBRIA. --ASSISI. --THE SAINTS. --TUITION IN SCHOOLS. --PIUSIX. --THE ETRURIAN TOMB. --PERUGIA AND ITS STORES OF EARLYART. --PORTRAITS OF RAPHAEL. --FLORENCE. --THE GRAND DUKE AND HISPOLICY. --THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS AND ITS INFLUENCE. --THE AMERICANSCULPTORS. --GREENOUGH AND HIS NEW WORKS. --POWERS. --HIS STATUE OFCALHOUN. --REVIEW OF HIS ENDEAVORS. --THE FESTIVALS OF ST. JOHN ATFLORENCE. --BOLOGNA. --FEMALE PROFESSORS IN ITS UNIVERSITY. --MATILDATAMBRONI AND OTHERS. --MILAN AND HER FEMALE MATHEMATICIAN. --THE STATEOF WOMAN IN ITALY. --RAVENNA AND BYRON. --VENICE. --THE ADDA. --MILAN ANDITS NEIGHBORHOOD, AND MANZONI. --EXCITEMENTS. --NATIONAL AFFAIRS. 

Milan, August 9, 1847. 

Since leaving Rome, I have not been able to steal a moment fromthe rich and varied objects before me to write about them. I will, therefore, take a brief retrospect of the ground. 

I passed from Florence to Rome by the Perugia route, and saw for thefirst time the Italian vineyards. The grapes hung in little clusters. When I return, they will be full of light and life, but the fieldswill not be so enchantingly fresh, nor so enamelled with flowers. 

The profusion of red poppies, which dance on every wall and glitterthroughout the grass, is a great ornament to the landscape. In fullsunlight their vermilion is most beautiful. Well might Ceres gather_such_ poppies to mingle with her wheat. 

We climbed the hill to Assisi, and my ears thrilled as with many oldremembered melodies, when an old peasant, in sonorous phrase, bademe look out and see the plain of Umbria. I looked back and sawthe carriage toiling up the steep path, drawn by a pair of thoselight-colored oxen Shelley so much admired. I stood near the spotwhere Goethe met with a little adventure, which he has described witheven more than his usual delicate humor. Who can ever be alone for amoment in Italy? Every stone has a voice, every grain of dust seemsinstinct with spirit from the Past, every step recalls some line, somelegend of long-neglected lore. 

Assisi was exceedingly charming to me. So still!--all temporal noiseand bustle seem hushed down yet by the presence of the saint. Soclean!--the rains of heaven wash down all impurities into the valley. I must confess that, elsewhere, I have shared the feelings of Dickenstoward St. Francis and St. Sebastian, as the "Mounseer Tonsons" ofCatholic art. St. Sebastian I have not been so tired of, for thebeauty and youth of the figure make the monotony with which thesubject of his martyrdom is treated somewhat less wearisome. But St. Francis is so sad, and so ecstatic, and so brown, so entirely themonk, --and St. Clara so entirely the nun! I have been very sorry forher that he was able to draw her from the human to the heavenly life;she seems so sad and so worn out by the effort. But here at Assisi, one cannot help being penetrated by the spirit that flowed from thatlife. Here is the room where his father shut up the boy to punish hisearly severity of devotion. Here is the picture which represents himdespoiled of all outward things, even his garments, --devoting himself, body and soul, to the service of God in the way he believed mostacceptable. Here is the underground chapel, where rest those wearybones, saluted by the tears of so many weary pilgrims who have comehither to seek strength from his example. Here are the churches above, full of the works of earlier art, animated by the contagion of a greatexample. It is impossible not to bow the head, and feel how mighty aninfluence flows from a single soul, sincere in its service of truth, in whatever form that truth comes to it. 

A troop of neat, pretty school-girls attended us about, going withus into the little chapels adorned with pictures which open at everycorner of the streets, smiling on us at a respectful distance. Some ofthem were fourteen or fifteen years old. I found reading, writing, andsewing were all they learned at their school; the first, indeed, theyknew well enough, if they could ever get books to use it on. Tranquilas Assisi was, on every wall was read _Viva Pio IX. !_ and we found theguides and workmen in the shop full of a vague hope from him. The oldlove which has made so rich this aerial cradle of St. Francis glowswarm as ever in the breasts of men; still, as ever, they long forhero-worship, and shout aloud at the least appearance of an object. 

The church at the foot of the hill, Santa Maria degli Angeli, seemstawdry after Assisi. It also is full of records of St. Francis, hispains and his triumphs. Here, too, on a little chapel, is the famouspicture by Overbeck; too exact a copy, but how different in effectfrom the early art we had just seen above! Harmonious but frigid, grave but dull; childhood is beautiful, but not when continued, orrather transplanted, into the period where we look for passion, variedmeans, and manly force. 

Before reaching Perugia, I visited an Etrurian tomb, which is a littleway off the road; it is said to be one of the finest in Etruria. Thehill-side is full of them, but excavations are expensive, and notfrequent. The effect of this one was beyond my expectations; in itwere several female figures, very dignified and calm, as the dimlamp-light fell on them by turns. The expression of these figuresshows that the position of woman in these states was noble. Theireagles' nests cherished well the female eagle who kept watch in theeyrie. 

Perugia too is on a noble hill. What a daily excitement such a view, taken at every step! life is worth ten times as much in a city sosituated. Perugia is full, overflowing, with the treasures of earlyart. I saw them so rapidly it seems now as if in a trance, yetcertainly with a profit, a manifold gain, such as Mahomet thought hegained from his five minutes' visits to other spheres. Here are twoportraits of Raphael as a youth: it is touching to see what effectthis angel had upon all that surrounded him from the very first. 

Florence! I was there a month, and in a sense saw Florence: that is tosay, I took an inventory of what is to be seen there, and not withoutgreat intellectual profit. There is too much that is really admirablein art, --the nature of its growth lies before you too clearly to beevaded. Of such things more elsewhere. 

I do not like Florence as I do cities more purely Italian. The naturalcharacter is ironed out here, and done up in a French pattern; yetthere is no French vivacity, nor Italian either. The Grand Duke--moreand more agitated by the position in which he finds himself betweenthe influence of the Pope and that of Austria--keeps imploring andcommanding his people to keep still, and they _are_ still and glumas death. This is all on the outside; within, Tuscany burns. Privateculture has not been in vain, and there is, in a large circle, mentalpreparation for a very different state of things from the present, with an ardent desire to diffuse the same amid the people at large. The sovereign has been obliged for the present to give more liberty tothe press, and there is an immediate rush of thought to the new vent;if it is kept open a few months, the effect on the body of the peoplecannot fail to be great. I intended to have translated some passagesfrom the programme of the _Patria_, one of the papers newly startedat Florence, but time fails. One of the articles in the same number byLambruschini, on the duties of the clergy at this juncture, containsviews as liberal as can be found in print anywhere in the world. Moreof these things when I return to Rome in the autumn, when I hope tofind a little leisure to think over what I have seen, and, if foundworthy, to put the result in writing. 

I visited the studios of our sculptors; Greenough has in clay a Davidwhich promises high beauty and nobleness, a bass-relief, full of graceand tender expression; he is also modelling a head of Napoleon, andjustly enthusiastic in the study. His great group I did not see insuch a state as to be secure of my impression. The face of the Pioneeris very fine, the form of the woman graceful and expressive; but I wasnot satisfied with the Indian. I shall see it more as a whole on myreturn to Florence. 

As to the Eve and the Greek Slave, I could only join with the rest ofthe world in admiration of their beauty and the fine feeling of naturewhich they exhibit. The statue of Calhoun is full of power, simple, and majestic in attitude and expression. In busts Powers seems tome unrivalled; still, he ought not to spend his best years on anemployment which cannot satisfy his ambition nor develop his powers. If our country loves herself, she will order from him some great workbefore the prime of his genius has been frittered away, and his bestyears spent on lesser things. 

I saw at Florence the festivals of St. John, but they are poor affairsto one who has seen the Neapolitan and Roman people on such occasions. 

Passing from Florence, I came to Bologna, --learned Bologna; indeed anItalian city, full of expression, of physiognomy, so to speak. A womanshould love Bologna, for there has the spark of intellect in womanbeen cherished with reverent care. Not in former ages only, but inthis, Bologna raised a woman who was worthy to the dignities of itsUniversity, and in their Certosa they proudly show the monument toMatilda Tambroni, late Greek Professor there. Her letters, preservedby her friends, are said to form a very valuable collection. In theiranatomical hall is the bust of a woman, Professor of Anatomy. In Artthey have had Properzia di Rossi, Elizabetta Sirani, Lavinia Fontana, and delight to give their works a conspicuous place. 

In other cities the men alone have their _Casino dei Nobili_, wherethey give balls, _conversazioni_, and similar entertainments. Herewomen have one, and are the soul of society. 

In Milan, also, I see in the Ambrosian Library the bust of a femalemathematician. These things make me feel that, if the state of womanin Italy is so depressed, yet a good-will toward a better is notwholly wanting. Still more significant is the reverence to the Madonnaand innumerable female saints, who, if, like St. Teresa, they hadintellect as well as piety, became counsellors no less than comfortersto the spirit of men. 

Ravenna, too, I saw, and its old Christian art, the Pineta, whereByron loved to ride, and the paltry apartments where, cheered by a newaffection, in which was more of tender friendship than of passion, hefound himself less wretched than at beautiful Venice or stately Genoa. 

All the details of this visit to Ravenna are pretty. I shall writethem out some time. Of Padua, too, the little to be said should besaid in detail. 

Of Venice and its enchanted life I could not speak; it should onlybe echoed back in music. There only I began to feel in its fulnessVenetian Art. It can only be seen in its own atmosphere. Never had Ithe least idea of what is to be seen at Venice. It seems to me as ifno one ever yet had seen it, --so entirely wanting is any expressionof what I felt myself. Venice! on this subject I shall not write muchtill time, place, and mode agree to make it fit. 

Venice, where all is past, is a fit asylum for the dynasties of thePast. The Duchesse de Berri owns one of the finest palaces on theGrand Canal; the Duc de Bordeaux rents another; Mademoiselle Taglionihas bought the famous Casa d'Oro, and it is under repair. Thanks tothe fashion which has made Venice a refuge of this kind, the palaces, rarely inhabited by the representatives of their ancient names, arevaluable property, and the noble structures will not be sufferedto lapse into the sea, above which they rose so proudly. The restorations, too, are made with excellent taste andjudgment, --nothing is spoiled. Three of these fine palaces are nowhotels, so that the transient visitor can enjoy from their balconiesall the wondrous shows of the Venetian night and day as much as anyof their former possessors did. I was at the Europa, formerly theGiustiniani Palace, with better air than those on the Grand Canal, anda more unobstructed view than Danieli's. 

Madame de Berri gave an entertainment on the birthnight of her son, and the old Duchesse d'Angoulźme came from Vienna to attend it. 'Twas a scene of fairy-land, the palace full of light, so that from thecanal could be seen even the pictures on the walls. Landing from thegondolas, the elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen seemed to risefrom the water; we also saw them glide up the great stair, rustlingtheir plumes, and in the reception-rooms make and receive thecustomary grimaces. A fine band stationed on the opposite side of thecanal played the while, and a flotilla of gondolas lingered there tolisten. I, too, amid, the mob, a pleasant position in Venice alone, thought of the Stuarts, Bourbons, Bonapartes, here in Italy, andoffered up a prayer that other names, when the possessors have powerwithout the heart to use it for the emancipation of mankind, might headded to the list, and other princes, more rich in blood than brain, might come to enjoy a perpetual _villeggiatura_ in Italy. It did notseem to me a cruel wish. The show of greatness will satisfy everylegitimate desire of such minds. A gentle punishment for thedistributors of _letters de cachet_ and Spielberg dungeons to theirfellow-men. 

Having passed more than a fortnight at Venice, I have come here, stopping at Vicenza, Verona, Mantua, Lago di Garda, Brescia. Certainly I have learned more than ever in any previous ten days of myexistence, and have formed an idea what is needed for the study of Artand its history in these regions. To be sure, I shall never have timeto follow it up, but it is a delight to look up those glorious vistas, even when there is no hope of entering them. 

A violent shower obliged me to stop on the way. It was late at night, and I was nearly asleep, when, roused by the sound of bubbling waters, I started up and asked, "Is that the Adda?" and it was. So deep isthe impression made by a simple natural recital, like that of Renzo'swanderings in the _Promessi Sposi_, that the memory of his hearing theAdda in this way occurred to me at once, and the Adda seemed familiaras if I had been a native of this region. 

As the Scottish lakes seem the domain of Walter Scott, so does Milanand its neighborhood in the mind of a foreigner belong to Manzoni. Ihave seen him since, the gentle lord of this wide domain; his hair iswhite, but his eyes still beam as when he first saw the apparitions oftruth, simple tenderness, and piety which he has so admirably recordedfor our benefit. Those around lament that the fastidiousness of histaste prevents his completing and publishing more, and that thusa treasury of rare knowledge and refined thought will pass fromus without our reaping the benefit. We, indeed, have no title tocomplain, what we do possess from his hand is so excellent. 

At this moment there is great excitement in Italy. A supposed spyof Austria has been assassinated at Ferrara, and Austrian troops aremarched there. It is pretended that a conspiracy has been discoveredin Rome; the consequent disturbances have been put down. The NationalGuard is forming. All things seem to announce that some importantchange is inevitable here, but what? Neither Radicals nor Moderatesdare predict with confidence, and I am yet too much a strangerto speak with assurance of impressions I have received. But it isimpossible not to hope. 

LETTER XVI. 

REVIEW OF PAST AND PRESENT. --THE MERITS OF ITALIANLITERATURE. --MANZONI. --ITALIAN DIALECTS. --MILAN, THE MILANESE, ANDTHE SIMPLICITY OF THEIR LANGUAGE. --THE NORTH OF ITALY, AND A TOUR TOSWITZERLAND. --ITALIAN LAKES. --MAGGIORE, COMO, AND LUGANO. --LAGO DIGARDA. --THE BOATMEN OF THE LAKES AND THE GONDOLIERS. --LADY FRANKLIN, WIDOW OF THE NAVIGATOR. --RETURN TO AND FESTIVALS AT MILAN. --THEARCHBISHOP. --AUSTRIAN RULE AND AUSTRIAN POLICY. --THE FUTURE HOPES OFITALY. --A GLANCE AT PAVIA, FLORENCE, PARMA, AND BOLOGNA, AND THE WORKSOF THE MASTERS. 

Rome, October, 1847. 

I think my last letter was from Milan, and written after I had seenManzoni. This was to me a great pleasure. I have now seen the mostimportant representatives who survive of the last epoch in thought. Our age has still its demonstrations to make, its heroes and poets tocrown. 

Although the modern Italian literature is not poor, as many persons ata distance suppose, but, on the contrary, surprisingly rich in tokensof talent, if we consider the circumstances under which it strugglesto exist, yet very few writers have or deserve a European or Americanreputation. Where a whole country is so kept down, her best mindscannot take the lead in the progress of the age; they have too much tosuffer, too much to explain. But among the few who, through depth ofspiritual experience and the beauty of form in which it is expressed, belong not only to Italy, but to the world, Manzoni takes a highrank. The passive virtues he teaches are no longer what is wanted; themanners he paints with so delicate a fidelity are beginning to change;but the spirit of his works, --the tender piety, the sensibility to themeaning of every humblest form of life, the delicate humor and satireso free from disdain, --these are immortal. 

Young Italy rejects Manzoni, though not irreverently; Young Italyprizes his works, but feels that the doctrine of "Pray and wait" isnot for her at this moment, --that she needs a more fervent hope, amore active faith. She is right. 

It is well known that the traveller, if he knows the Italian languageas written in books, the standard Tuscan, still finds himself astranger in many parts of Italy, unable to comprehend the dialects, with their lively abbreviations and witty slang. That of Venice I hadunderstood somewhat, and could enter into the drollery and _naļveté_of the gondoliers, who, as a class, have an unusual share ofcharacter. But the Milanese I could not at first understand at all. Their language seemed to me detestably harsh, and their gesturesunmeaning. But after a friend, who possesses that large and readysympathy easier found in Italy than anywhere else, had translated forme verbatim into French some of the poems written in the Milanese, and then read them aloud in the original, I comprehended the peculiarinflection of voice and idiom in the people, and was charmed with it, as one is with the instinctive wit and wisdom of children. 

There is very little to see at Milan, compared with any other Italiancity; and this was very fortunate for me, allowing an intervalof repose in the house, which I cannot take when there is so muchwithout, tempting me to incessant observation and study. I wentthrough, the North of Italy with a constantly increasing fervor ofinterest. When I had thought of Italy, it was always of the South, ofthe Roman States, of Tuscany. But now I became deeply interested inthe history, the institutions, the art of the North. The fragmentsof the past mark the progress of its waves so clearly, I learned tounderstand, to prize them every day more, to know how to make use ofthe books about them. I shall have much to say on these subjects someday. 

Leaving Milan, I went on the Lago Maggiore, and afterward intoSwitzerland. Of this tour I shall not speak here; it was a beautifullittle romance by itself, and infinitely refreshing to be so nearnature in these grand and simple forms, after so much exciting thoughtof Art and Man. The day passed in the St. Bernardin, with its loftypeaks and changing lights upon the distant snows, --its holy, exquisitevalleys and waterfalls, its stories of eagles and chamois, was thegreatest refreshment I ever experienced: it was bracing as a cold bathafter the heat of a crowd amid which one has listened to some mosteloquent oration. 

Returning from Switzerland, I passed a fortnight on the Lake ofComo, and afterward visited Lugano. There is no exaggeration in theenthusiastic feeling with which artists and poets have viewed theseItalian lakes. Their beauties are peculiar, enchanting, innumerable. The Titan of Richter, the Wanderjahre of Goethe, the Elena of Taylor, the pictures of Turner, had not prepared me for the visions of beautythat daily entranced the eyes and heart in those regions. To ourcountry Nature has been most bounteous; but we have nothing in thesame kind that can compare with these lakes, as seen under the Italianheaven. As to those persons who have pretended to discover that theeffects of light and atmosphere were no finer than they found in ourown lake scenery, I can only say that they must be exceedingly obtusein organization, --a defect not uncommon among Americans. 

Nature seems to have labored to express her full heart in as manyways as possible, when she made these lakes, moulded and planted theirshores. Lago Maggiore is grand, resplendent in Its beauty; the view ofthe Alps gives a sort of lyric exaltation to the scene. Lago di Gardais so soft and fair, --so glittering sweet on one side, the ruins ofancient palaces rise so softly with the beauties of that shore; butat the other end, amid the Tyrol, it is sublime, calm, concentratedin its meaning. Como cannot be better described in general than in thewords of Taylor:

 "Softly sublime, profusely fair. "

Lugano is more savage, more free in its beauty. I was on it in ahigh gale; there was a little clanger, just enough to exhilarate; itswaters were wild, and clouds blowing across the neighboring peaks. Ilike very much the boatmen on these lakes; they have strong and promptcharacter. Of simple features, they are more honest and manly thanItalian men are found in the thoroughfares; their talk is not so wittyas that of the Venetian gondoliers, but picturesque, and what theFrench call _incisive_. Very touching were some of their histories, asthey told them to me while pausing sometimes on the lake. 

On this lake, also, I met Lady Franklin, wife of the celebratednavigator. She has been in the United States, and showed equalpenetration and candor in remarks on what she had seen there. She gaveme interesting particulars as to the state of things in Van Diemen'sLand, where she passed seven years when her husband was in authoritythere. 

I returned to Milan for the great feast of the Madonna, 8th September, and those made for the Archbishop's entry, which took place the sameweek. These excited as much feeling as the Milanese can have a chanceto display, this Archbishop being much nearer tire public heart thanhis predecessor, who was a poor servant of Austria. 

The Austrian rule is always equally hated, and time, instead ofmelting away differences, only makes them more glaring. The Austrianrace have no faculties that can ever enable them to understand theItalian character; their policy, so well contrived to palsy andrepress for a time, cannot kill, and there is always a force at workunderneath which shall yet, and I think now before long, shake offthe incubus. The Italian nobility have always kept the invader at adistance; they have not been at all seduced or corrupted by the luresof pleasure or power, but have shown a passive patriotism highlyhonorable to them. In the middle class ferments much thought, andthere is a capacity for effort; in the present system it cannot showitself, but it is there; thought ferments, and will yet produce awine that shall set the Lombard veins on fire when the time for actionshall arrive. The lower classes of the population are in a dull stateindeed. The censorship of the press prevents all easy, natural ways ofinstructing them; there are no public meetings, no free access to themby more instructed and aspiring minds. The Austrian policy is to allowthem a degree of material well-being, and though so much wealth isdrained from, the country for the service of the foreigners, jetenough must remain on these rich plains comfortably to feed and clothethe inhabitants. Yet the great moral influence of the Pope's action, though obstructed in their case, does reach and rouse them, and they, too, felt the thrill of indignation at the occupation of Ferrara. Thebase conduct of the police toward the people, when, at Milan, someyouths were resolute to sing tire hymn in honor of Pius IX. , when thefeasts for the Archbishop afforded so legitimate an occasion, rousedall the people to unwonted feeling. The nobles protested, and Austriahad not courage to persist as usual. She could not sustain her police, who rushed upon a defenceless crowd, that had no share in what excitedtheir displeasure, except by sympathy, and, driving them like sheep, wounded them _in the backs_. Austria feels that there is now nosympathy for her in these matters; that it is not the interest of theworld to sustain her. Her policy is, indeed, too thoroughly organizedto change except by revolution; its scope is to serve, first, areigning family instead of the people; second, with the people toseek a physical in preference to an intellectual good; and, third, to prefer a seeming outward peace to an inward life. This policy maychange its opposition from the tyrannical to the insidious; it canknow no other change. Yet do I meet persons who call themselvesAmericans, --miserable, thoughtless Esaus, unworthy their highbirthright, --who think that a mess of pottage can satisfy the wants ofman, and that the Viennese listening to Strauss's waltzes, the Lombardpeasant supping full of his polenta, is _happy enough_. Alas: I havethe more reason to be ashamed of my countrymen that it is not amongthe poor, who have so much, toil that there is little time to think, but those who are rich, who travel, --in body that is, they do nottravel in mind. Absorbed at home by the lust of gain, the love ofshow, abroad they see only the equipages, the fine clothes, thefood, --they have no heart for the idea, for the destiny of our owngreat nation: how can they feel the spirit that is struggling now inthis and others of Europe?

But of the hopes of Italy I will write more fully in another letter, and state what I have seen, what felt, what thought. I went fromMilan, to Pavia, and saw its magnificent Certosa, I passed severalhours in examining its riches, especially the sculptures of itsfaēade, full of force and spirit. I then went to Florence by Parmaand Bologna. In Parma, though ill, I went to see all the works of themasters. A wonderful beauty it is that informs them, --not that whichis the chosen food of my soul, yet a noble beauty, and which did itsmessage to me also. Those works are failing; it will not be useless todescribe them in a book. Beside these pictures, I saw nothing in Parmaand Modena; these states are obliged to hold their breath while theirpoor, ignorant sovereigns skulk in corners, hoping to hide from thecoming storm. Of all this more in my next. 

LETTER XVII. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME IN THE SPRING. --THE POPE. --ROME ASA CAPITAL. --TUSCANY. --THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS THERE JUSTESTABLISHED. --THE ENLIGHTENED MINDS AND AVAILABLE INSTRUCTORS OFTUSCANY. --ITALIAN ESTIMATION OF PIUS IX. , AND THE INFLUENCE, PRESENT AND FUTURE, OF HIS LABORS. --FOREIGN INTRUSION THE CURSE OFITALY. --IRRUPTION OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO ITALY, AND ITS EFFECTS. --LOUISPHILIPPE'S APOSTASY TURNED TO THE ADVANTAGE OF FREEDOM. --THE GREATFŹTE AT FLORENCE IN HONOR OF THE GRANT OF A NATIONAL GUARD. --THEAMERICAN SCULPTORS, GREENOUGH, CRAWFORD, AND THEIR PARTICIPATION INTHE FŹTE. --AMERICANS GENERALLY IN ITALY. --HYMNS IN FLORENCE IN HONOROF PIUS IX. --HAPPY AUGURY TO BE DRAWN FROM THE WISE DOCILITY OF THEPEOPLE. --AN EXPRESSION OF SYMPATHY FROM AMERICA TOWARD ITALY EARNESTLYHOPED FOR. 

Rome, October 18, 1847. 

In the spring, when I came to Rome, the people were in theintoxication of joy at the first serious measures of reform takenby the Pope. I saw with pleasure their childlike joy and trust. Withequal pleasure I saw the Pope, who has not in his expression the signsof intellectual greatness so much as of nobleness and tenderness ofheart, of large and liberal sympathies. Heart had spoken to heartbetween the prince and the people; it was beautiful to see theimmediate good influence exerted by human feeling and generousdesigns, on the part of a ruler. He had wished to be a father, andthe Italians, with that readiness of genius that characterizes them, entered at once into the relation; they, the Roman people, stigmatizedby prejudice as so crafty and ferocious, showed themselves children, eager to learn, quick to obey, happy to confide. 

Still doubts were always present whether all this joy was notpremature. The task undertaken by the Pope seemed to presentinsuperable difficulties. It is never easy to put new wine into oldbottles, and our age is one where all things tend to a great crisis;not merely to revolution, but to radical reform. From the peoplethemselves the help must come, and not from princes; in the new stateof things, there will be none but natural princes, great men. From theaspirations of the general heart, from the teachings of consciencein individuals, and not from an old ivy-covered church long sinceundermined, corroded by time and gnawed by vermin, the help must come. Rome, to resume her glory, must cease to be an ecclesiastical capital;must renounce all this gorgeous mummery, whose poetry, whose picture, charms no one more than myself, but whose meaning is all of the past, and finds no echo in the future. Although I sympathized warmly withthe warm love of the people, the adulation of leading writers, whowere so willing to take all from the hand of the prince, of theChurch, as a gift and a bounty, instead of implying steadily that itwas the right of the people, was very repulsive to me. The moderateparty, like all who, in a transition state, manage affairs with aconstant eye to prudence, lacks dignity always in its expositions; itis disagreeable and depressing to read them. 

Passing into Tuscany, I found the liberty of the press justestablished, and a superior preparation to make use of it. The _Alba_, the _Patria_, were begun, and have been continued with equal judgmentand spirit. Their aim is to educate the youth, to educate thelower people; they see that this is to be done by promoting thoughtfearlessly, yet urge temperance in action, while the time is yet sodifficult, and many of its signs dubious. They aim at breaking downthose barriers between the different states of Italy, relics of abarbarous state of polity, artificially kept up by the craft of herfoes. While anxious not to break down what is really native to theItalian character, --defences and differences that give individualgenius a chance to grow and the fruits of each region to ripen intheir natural way, --they aim at a harmony of spirit as to measuresof education and for the affairs of business, without which Italy cannever, as one nation, present a front strong enough to resist foreignrobbery, and for want of which so much time and talent are wastedhere, and internal development almost wholly checked. 

There is in Tuscany a large corps of enlightened minds, well preparedto be the instructors, the elder brothers and guardians, of the lowerpeople, and whose hearts burn to fulfil that noble office. Before, ithad been almost impossible to them, for the reasons I have named inspeaking of Lombardy; but during these last four months that the wayhas been opened by the freedom of the press, and establishment of theNational Guard, --so valuable, first of all, as giving occasion forpublic meetings and free interchange of thought between the differentclasses, --it is surprising how much light they have been able todiffuse. 

A Bolognese, to whom I observed, "How can you be so full of trust whenall your hopes depend, not on the recognition of principles and wantsthroughout the people, but on the life of one mortal man?" replied:"Ah! but you don't consider that his life gives us a chance to effectthat recognition. If Pius IX. Be spared to us five years, it willbe impossible for his successors ever to take a backward course. Ournation is of a genius so vivacious, --we are unhappy, but not stupid, we Italians, --we can learn as much in two months as other nations intwenty years. " This seemed to me no brag when I returned to Tuscanyand saw the great development and diffusion of thought that had takenplace during my brief absence. The Grand Duke, a well-intentioned, though dull man, had dared, to declare himself "_an_ ITALIAN _prince_"and the heart of Tuscany had bounded with hope. It is now deeply asjustly felt that _the_ curse of Italy is foreign intrusion; thatif she could dispense with foreign aid, and be free from foreignaggression, she would find the elements of salvation within herself. All her efforts tend that way, to re-establish the natural position ofthings; may Heaven grant them success! For myself, I believe they willattain it. I see more reason for hope, as I know more of the people. Their rash and baffled struggles have taught them prudence; they arewanted in the civilized world as a peculiar influence; their leadersare thinking men, their cause is righteous. I believe that Italy willrevive to new life, and probably a greater, one more truly rich andglorious, than at either epoch of her former greatness. 

During the period of my absence, the Austrians had entered Ferrara. It is well that they hazarded this step, for it showed them thedifficulties in acting against a prince of the Church who is at thesame time a friend to the people. The position was new, and they wereprobably surprised at the result, --surprised at the firmness of thePope, surprised at the indignation, tempered by calm resolve, on thepart of the Italians. Louis Philippe's mean apostasy has thistime turned to the advantage of freedom. He renounced the goodunderstanding with England which it had been one of the leadingfeatures of his policy to maintain, in the hope of aggrandizing andenriching his family (not France, he did not care for France); he didnot know that he was paving the way for Italian freedom. England nowis led to play a part a little nearer her pretensions as the guardianof progress than she often comes, and the ghost of La Fayette looksdown, not unappeased, to see the "Constitutional King" decried by thesubjects he has cheated and lulled so craftily. The king of Sardiniais a worthless man, in whom nobody puts any trust so far as regardshis heart or honor; but the stress of things seems likely to keep himon the right side. The little sovereigns blustered at first, then ranaway affrighted when they found there was really a spirit risenat last within the charmed circle, --a spirit likely to defy, totranscend, the spells of haggard premiers and imbecile monarchs. 

I arrived in Florence, unhappily, too late for the great fźte of the12th of September, in honor of the grant of a National Guard. ButI wept at the mere recital of the events of that day, which, if itshould lead to no important results, must still be hallowed for everin the memory of Italy, for the great and beautiful emotions thatflooded the hearts of her children. The National Guard is hailed withno undue joy by Italians, as the earnest of progress, the first steptoward truly national institutions and a representation of the people. Gratitude has done its natural work in their hearts; it has madethem better. Some days before the fźte were passed in reconcilingall strifes, composing all differences between cities, districts, andindividuals. They wished to drop all petty, all local differences, towash away all stains, to bathe and prepare for a new great covenant ofbrotherly love, where each should act for the good of all. On that daythey all embraced in sign of this, --strangers, foes, all exchanged thekiss of faith and love; they exchanged banners, as a token that theywould fight for, would animate, one another. All was done in thatbeautiful poetic manner peculiar to this artist people; but it was thespirit, so great and tender, that melts my heart to think of. It wasthe spirit of true religion, --such, my Country! as, welling freshlyfrom some great hearts in thy early hours, won for thee all of valuethat thou canst call thy own, whose groundwork is the assertion, stillsublime though thou hast not been true to it, that all men have equalrights, and that these are _birth_-rights, derived from God alone. 

I rejoice to say that the Americans took their share on this occasion, and that Greenough--one of the few Americans who, living in Italy, takes the pains to know whether it is alive or dead, who penetratesbeyond the cheats of tradesmen and the cunning of a mob corruptedby centuries of slavery, to know the real mind, the vital blood, ofItaly--took a leading part. I am sorry to say that a large portion ofmy countrymen here take the same slothful and prejudiced view as theEnglish, and, after many years' sojourn, betray entire ignorance ofItalian literature and Italian life, beyond what is attainable in amonth's passage through the thoroughfares. However, they did show, this time, a becoming spirit, and erected the American eagle whereits cry ought to be heard from afar, --where a nation is strivingfor independent existence, and a government representing the people. Crawford here in Rome has had the just feeling to join the Guard, andit is a real sacrifice for an artist to spend time on the exercises;but it well becomes the sculptor of Orpheus, --of him who had suchfaith, such music of divine thought, that he made the stones move, turned the beasts from their accustomed haunts, and shamed hell itselfinto sympathy with the grief of love. I do not deny that such a spiritis wanted here in Italy; it is everywhere, if anything great, anythingpermanent, is to be done. In reference to what I have said of manyAmericans in Italy, I will only add, that they talk about the corruptand degenerate state of Italy as they do about that of our slaves athome. They come ready trained to that mode of reasoning which affirmsthat, because men are degraded by bad institutions, they are not fitfor better. 

As to the English, some of them are full of generous, intelligentsympathy;--indeed what is more solidly, more wisely good than theright sort of Englishmen!--but others are like a gentleman I travelledwith the other day, a man of intelligence and refinement too as to thedetails of life and outside culture, who observed, that he did notsee what the Italians wanted of a National Guard, unless to wear theselittle caps. He was a man who had passed five years in Italy, butalways covered with that non-conductor called by a witty French writer"the Britannic fluid. "

Very sweet to my ear was the continual hymn in the streets ofFlorence, in honor of Pius IX. It is the Roman hymn, and none of thenew ones written in Tuscany have been able to take its place. Thepeople thank the Grand Duke when he does them good, but they know wellfrom whose mind that good originates, and all their love is for thePope. Time presses, or I would fain describe in detail the troupe oflaborers of the lower class, marching home at night, keeping step asif they were in the National Guard, filling the air, and cheering themelancholy moon, by the patriotic hymns sung with the mellow tone andin the perfect time which belong to Italians. I would describe theextempore concerts in the streets, the rejoicings at the theatres, where the addresses of liberal souls to the people, through that bestvehicle, the drama, may now be heard. But I am tired; what I have towrite would fill volumes, and my letter must go. I will only addsome words upon the happy augury I draw from the wise docility of thepeople. With what readiness they listened to wise counsel, and thehopes of the Pope that they would give no advantage to his enemies, ata time when they were so fevered by the knowledge that conspiracywas at work in their midst! That was a time of trial. On all theseoccasions of popular excitement their conduct is like music, in suchorder, and with such union of the melody of feeling with discretionwhere to stop; but what is wonderful is that they acted in the samemanner on that difficult occasion. The influence of the Pope here iswithout bounds; he can always calm the crowd at once. But in Tuscany, where they have no such idol, they listened in the same way on a verytrying occasion. The first announcement of the regulation for theTuscan National Guard terribly disappointed the people; they felt thatthe Grand Duke, after suffering them to demonstrate such trust and joyon the feast of the 12th, did not really trust, on his side; that hemeant to limit them all he could. They felt baffled, cheated; henceyoung men in anger tore down at once the symbols of satisfaction andrespect; but the leading men went among the people, begged them to becalm, and wait till a deputation had seen the Grand Duke. The people, listening at once to men who, they were sure, had at heart their bestgood, waited; the Grand Duke became convinced, and all ended withoutdisturbance. If they continue to act thus, their hopes cannot bebaffled. Certainly I, for one, do not think that the present road willsuffice to lead Italy to her goal. But it _is_ an onward, upward road, and the people learn as they advance. Now they can seek and thinkfearless of prisons and bayonets, a healthy circulation of bloodbegins, and the heart frees itself from disease. 

I earnestly hope for some expression of sympathy from my countrytoward Italy. Take a good chance and do something; you have shown muchgood feeling toward the Old World in its physical difficulties, --youought to do still more in its spiritual endeavor. This cause isOURS, above all others; we ought to show that we feel it to be so. Atpresent there is no likelihood of war, but in case of it I trust theUnited States would not fail in some noble token of sympathy towardthis country. The soul of our nation need not wait for its government;these things are better done by individuals. I believe some in theUnited States will pay attention to these words of mine, will feelthat I am not a person to be kindled by a childish, sentimentalenthusiasm, but that I must be sure I have seen something of Italybefore speaking as I do. I have been here only seven months, but mymeans of observation have been uncommon. I have been ardently desirousto judge fairly, and had no prejudices to prevent; beside, I was notignorant of the history and literature of Italy, and had some commonground on which to stand with, its inhabitants, and hear what theyhave to say. In many ways Italy is of kin to us; she is the countryof Columbus, of Amerigo, of Cabot. It would please me much to see acannon here bought by the contributions of Americans, at whose headshould stand the name of Cabot, to be used by the Guard for saluteson festive occasions, if they should be so happy as to have nomore serious need. In Tuscany they are casting one to be called the"Gioberti, " from a writer who has given a great impulse to the presentmovement. I should like the gift of America to be called the AMERIGO, the COLUMBO, or the WASHINGTON. Please think of this, some of myfriends, who still care for the eagle, the Fourth of July, and the oldcries of hope and honor. See if there are any objections that I do notthink of, and do something if it is well and brotherly. Ah! America, with all thy rich boons, thou hast a heavy account to render for thetalent given; see in every way that thou be not found wanting. 

LETTER XVIII. 

REFLECTIONS FOR THE NEW YEAR. --AMERICANS IN EUROPE. --FRANCE, ENGLAND, POLAND, ITALY, RUSSIA, AUSTRIA, --THEIR POLICY. --EUROPE TOILS ANDSTRUGGLES. --ALL THINGS BODE A NEW OUTBREAK. --THE EAGLE OFAMERICA STOOPS TO EARTH, AND SHARES THE CHARACTER OF THEVULTURE. --ABOLITION. --THE YOUTH OF THE LAND. --ANTICIPATIONS OF THEIRUSEFULNESS. 

This letter will reach the United States about the 1st of January; andit may not be impertinent to offer a few New-Year's reflections. Everynew year, indeed, confirms the old thoughts, but also presents themunder some new aspects. 

The American in Europe, if a thinking mind, can only become moreAmerican. In some respects it is a great pleasure to be here. Althoughwe have an independent political existence, bur position towardEurope, as to literature and the arts, is still that of a colony, andone feels the same joy here that is experienced by the colonist inreturning to the parent home. What was but picture to us becomesreality; remote allusions and derivations trouble no more: we see thepattern of the stuff, and understand the whole tapestry. There isa gradual clearing up on many points, and many baseless notions andcrude fancies are dropped. Even the post-haste passage of the businessAmerican through the great cities, escorted by cheating couriersand ignorant _valets de place_, unable to hold intercourse with thenatives of the country, and passing all his leisure hours with hiscountrymen, who know no more than himself, clears his mind of somemistakes, --lifts some mists from his horizon. 

There are three species. First, the servile American, --a being utterlyshallow, thoughtless, worthless. He comes abroad to spend his moneyand indulge his tastes. His object in Europe is to have fashionableclothes, good foreign cookery, to know some titled persons, andfurnish himself with coffee-house gossip, by retailing whichamong those less travelled and as uninformed as himself he can winimportance at home. I look with unspeakable contempt on this class, --aclass which has all the thoughtlessness and partiality of theexclusive classes in Europe, without any of their refinement, or thechivalric feeling which still sparkles among them here and there. However, though these willing serfs in a free age do some little hurt, and cause some annoyance at present, they cannot continue long; ourcountry is fated to a grand, independent existence, and, as its lawsdevelop, these parasites of a bygone period must wither and drop away. 

Then there is the conceited American, instinctively bristling andproud of--he knows not what. He does not see, not he, that the historyof Humanity for many centuries is likely to have produced results itrequires some training, some devotion, to appreciate and profit by. With his great clumsy hands, only fitted to work on a steam-engine, he seizes the old Cremona violin, makes it shriek with anguish, in hisgrasp, and then declares he thought it was all humbug before he came, and now he knows it; that there is not really any music in these oldthings; that the frogs in one of our swamps make much finer, for theyare young and alive. To him the etiquettes of courts and camps, theritual of the Church, seem simply silly, --and no wonder, profoundlyignorant as he is of their origin and meaning. Just so the legendswhich are the subjects of pictures, the profound myths which arerepresented in the antique marbles, amaze and revolt him; as, indeed, such things need to be judged of by another standard than that of theConnecticut Blue-Laws. He criticises severely pictures, feeling quitesure that his natural senses are better means of judgment than therules of connoisseurs, --not feeling that, to see such objects, mentalvision as well as fleshly eyes are needed and that something is aimedat in Art beyond the imitation of the commonest forms of Nature. Thisis Jonathan in the sprawling state, the booby truant, not yet aspiringenough to be a good school-boy. Yet in his folly there is meaning;add thought and culture to his independence, and he will be a man ofmight: he is not a creature without hope, like the thick-skinned dandyof the class first specified. 

The artistes form a class by themselves. Yet among them, thoughseeking special aims by special means, may also be found thelineaments of these two classes, as well as of the third, of which Iam now to speak. 

This is that of the thinking American, --a man who, recognizing theimmense advantage of being born to a new world and on a virgin soil, yet does not wish one seed from the past to be lost. He is anxiousto gather and carry back with him every plant that will bear a newclimate and new culture. Some will dwindle; others will attain a bloomand stature unknown before. He wishes to gather them clean, free fromnoxious insects, and to give them a fair trial in his new world. Andthat he may know the conditions under which he may best place them inthat new world, he does not neglect to study their history in this. 

The history of our planet in some moments seems so painfully meanand little, --such terrible bafflings and failures to compensate somebrilliant successes, --such a crushing of the mass of men beneath, thefeet of a few, and these, too, often the least worthy, --such a smalldrop of honey to each cup of gall, and, in many cases, so mingled thatit is never one moment in life purely tasted, --above all, so littleachieved for Humanity as a whole, such tides of war and pestilenceintervening to blot out the traces of each triumph, --that no wonderif the strongest soul sometimes pauses aghast; no wonder if the manyindolently console themselves with gross joys and frivolous prizes. Yes! those men _are_ worthy of admiration who can carry this crossfaithfully through fifty years; it is a great while for all theagonies that beset a lover of good, a lover of men; it makes a soulworthy of a speedier ascent, a more productive ministry in the nextsphere. Blessed are they who ever keep that portion of pure, generouslove with which they began life! How blessed those who have deepenedthe fountains, and have enough to spare for the thirst of others! Somesuch there are; and, feeling that, with all the excuses for failure, still only the sight of those who triumph, gives a meaning to life ormakes its pangs endurable, we must arise and follow. 

Eighteen hundred years of this Christian culture in these Europeankingdoms, a great theme never lost sight of, a mighty idea, anadorable history to which the hearts of men invariably cling, yet aregenuine results rare as grains of gold in the river's sandy bed! Whereis the genuine democracy to which the rights of all men are holy?where the child-like wisdom learning all through life more and moreof the will of God? where the aversion to falsehood, in all its myriaddisguises of cant, vanity, covetousness, so clear to be read in allthe history of Jesus of Nazareth? Modern Europe is the sequel to thathistory, and see this hollow England, with its monstrous wealth andcruel poverty, its conventional life, and low, practical aims! seethis poor France, so full of talent, so adroit, yet so shallow andglossy still, which could not escape from a false position with allits baptism of blood! see that lost Poland, and this Italy bound downby treacherous hands in all the force of genius! see Russia with itsbrutal Czar and innumerable slaves! see Austria and its royalty thatrepresents nothing, and its people, who, as people, are and havenothing! If we consider the amount of truth that has really beenspoken out in the world, and the love that has beat in privatehearts, --how genius has decked each spring-time with such splendidflowers, conveying each one enough of instruction in its life ofharmonious energy, and how continually, unquenchably, the spark offaith has striven to burst into flame and light up the universe, --thepublic failure seems amazing, seems monstrous. 

Still Europe toils and struggles with her idea, and, at this moment, all things bode and declare a new outbreak of the fire, to destroy oldpalaces of crime! May it fertilize also many vineyards! Here at thismoment a successor of St. Peter, after the lapse of near two thousandyears, is called "Utopian" by a part of this Europe, because hestrives to get some food to the mouths of the _leaner_ of his flock. A wonderful state of things, and which leaves as the best argumentagainst despair, that men do not, _cannot_ despair amid such darkexperiences. And thou, my Country! wilt thou not be more true? does nogreater success await thee? All things have so conspired to teach, toaid! A new world, a new chance, with oceans to wall in the new thoughtagainst interference from the old!--treasures of all kinds, gold, silver, corn, marble, to provide for every physical need! A noble, constant, starlike soul, an Italian, led the way to thy shores, and, in the first days, the strong, the pure, those too brave, too sincere, for the life of the Old World, hastened to people them. A generousstruggle then shook off what was foreign, and gave the nation aglorious start for a worthy goal. Men rocked the cradle of its hopes, great, firm, disinterested, men, who saw, who wrote, as the basisof all that was to be done, a statement of the rights, the _inborn_rights of men, which, if fully interpreted and acted upon, leavesnothing to be desired. 

Yet, O Eagle! whose early flight showed this clear sight of the sun, how often dost thou near the ground, how show the vulture in theselater days! Thou wert to be the advance-guard of humanity, the heraldof all progress; how often hast thou betrayed this high commission!Fain would the tongue in clear, triumphant accents draw example fromthy story, to encourage the hearts of those who almost faint and diebeneath the old oppressions. But we must stammer and blush when wespeak of many things. I take pride here, that I can really say theliberty of the press works well, and that checks and balances arefound naturally which suffice to its government. I can say that theminds of our people are alert, and that talent has a free chance torise. This is much. But dare I further say that political ambition isnot as darkly sullied as in other countries? Dare I say that men ofmost influence in political life are those who represent most virtue, or even intellectual power? Is it easy to find names in that career ofwhich I can speak with enthusiasm? Must I not confess to a boundlesslust of gain in my country? Must I not concede the weakest vanity, which bristles and blusters at each foolish taunt of the foreignpress, and admit that the men who make these undignified rejoindersseek and find popularity so? Can I help admitting that there is as yetno antidote cordially adopted, which will defend even that great, richcountry against the evils that have grown out of the commercial systemin the Old World? Can I say our social laws are generally better, orshow a nobler insight into the wants of man and woman? I do, indeed, say what I believe, that voluntary association for improvement inthese particulars will be the grand means for my nation to grow, andgive a nobler harmony to the coming age. But it is only of a smallminority that I can say they as yet seriously take to heart thesethings; that they earnestly meditate on what is wanted for theircountry, for mankind, --for our cause is indeed, the cause of allmankind at present. Could we succeed, really succeed, combine a deepreligious love with practical development, the achievements of geniuswith the happiness of the multitude, we might believe man had nowreached a commanding point in his ascent, and would stumble and faintno more. Then there is this horrible cancer of slavery, and the wickedwar that has grown out of it. How dare I speak of these things here?I listen to the same arguments against the emancipation of Italy, thatare used against the emancipation of our blacks; the same argumentsin favor of the spoliation of Poland, as for the conquest of Mexico. I find the cause of tyranny and wrong everywhere the same, --and lo! mycountry! the darkest offender, because with the least excuse; forswornto the high calling with which she was called; no champion of therights of men, but a robber and a jailer; the scourge hid behind herbanner; her eyes fixed, not on the stars, but on the possessions ofother men. 

How it pleases me here to think of the Abolitionists! I could neverendure to be with them at home, they were so tedious, often so narrow, always so rabid and exaggerated in their tone. But, after all, theyhad a high motive, something eternal in their desire and life; and ifit was not the only thing worth thinking of, it was really somethingworth living and dying for, to free a great nation from such aterrible blot, such a threatening plague. God strengthen them, andmake them wise to achieve their purpose!

I please myself, too, with remembering some ardent souls among theAmerican youth, who I trust will yet expand, and help to give soul tothe huge, over-fed, too hastily grown-up body. May they be constant!"Were man but constant, he were perfect, " it has been said; and it istrue that he who could be constant to those moments in which he hasbeen truly human, not brutal, not mechanical, is on the sure path tohis perfection, and to effectual service of the universe. 

It is to the youth that hope addresses itself; to those who yet burnwith aspiration, who are not hardened in their sins. But I dare notexpect too much of them. I am not very old; yet of those who, inlife's morning, I saw touched by the light of a high hope, many haveseceded. Some have become voluptuaries; some, mere family men, whothink it quite life enough to win bread for half a dozen people, and treat them, decently; others are lost through indolence andvacillation. Yet some remain constant;

 "I have witnessed many a shipwreck, Yet still beat noble hearts. "

I have found many among the youth of England, of France, of Italy, also, full of high desire; but will they have courage and purity tofight the battle through in the sacred, the immortal band? Of someof them I believe it, and await the proof. If a few succeed amid thetrial, we have not lived and loved in vain. 

To these, the heart and hope of my country, a happy new year! I donot know what I have written; I have merely yielded to my feelingsin thinking of America; but something of true love must be in theselines. Receive them kindly, my friends; it is, of itself, some meritfor printed words to be sincere. 

LETTER XIX. 

THE CLIMATE OF ITALY. --REVIEW OF FIRST IMPRESSIONS. --ROME IN ITSVARIOUS ASPECTS. --THE POPE. --CEMETERY OF SANTO SPIRITO. --CEREMONIES ATTHE CHAPELS. --THE WOMEN OF ITALY. --FESTIVAL OF ST. CARLO BORROMEO. --ANINCIDENT IN THE CHAPEL. --ENGLISH RESIDENTS IN THE SEVEN-HILLEDCITY. --MRS. TROLLOPE A RESIDENT OF FLORENCE. --THE POPE AS HECOMMUNICATES WITH HIS PEOPLE. --THE POSITION OF AFFAIRS. --LESSERPOTENTATES. --THE INAUGURATION OF THE NEW COUNCIL. --THE CEREMONIESTHERETO APPERTAINING. --THE AMERICAN FLAG IN ROME. --A BALL. --A FEAST, AND ITS REVERSE. --THE FUNERAL OF A COUNCILLOR. 

Rome, December 17, 1847. 

This 17th day of December I rise to see the floods of sunlightblessing us, as they have almost every day since I returned toRome, --two months and more, --with scarce three or four days of rainyweather. I still see the fresh roses and grapes each morning on mytable, though both these I expect to give up at Christmas. 

This autumn is _something like_, as my countrymen say at home. Like_what_, they do not say; so I always supposed they meant like theirideal standard. Certainly this weather corresponds with mine; andI begin to believe the climate of Italy is really what it has beenrepresented. Shivering here last spring in an air no better than thecruel cast wind of Puritan Boston, I thought all the praises lavishedon

 "Italia, O Italia!"

would turn out to be figments of the brain; and that even Byron, usually accurate beyond the conception of plodding pedants, haddeceived us when he says, you have the happiness in Italy to

 "See the sun set, sure he'll rise to-morrow, "

and not, according to a view which exercises a withering influence onthe enthusiasm of youth in my native land, be forced to regard eachpleasant day as a _weather-breeder_. 

How delightful, too, is the contrast between this time and the springin another respect! Then I was here, like travellers in general, expecting to be driven away in a short time. Like others, I wentthrough the painful process of sight-seeing, so unnatural everywhere, so counter to the healthful methods and true life of the mind. Yourise in the morning knowing there are a great number of objects worthknowing, which you may never have the chance to see again. You goevery day, in all moods, under all circumstances; feeling, probably, in seeing them, the inadequacy of your preparation for understandingor duly receiving them. This consciousness would be most valuable ifone had time to think and study, being the natural way in which themind is lured to cure its defects; but you have no time; you arealways wearied, body and mind, confused, dissipated, sad. The objectsare of commanding beauty or full of suggestion, but there is no quietto let that beauty breathe its life into the soul; no time to followup these suggestions, and plant for the proper harvest. Many personsrun about Rome for nine days, and then go away; they might as wellexpect to appreciate the Venus by throwing a stone at it, as hopereally to see Rome in this time. I stayed in Rome nine weeks, and cameaway unhappy as he who, having been taken in the visions of the nightthrough some wondrous realm, wakes unable to recall anything but thehues and outlines of the pageant; the real knowledge, the recreativepower induced by familiar love, the assimilation of its soul andsubstance, --all the true value of such a revelation, --is wanting; andhe remains a poor Tantalus, hungrier than before he had tasted thisspiritual food. 

No; Rome is not a nine-days wonder; and those who try to make it suchlose the ideal Rome (if they ever had it), without gaining any notionof the real. To those who travel, as they do everything else, onlybecause others do, I do not speak; they are nothing. Nobody counts inthe estimate of the human race who has not a character. 

For one, I now really live in Rome, and I begin to see and feel thereal Rome. She reveals herself day by day; she tells me some of herlife. Now I never go out to see a sight, but I walk every day; andhere I cannot miss of some object of consummate interest to end awalk. In the evenings, which are long now, I am at leisure to followup the inquiries suggested by the day. 

As one becomes familiar, Ancient and Modern Rome, at first sopainfully and discordantly jumbled together, are drawn apart to themental vision. One sees where objects and limits anciently wore; thesuperstructures vanish, and you recognize the local habitation of somany thoughts. When this begins to happen, one feels first trulyat ease in Rome. Then the old kings, the consuls and tribunes, theemperors, drunk with blood and gold, the warriors of eagle sight andremorseless beak, return for us, and the togated procession findsroom to sweep across the scene; the seven hills tower, the innumerabletemples glitter, and the Via Sacra swarms with triumphal life oncemore. 

Ah! how joyful to see once more _this_ Rome, instead of the pitiful, peddling, Anglicized Rome, first viewed in unutterable dismay from the_coupé_ of the vettura, --a Rome all full of taverns, lodging-houses, cheating chambermaids, vilest _valets de place_, and fleas! A Niobeof nations indeed! Ah! why, secretly the heart blasphemed, did the sunomit to kill her too, when all the glorious race which wore her crownfell beneath his ray? Thank Heaven, it is possible to wash away allthis dirt, and come at the marble yet. 

Their the later Papal Rome: it requires much acquaintance, muchthought, much reference to books, for the child of ProtestantRepublican America to see where belong the legends illustrated by riteand picture, the sense of all the rich tapestry, where it has a unitedand poetic meaning, where it is broken by some accident of history. For all these things--a senseless mass of juggleries to the uninformedeye--are really growths of the human spirit struggling to develop itslife, and full of instruction for those who learn to understand them. 

Then Modern Rome, --still ecclesiastical, still darkened and damp inthe shadow of the Vatican, but where bright hopes gleam now amid theashes! Never was a people who have had more to corrupt them, --bloodytyranny, and incubus of priestcraft, the invasions, first ofGoths, then of trampling emperors and kings, then of sight-seeingforeigners, --everything to turn them from a sincere, hopeful, fruitfullife; and they are much corrupted, but still a fine race. I cannotlook merely with a pictorial eye on the lounge of the Roman dandy, thebold, Juno gait of the Roman Contadina. I love them, --dandies and all?I believe the natural expression of these fine forms will animate themyet. Certainly there never was a people that showed a better heartthan they do in this day of love, of purely moral influence. It makesme very happy to be for once in a place ruled by a father's love, andwhere the pervasive glow of one good, generous heart is felt in everypulse of every day. 

I have seen the Pope several times since my return, and it is a realpleasure to see him in the thoroughfares, where his passage is alwaysgreeted as that of _the_ living soul. 

The first week of November there is much praying for the dead here inthe chapels of the cemeteries. I went to Santo Spirito. This cemeterystands high, and all the way up the slope was lined with beggarspetitioning for alms, in every attitude find tone, (I mean tone thatbelongs to the professional beggar's gamut, for that is peculiar, )and under every pretext imaginable, from the quite legless elderlygentleman to the ragged ruffian with the roguish twinkle in his eye, who has merely a slight stiffness in one arm and one leg. I couldnot help laughing, it was such a show, --greatly to the alarm of myattendant, who declared they would kill me, if ever they caught mealone; but I was not afraid. I am sure the endless falsehood in whichsuch creatures live must make them very cowardly. We entered thecemetery; it was a sweet, tranquil place, lined with cypresses, andsoft sunshine lying on the stone coverings where repose the houses ofclay in which once dwelt joyous Roman hearts, --for the hearts here dotake pleasure in life. There were several chapels; in one boys werechanting, in others people on their knees silently praying for thedead. In another was one of the groups in wax exhibited in suchchapels through the first week of November. It represented St. CarloBorromeo as a beautiful young man in a long scarlet robe, pure andbrilliant as was the blood of the martyrs, relieving the poor who weregrouped around him, --old people and children, the halt, the maimed, the blind; he had called them all into the feast of love. The chapelwas lighted and draped so as to give very good effect to this group;the spectators were mainly children and young girls, listening withardent eyes, while their parents or the nuns explained to them thegroup, or told some story of the saint. It was a pretty scene, onlymarred by the presence of a villanous-looking man, who ever and anonshook the poor's box. I cannot understand the bad taste of choosinghim, when there were _frati_ and priests enough of expression lessunprepossessing. 

I next entered a court-yard, where the stations, or different periodsin the Passion of Jesus, are painted on the wall. Kneeling beforethese were many persons: here a Franciscan, in his brown robe andcord; there a pregnant woman, uttering, doubtless, some tenderaspiration for the welfare of the yet unborn dear one; there someboys, with gay yet reverent air; while all the while these fresh youngvoices were heard chanting. It was a beautiful moment, and despite thewax saint, the ill-favored friar, the professional mendicants, andmy own removal, wide as pole from pole, from the positron of mindindicated by these forms, their spirit touched me, and. I prayed too;prayed for the distant, every way distant, --for those who seem to haveforgotten me, and with me all we had in common; prayed for the dead inspirit, if not in body; prayed for myself, that I might never walk theearth

 "The tomb of my dead self";

and prayed in general for all unspoiled and loving hearts, --no lessfor all who suffer and find yet no helper. 

Going out, I took my road by the cross which marks the brow of thehill. Up the ascent still wound the crowd of devotees, and still thebeggars beset them. Amid that crowd, how many lovely, warm-heartedwomen! The women of Italy are intellectually in a low place, _but_--they are unaffected; you can see what Heaven meant them to be, and I believe they will be yet the mothers of a great and generousrace. Before me lay Rome, --how exquisitely tranquil in the sunset!Never was an aspect that for serene grandeur could vie with that ofRome at sunset. 

Next day was the feast of the Milanese saint, whose life has been madeknown to some Americans by Manzoni, when speaking in his popular novelof the cousin of St. Carlo, Federigo Borromeo. The Pope came in stateto the church of St. Carlo, in the Corso. The show was magnificent;the church is not very large, and was almost filled with Papal courtand guards, in all their splendid harmonies of color. An Italian childwas next me, a little girl of four or five years, whom her motherhad brought to see the Pope. As in the intervals of gazing the childsmiled and made signs to me, I nodded in return, and asked her name. "Virginia, " said she; "and how is the Signora named?" "Margherita, ""My name, " she rejoined, "is Virginia Gentili. " I laughed, but did notfollow up the cunning, graceful lead, --still I chatted and played withher now and then. At last, she said to her mother, "La Signora e moltocara, " ("The Signora is very dear, " or, to use the English equivalent, _a darling_, ) "show her my two sisters. " So the mother, herself afine-looking woman, introduced two handsome young ladies, and with thefamily I was in a moment pleasantly intimate for the hour. 

Before me sat three young English ladies, the pretty daughters ofa noble Earl; their manners were a strange contrast to this Italiangraciousness, best expressed by their constant use of the pronoun_that_. "_See that man!_" (i. E. Some high dignitary of the Church, )"Look at that dress!" dropped constantly from their lips. Ah! withoutbeing a Catholic, one may well wish Rome was not dependent on Englishsight-seers, who violate her ceremonies with acts that bespeak theirthoughts full of wooden shoes and warming-pans. Can anything bemore sadly expressive of times out of joint than the fact that Mrs. Trollope is a resident in Italy? Yes! she is fixed permanently inFlorence, as I am told, pensioned at the rate of two thousand poundsa year to trail her slime over the fruit of Italy. She is here in Romethis winter, and, after having violated the virgin beauty of America, will have for many a year her chance to sully the imperial matron ofthe civilized world. What must the English public be, if it wishes topay two thousand pounds a year to get Italy Trollopified?

But to turn to a pleasanter subject. When the Pope entered, borne inhis chair of state amid the pomp of his tiara and his white and goldrobes, he looked to me thin, or, as the Italians murmur anxiouslyat times, _consumato_, or wasted. But during the ceremony he seemedabsorbed in his devotions, and at the end I think he had becomeexhilarated by thinking of St. Carlo, who was such another over thehuman race as himself, and his face wore a bright glow of faith. As heblessed the people, he raised his eyes to Heaven, with a gesture quitenatural: it was the spontaneous act of a soul which felt that momentmore than usual its relation with things above it, and sure of supportfrom a higher Power. I saw him to still greater advantage a littlewhile after, when, riding on the Campagna with a young gentleman whohad been ill, we met the Pope on foot, taking exercise. He often quitshis carriage at the gates and walks in this way. He walked rapidly, robed in a simple white drapery, two young priests in spotless purpleon either side; they gave silver to the poor who knelt beside the way, while the beloved Father gave his benediction. My companion knelt;he is not a Catholic, but he felt that "this blessing would do himno harm. " The Pope saw at once he was ill, and gave him a mark ofinterest, with that expression of melting love, the true, the onlycharity, which assures all who look on him that, were his power equalto his will, no living thing would ever suffer more. This expressionthe artists try in vain to catch; all busts and engravings of him arecaricatures; it is a magnetic sweetness, a lambent light that playsover his features, and of which only great genius or a soul tender ashis own would form an adequate image. 

The Italians have one term of praise peculiarly characteristic oftheir highly endowed nature. They say of such and such, _Ha unaphisonomia simpatica_, --"He has a sympathetic expression"; and this ispraise enough. This may be pre-eminently said of that of Pius IX. _He_looks, indeed, as if nothing human could be foreign to him. Such aloneare the genuine kings of men. 

He has shown undoubted wisdom, clear-sightedness, bravery, andfirmness; but it is, above all, his generous human heart that giveshim his power over this people. His is a face to shame the selfish, redeem the sceptic, alarm the wicked, and cheer to new effort theweary and heavy-laden. What form the issues of his life may take isyet uncertain; in my belief, they are such as he does not think of;but they cannot fail to be for good. For my part, I shall alwaysrejoice to have been here in his time. The working of his influenceconfirms my theories, and it is a positive treasure to me to have seenhim. I have never been presented, not wishing to approach, so real apresence in the path of mere etiquette; I am quite content to seehim standing amid the crowd, while the band plays the music he hasinspired. 

 "Sons of Rome, awake!"

Yes, awake, and let no police-officer put you again to sleep inprison, as has happened to those who were called by the Marseillaise. 

Affairs look well. The king of Sardinia has at last, though withevident distrust and heartlessness, entered the upward path in away that makes it difficult to return. The Duke of Modena, themost senseless of all these ancient gentlemen, after publishing adeclaration, which made him more ridiculous than would the bitterestpasquinade penned by another, that he would fight to the death againstreform, finds himself obliged to lend an ear as to the league forthe customs; and if he joins that, other measures follow of course. Austria trembles; and, in fine, cannot sustain the point of Ferrara. The king of Naples, after having shed much blood, for which he has aterrible account to render, (ah! how many sad, fair romances are totell already about the Calabrian difficulties!) still finds the spiritfomenting in his people; he cannot put it down. The dragon's teeth aresown, and the Lazzaroni may be men yet! The Swiss affairs have takenthe right direction, and good will ensue, if other powers act withdecent honesty, and think of healing the wounds of Switzerland, ratherthan merely of tying her down, so that she cannot annoy them. 

In Rome, here, the new Council is inaugurated, and elections havegiven tolerable satisfaction. Already, struggles ended in other placesbegin to be renewed here, as to gas-lights, introduction of machinery, &c. We shall see at the end of the winter how they have gone on. Atany rate, the wants of the people are in some measure represented; andalready the conduct of those who have taken to themselves so large aportion of the loaves and fishes on the very platform supposed to beselected by Jesus for a general feeding of his sheep, begins to bethe subject of spoken as well as whispered animadversion. Torlonia isassailed in his bank, Campana amid his urns or his Monte di Picti; butthese assaults have yet to be verified. 

On the day when the Council was to be inaugurated, great preparationswere made by representatives of other parts of Italy, and also offoreign nations friendly to the cause of progress. It was consideredto represent the same fact as the feast of the 12th of September inTuscany, --the dawn of an epoch when the people shall find their wantsand aspirations represented and guarded. The Americans showed a warminterest; the gentlemen subscribing to buy a flag, the United Stateshaving none before in Rome, and the ladies meeting to make it. Thesame distinguished individual, indeed, who at Florence made a speechto prevent "the American eagle being taken out on so trifling anoccasion, " with similar perspicuity and superiority of view, on thepresent occasion, was anxious to prevent "rash demonstrations, whichmight embroil the United States with Austria"; but the rash youthhere present rushed on, ignorant how to value his Nestorianprudence, --fancying, hot-headed simpletons, that the cause of Freedomwas the cause of America, and her eagle at home wherever the sun sheda warmer ray, and there was reason to hope a happier life for man. Sothey hurried to buy their silk, red, white, and blue, and inquired ofrecent arrivals how many States there are this winter in the Union, inorder to making the proper number of stars. A magnificent spread-eaglewas procured, not without difficulty, as this, once the eyrie of theking of birds, is now a rookery rather, full of black, ominous fowl, ready to eat the harvest sown by industrious hands. This eagle, havingpreviously spread its wings over a piece of furniture where its backwas sustained by the wall, was somewhat deficient in a part of itsanatomy. But we flattered ourselves he should be held so high that noRoman eye, if disposed, could carp and criticise. When lo! just as thebanner was ready to unfold its young glories in the home of Horace, Virgil, and Tacitus, an ordinance appeared prohibiting the display ofany but the Roman ensign. 

This ordinance was, it is said, caused by representations made to thePope that the Oscurantists, ever on the watch to do mischief, meant tomake this the occasion of disturbance, --as it is their policy to seekto create irritation here; that the Neapolitan and Lombardo-Venetianflags would appear draped with black, and thus the signal be given fortumult. I cannot help thinking these fears were groundless; that thepeople, on their guard, would have indignantly crushed at once anyof these malignant efforts. However that may be, no one can ever bereally displeased with any measure of the Pope, knowing his excellentintentions. But the limitation of the festival deprived it of thenoble character of the brotherhood of nations and an ideal aim, wornby that of Tuscany. The Romans, drilled and disappointed, greetedtheir Councillors with but little enthusiasm. The procession, too, wasbut a poor affair for Rome. Twenty-four carriages had been lent bythe princes and nobles, at the request of the city, to convey theCouncillors. I found something symbolical in this. Thus will they beobliged to furnish from their old grandeur the vehicles of the newideas. Each deputy was followed by his target and banner. Whenthe deputy for Ferrara passed, many garlands were thrown upon hiscarriage. There has been deep respect and sympathy felt for thecitizens of Ferrara, they have conducted so well under their latetrying circumstances. They contained themselves, knowing that theleast indiscretion would give a handle for aggression to the enemiesof the good cause. But the daily occasions of irritation must havebeen innumerable, and they have shown much power of wise and dignifiedself-government. 

After the procession passed, I attempted to go on foot from the CaféNovo, in the Corso, to St. Peter's, to see the decorations of thestreets, but it was impossible. In that dense, but most vivacious, various, and good-humored crowd, with all best will on their partto aid the foreigner, it was impossible to advance. So I sawonly themselves; but that was a great pleasure. There is so muchindividuality of character here, that it is a great entertainment tobe in a crowd. 

In the evening, there was a ball given at the Argentina. Lord Mintowas there; Prince Corsini, now Senator; the Torlonias, in uniform ofthe Civic Guard, --Princess Torlonia in a sash of their colors, givenher by the Civic Guard, which she waved often in answer to theirgreetings. But the beautiful show of the evening was the Trasteverinidancing the Saltarello in their most brilliant costume. I saw themthus to much greater advantage than ever before. Several were noblyhandsome, and danced admirably; it was really like Pinelli. 

The Saltarello enchants me; in this is really the Italian wine, the Italian sun. The first time, I saw it danced one night veryunexpectedly near the Colosseum; it carried me quite beyond myself, so that I most unamiably insisted on staying, while the friends in mycompany, not heated by enthusiasm like me, were shivering and perhapscatching cold from the damp night-air. I fear they remember it againstme; nevertheless I cherish the memory of the moments wickedly stolenat their expense, for it is only the first time seeing such a thingthat you enjoy a peculiar delight. But since, I love to see and studyit much. 

The Pope, in receiving the Councillors, made a speech, --such as theking of Prussia intrenched himself in on a similar occasion, only muchbetter and shorter, --implying that he meant only to improve, not to_reform_, and should keep things _in statu quo_, safe locked withthe keys of St. Peter. This little speech was made, no doubt, more toreassure czars, emperors, and kings, than from the promptings of thespirit. But the fact of its necessity, as well as the inferior freedomand spirit of the Roman journals to those of Tuscany, seems to saythat the pontifical government, though from the accident of this oneman's accession it has taken the initiative to better times, yetmay not, after a while, from its very nature, be able to keep in thevanguard. 

A sad contrast to the feast of this day was presented by the samepersons, a fortnight after, following the body of Silvani, one ofthe Councillors, who died suddenly. The Councillors, the differentsocieties of Rome, a corps _frati_ bearing tapers, the Civic Guardwith drums slowly beating, the same state carriages with theirliveried attendants all slowly, sadly moving, with torches andbanners, drooped along the Corso in the dark night. A single horseman, with his long white plume and torch reversed, governed the procession;it was the Prince Aldobrandini. The whole had that grand effect soeasily given by this artist people, who seize instantly the naturalpoetry of an occasion, and with unanimous tact hasten to represent it. More and much anon. 

LETTER XX. 

ROME. --BAD WEATHER. --ST. CECILIA. --THE PEOPLE'S PROCESSIONS. --TAKINGTHE VEIL. --FESTIVITIES. --POLITICAL AGITATION. --NOBLES. --MARIALOUISA. --GUICCIOLI. --PARMA. --ADDRESS TO THE NEW SOVEREIGN. --THE NEWYORK MEETING FOR ITALY. --ADDRESS TO THE POPE. 

Rome, December 30, 1847. 

I could not, in my last, content myself with praising the gloriousweather. I wrote in the last day of it. Since, we have had a fortnightof rain falling incessantly, and whole days and nights of torrentssuch as are peculiar to the "clearing-up" shower in our country. 

Under these circumstances, I have found my lodging in the Corso notonly has its dark side, but is all dark, and that one in the Piazza diSpagne would have been better for me in this respect; there on thesedays, the only ones when I wish to stay at home and write and study, Ishould have had the light. Now, if I consulted the good of my eyes, Ishould have the lamp lit on first rising in the morning. 

"Every sweet must have its bitter, " and the exchange from thebrilliance of the Italian heaven to weeks and months of rain, and suchblack cloud, is unspeakably dejecting. For myself, at the end of thisfortnight without exercise or light, and in such a damp atmosphere, I find myself without strength, without appetite, almost withoutspirits. The life of the German scholar who studies fifteen hours outof the twenty-four, or that of the Spielberg prisoner who could livethrough ten, fifteen, twenty years of dark prison with, only half anhour's exercise in the day, is to me a mystery. How can the brain, thenerves, ever support it? We are made to keep in motion, to drink theair and light; to me these are needed to make life supportable, thephysical state is so difficult and full of pains at any rate. 

I am sorry for those who have arrived just at this time hopingto enjoy the Christmas festivities. Everything was spoiled by theweather. I went at half past ten to San Luigi Francese, a churchadorned with some of Domenichino's finest frescos on the life anddeath of St. Cecilia. 

This name leads me to a little digression. In a letter to Mr. Phillips, the dear friend of our revered Dr. Charming, I asked him ifhe remembered what recumbent statue it was of which Dr. Charming waswont to speak as of a sight that impressed him more than anything elsein Rome. He said, indeed, his mood, and the unexpectedness in seeingthis gentle, saintly figure lying there as if death had just struckher down, had no doubt much influence upon him; but still he believedthe work had a peculiar holiness in its expression. I recognized atonce the theme of his description (the name he himself had forgotten)as I entered the other evening the lonely church of St. Cecilia inTrastevere. As in his case, it was twilight: one or two nuns were attheir devotions, and there lay the figure in its grave-clothes, withan air so gentle, so holy, as if she had only ceased to pray as thehand of the murderer struck her down. Her gentle limbs seemed instinctstill with soft, sweet life; the expression was not of the heroine, the martyr, so much as of the tender, angelic woman. I could wellunderstand the deep impression made upon his mind. The expression ofthe frescos of Domenichino is not inharmonious with the suggestions ofthis statue. 

Finding the Mass was not to begin for some time, I set out for theQuirinal to see the Pope return from that noble church, Santa MariaMaggiore, where he officiated this night. I reached the mount justas he was returning. A few torches gleamed before his door; perhaps ahundred people were gathered together round the fountain. Last year animmense multitude waited for him there to express their affection inone grand good-night; the change was occasioned partly by the weather, partly by other causes, of which I shall speak by and by. Just as hereturned, the moon looked palely out from amid the wet clouds, andshone upon the fountain, and the noble figures above it, and thelong white cloaks of the Guardia Nobile who followed his carriageon horseback; darker objects could scarcely be seen, except by theflickering light of the torches, much blown by the wind. I thenreturned to San Luigi. The effect of the night service there was veryfine; those details which often have such a glaring, mean look by dayare lost sight of in the night, and the unity of impression from theservice is much more undisturbed. The music, too, descriptive of thatera which promised peace on earth, good-will to men, was very sweet, and the _pastorale_ particularly soothed the heart amid the crowd, andpompous ceremonial. But here, too, the sweet had its bitter, in thevulgar vanity of the leader of the orchestra, a trait too common insuch, who, not content with marking the time for the musicians, madehis stick heard in the remotest nook of the church; so that what wouldhave been sweet music, and flowed in upon the soul, was vulgarized tomake you remember the performers and their machines. 

On Monday the leaders of the Guardia Civica paid their respects tothe Pope, who, in receiving them, expressed his constantly increasingsatisfaction in having given this institution to his people. The sameevening there was a procession with torches to the Quirinal, to paythe homage due to the day (Feast of St. John, and name-day of thePope, _Giovanni Maria Mastai_); but all the way the rain continuallythreatened to extinguish the torches, and the Pope could give but ahasty salute under an umbrella, when the heavens were again opened, and such a cataract of water descended, as drove both man and beast toseek the nearest shelter. 

On Sunday, I went to see a nun take the veil. She was a person of highfamily; a princess gave her away, and the Cardinal Ferreti, Secretaryof State, officiated. It was a much less effective ceremony than Iexpected from the descriptions of travellers and romance-writers. There was no moment of throwing on the black veil; no peal of music;no salute of cannon. The nun, an elegantly dressed woman of five orsix and twenty, --pretty enough, but whose quite worldly air gave theidea that it was one of those arrangements made because no suitableestablishment could otherwise be given her, --came forward, knelt, andprayed; her confessor, in that strained, unnatural whine too commonamong preachers of all churches and all countries, praised himself forhaving induced her to enter on a path which would lead her fetteredsteps "from palm to palm, from triumph to triumph, " Poor thing! shelooked as if the domestic olives and poppies were all she wanted; andlacking these, tares and wormwood must be her portion. She was thentaken behind a grating, her hair cut, and her clothes exchanged forthe nun's vestments; the black-robed sisters who worked upon herlooking like crows or ravens at their ominous feasts. All the while, the music played, first sweet and thoughtful, then triumphant strains. The effect on my mind was revolting and painful to the last degree. Were monastic seclusion always voluntary, and could it be endedwhenever the mind required a change back from seclusion to commonlife, I should have nothing to say against it; there are positions ofthe mind which it suits exactly, and even characters that might chooseit all through life; certainly, to the broken-hearted it presents ashelter that Protestant communities do not provide. But where itis enforced or repented of, no hell could be worse; nor can a moreterrible responsibility be incurred than by him who has persuaded anovice that the snares of the world are less dangerous than the demonsof solitude. 

Festivities in Italy have been of great importance, since, for acentury or two back, the thought, the feeling, the genius of thepeople have had more chance to expand, to express themselves, therethan anywhere else. Now, if the march of reform goes forward, thiswill not be so; there will be also speeches made freely on publicoccasions, without having the life pressed out of them by thecensorship. Now we hover betwixt the old and the new; when the manyreasons for the new prevail, I hope what is poetical in the old willnot be lost. The ceremonies of New Year are before me; but as I shallhave to send this letter on New-Year's day, I cannot describe them. The Romans begin now to talk of the mad gayeties of Carnival, and theOpera is open. They have begun with "Attila, " as, indeed, thereis little hope of hearing in Italy other music than Verdi's. Greatapplause waited on the following words:--

"EZIO (THE ROMAN LEADER). 

 "E gittata la mia sorte, Pronto sono ad ogni guerra, S' io cardņ, cadrč da forte, E il mio nome resterą. 

 "Non vedrņ l'amata terra Svener lenta e farri a brano, Sopra l'ultimo Romano Tutta Italia piangerą. "

 "My lot is fixed, and I stand ready for every conflict. If I must fall, I shall fall as a brave man, and my fame will survive. I shall not see my beloved country fall to pieces and slowly perish, and over the last Roman all Italy will weep. "

And at lines of which the following is a translation:--

 "O brave man, whose mighty power can raise thy country from such dire distress; from the immortal hills, radiant with glory, let the shades of our ancestors arise; oh! only one day, one instant, arise to look upon us!"

It was an Italian who sung this strain, though, singularly enough, here in the heart of Italy, so long reputed the home of music, threeprincipal parts were filled by persons bearing the foreign names ofIvanoff, Mitrovich, and Nissren. 

Naples continues in a state of great excitement, which now pervadesthe upper classes, as several young men of noble families have beenarrested; among them, one young man much beloved, son of PrinceTerella, and who, it is said, was certainly not present on theoccasion for which he was arrested, and that the measure was takenbecause he was known to sympathize strongly with the liberal movement. The nobility very generally have not feared to go to the house of hisfather to express their displeasure at the arrest and interest inthe young man. The ministry, it is said, are now persuaded of thenecessity of a change of measures. The king alone remains inflexiblein his stupidity. 

The stars of Bonaparte and Byron show again a conjunction, by thealmost simultaneous announcement of changes in the lot of women withwhom they were so intimately connected;--the Archduchess of Parma, Maria Louisa, is dead; the Countess Guiccioli is married. The CountessI have seen several times; she still looks young, and retains thecharms which by the contemporaries of Byron she is reputed to havehad; they never were of a very high order; her best expression is thatof a good heart. I always supposed that Byron, weary and sick of theworld such as he had known it, became attached to her for her gooddisposition, and sincere, warm tenderness for him; the sight of her, and the testimony of a near relative, confirmed this impression. Thisfriend of hers added, that she had tried very hard to remain devotedto the memory of Byron, but was quite unequal to the part, being oneof those affectionate natures that must have some one near with whomto be occupied; and now, it seems, she has resigned herself publiclyto abandon her romance. However, I fancy the manes of Byron remainundisturbed. 

We all know the worthless character of Maria Louisa, the indifferenceshe showed to a husband who, if he was not her own choice, yet wouldhave been endeared to almost any woman, as one fallen from an immenseheight into immense misfortune, and as the father of her child. Novoice from her penetrated to cheer his exile: the unhappinessof Josephine was well avenged. And that child, the poor Duke ofReichstadt, of a character so interesting, and with obvious elementsof greatness, withering beneath the mean, cold influence of hisgrandfather, --what did Maria Louisa do for him, --she, appointed byNature to be his inspiring genius, his protecting angel? I felt forher a most sad and profound contempt last summer, as I passed throughher oppressed dominion, a little sphere, in which, if she could notsave it from the usual effects of the Austrian rule, she might havedone so much private, womanly good, --might have been a genial heartto warm it, --and where she had let so much ill be done. A journalannounces her death in these words: "The Archduchess is dead; a womanwho _might_ have occupied one of the noblest positions in the historyof the age";--and there makes expressive pause. 

Parma, passing from bad to worse, falls into the hands of the Duke ofModena; and the people and magistracy have made an address to theirnew ruler. The address has received many thousand signatures, andseems quite sincere, except in the assumption of good-will in the Dukeof Modena; and this is merely an insincerity of etiquette. 

LETTER XXI. 

THE POPE'S RECEPTION OF THE NEW OFFICERS. --THEY KISS HISFOOT. --VESPERS AT THE GESŁ. --A POOR YOUTH IN ROME SEEKING APATRON. --RUMORS OF DISTURBANCES. --THEIR CAUSE. --REPRESENTATIONS TO THEPOPE. --HIS CONDUCT IN THE AFFAIR. --AN ITALIAN CONSUL FOR THE UNITEDSTATES. --CATHOLICISM. --THE POPULARITY OF THE POPE. --HIS DEPOSITION OFA CENSOR. --THE POLICY OF THE POPE IN HIS DOMESTIC NOT EQUAL TO THATOF HIS PUBLIC LIFE. --HIS OPPOSITION TO PROTESTANT REFORM. --LETTER FROMJOSEPH MAZZINI TO THE PONTIFF. --REFLECTIONS ON IT. 

Rome, January 10, 1848. 

In the first morning of this New Year I sent off a letter which mustthen be mailed, in order to reach the steamer of the 16th. So far amI from home, that even steam does not come nigh to annihilate thedistance. 

This afternoon I went to the Quirinal Palace to see the Pope receivethe new municipal officers. He was to-day in his robes of white andgold, with his usual corps of attendants in pure red and white, orviolet and white. The new officers were in black velvet dresses, withbroad white collars. They took the oaths of office, and then actuallykissed his foot. I had supposed this was never really done, but onlya very low obeisance made; the act seemed to me disgustingly abject. A Heavenly Father does not want his children at his feet, but in hisarms, on a level with his heart. 

After this was over the Pope went to the Gesł, a very rich church, belonging to the Jesuits, to officiate at Vespers, and we followed. The music was beautiful, and the effect of the church, with itsrichly-painted dome and altar-piece in a blaze of light, while theassembly were in a sort of brown darkness, was very fine. 

A number of Americans there, new arrivals, kept requesting in themidst of the music to know when _it_ would begin. "Why, this is _it_, "some one at last had the patience to answer; "you are hearing Vespersnow. " "What, " they replied, "is there no oration, no speech!" Sodeeply rooted in the American mind is the idea that a sermon is theonly real worship!

This church, is indelibly stamped on my mind. Coming to Rome thistime, I saw in the diligence a young man, whom his uncle, a priest ofthe convent that owns this church, had sent for, intending to providehim employment here. Some slight circumstances tested the characterof this young man, and showed it what I have ever found it, singularlyhonorable and conscientious. He was led to show me his papers, amongwhich was a letter from a youth whom, with that true benevolence onlypossible to the poor, because only they _can_ make great sacrifices, he had so benefited as to make an entire change in his prospects forlife. Himself a poor orphan, with nothing but a tolerable educationat an orphan asylum, and a friend of his dead parents to find himemployment on leaving it, he had felt for this young man, poorer andmore uninstructed than himself, had taught him at his leisure to readand write, had then collected from, friends, and given himself, till he had gathered together sixty francs, procuring also forhis _protégé_ a letter from monks, who were friends of his, to theconvents on the road, so that wherever there was one, the poor youthhad lodging and food gratis. Thus armed, he set forth on foot forRome; Piacenza, their native place, affording little hope even ofgaining bread, in the present distressed state of that dominion. Theletter was to say that he had arrived, and been so fortunate as tofind employment immediately in the studio of Benzoni, the sculptor. 

The poor patron's eyes sparkled as I read the letter. "How happy heis!" said he. "And does he not spell and write well? I was his onlymaster. "

But the good do not inherit the earth, and, less fortunate than his_protégé_, Germano on his arrival found his uncle ill of the Romanfever. He came to see me, much agitated. "Can it be, Signorina, " sayshe, "that God, who has taken my father and mother, will also takefrom me the only protector I have left, and just as I arrive in thisstrange place, too?" After a few days he seemed more tranquil, andtold me that, though he had felt as if it would console him and diverthis mind to go to some places of entertainment, he had forborne andapplied the money to have masses said for his uncle. "I feel, " hesaid, "as if God would help me. " Alas! at that moment the uncle wasdying. Poor Germano came next day with a receipt for masses said forthe soul of the departed, (his simple faith in these being apparentlyindestructible, ) and amid his tears he said: "The Fathers were sounkind, they were hardly willing to hear me speak a word; they were soafraid I should be a burden to them, I shall never go there again. Butthe most cruel thing was, I offered them a scudo (dollar) to say sixmasses for the soul of my poor uncle; they said they would only sayfive, and must have seven baiocchi (cents) more for that. "

A few days after, I happened to go into their church, and found itthronged, while a preacher, panting, sweating, leaning half out ofthe pulpit, was exhorting his hearers to "imitate Christ. " Withunspeakable disgust I gazed on this false shepherd of those who hadjust so failed in their duty to a poor stray lamb, Their church is sorich in ornaments, the seven baiocchi were hardly needed to burnishit. Their altar-piece is a very imposing composition, by an artistof Rome, still in the prime of his powers. Capalti. It represents theCircumcision, with the cross and six waiting angels in the background;Joseph, who holds the child, the priest, and all the figures in theforeground, seem intent upon the barbarous rite, except Mary themother; her mind seems to rush forward into the future, and understandthe destiny of her child; she sees the cross, --she sees the angels, too. 

Now I have mentioned a picture, let me say a word or two about Art andartists, by way of parenthesis in this letter so much occupied, withpolitical affairs. We laugh a little here at some words that come fromyour city on the subject of Art. 

We hear that the landscapes painted here show a want of familiaritywith Nature; artists need to return to America and see her again. But, friends, Nature wears a different face in Italy from what she does inAmerica. Do you not want to see her Italian face? it is very glorious!We thought it was the aim of Art to reproduce all forms of Nature, andthat you would not be sorry to have transcripts of what you have notalways round you. American Art is not necessarily a reproduction ofAmerican Nature. 

Hicks has made a charming picture of familiar life, which those whocannot believe in Italian daylight would not tolerate. I am not surethat all eyes are made in the same manner, for I have known those whodeclare they see nothing remarkable in these skies, these hues; andalways complain when they are reproduced in picture. I have yet seenno picture by Cropsey on an Italian subject, but his sketches fromScotch scenes are most poetical and just presentations of those lakes, those mountains, with their mourning veils. He is an artist of greatpromise. Cranch has made a picture for Mr. Ogden Haggerty of a finemountain-hold of old Colonna story. I wish he would write a balladabout it too; there is plenty of material. 

But to return to the Jesuits. One swallow does not make a summer, noram I--who have seen so much hard-heartedness and barbarous greed ofgain in all classes of men--so foolish as to attach undue importanceto the demand, by those who have dared to appropriate peculiarly tothemselves the sacred name of Jesus, from a poor orphan, and for thesoul of one of their own order, of "seven baiocchi more. " But I havealways been satisfied, from the very nature of their institutions, that the current prejudice against them must be correct. Theseinstitutions are calculated to harden the heart, and destroy entirelythat truth which is the conservative principle in character. Theirinfluence is and must be always against the free progress of humanity. The more I see of its working, the more I feel how pernicious it is, and were I a European, to no object should I lend myself with moreardor, than to the extirpation of this cancer. True, disband theJesuits, there would still remain Jesuitical men, but singly theywould have infinitely less power to work mischief. 

The influence of the Oscurantist foe has shown itself more and moreplainly in Rome, during the last four or five weeks. A false miracleis devised: the Madonna del Popolo, (who has her handsome house verynear me, ) has cured, a paralytic youth, (who, in fact, was neverdiseased, ) and, appearing to him in a vision, takes occasion tocriticise severely the measures of the Pope. Rumors of tumult inone quarter are circulated, to excite it in another. Inflammatoryhandbills are put up in the night. But the Romans thus far resist allintrigues of the foe to excite them to bad conduct. 

On New-Year's day, however, success was near. The people, as usual, asked permission of the Governor to go to the Quirinal and receive thebenediction of the Pope. This was denied, and not, as it might trulyhave been, because the Pope was unwell, but in the most ungracious, irritating manner possible, by saying, "He is tired of these things:he is afraid of disturbance. " Then, the people being naturallyexcited and angry, the Governor sent word to the Pope that there wasexcitement, without letting him know why, and had the guards doubledon the posts. The most absurd rumors were circulated among the peoplethat the cannon of St. Angelo were to be pointed on them, &c. Butthey, with that singular discretion which they show now, insteadof rising, as their enemies had hoped, went to ask counsel of theirlately appointed Senator, Corsini. He went to the Pope, found him ill, entirely ignorant of what was going on, and much distressed when heheard it. He declared that the people should be satisfied, and, since they had not been allowed to come to him, he would go to them. Accordingly, the next day, though rainy and of a searching cold likethat of a Scotch mist, we had all our windows thrown open, and the redand yellow tapestries hung out. He passed through the principal partsof the city, the people throwing themselves on their knees and cryingout, "O Holy Father, don't desert us! don't forget us! don't listento our enemies!" The Pope wept often, and replied, "Fear nothing, my people, my heart is yours. " At last, seeing how ill he was, theybegged him to go in, and he returned to the Quirinal; the presentTribune of the People, as far as rule in the heart is concerned, Ciceronacchio, following his carriage. I shall give some account ofthis man in another letter. 

For the moment, the difficulties are healed, as they will be wheneverthe Pope directly shows himself to the people. Then his generous, affectionate heart will always act, and act on them, dissipating theclouds which others have been toiling to darken. 

In speaking of the intrigues of these emissaries of the power ofdarkness, I will mention that there is a report here that they aretrying to get an Italian Consul for the United States, and one in theemployment of the Jesuits. This rumor seems ridiculous; yet it is truethat Dr. Beecher's panic about Catholic influence in the UnitedStates is not quite unfounded, and that there is considerable hopeof establishing a new dominion there. I hope the United States willappoint no Italian, no Catholic, to a consulship. The representativeof the United States should be American; our national characterand interests are peculiar, and cannot be fitly represented by aforeigner, unless, like Mr. Ombrossi of Florence, he has passed partof his youth in the United States. It would, indeed, be well if ourgovernment paid attention to qualification for the office in thecandidate, and not to pretensions founded on partisan service;appointing only men of probity, who would not stain the nationalhonor in the sight of Europe. It would be wise also not to select menentirely ignorant of foreign manners, customs, ways of thinking, oreven of any language in which to communicate with foreign society, making the country ridiculous by all sorts of blunders; but 't werepity if a sufficient number of Americans could not be found, who arehonest, have some knowledge of Europe and gentlemanly tact, and areable at least to speak French. 

To return to the Pope, although the shadow that has fallen on hispopularity is in a great measure the work of his enemies, yet there isreal cause for it too. His conduct in deposing for a time one of theCensors, about the banners of the 15th of December, his speech to theCouncil the same day, his extreme displeasure at the sympathy of afew persons with the triumph of the Swiss Diet, because it was aProtestant triumph, and, above all, his speech to the Consistory, sodeplorably weak in thought and absolute in manner, show a man lessstrong against domestic than foreign foes, instigated by a generous, humane heart to advance, but fettered by the prejudices of education, and terribly afraid to be or seem to be less the Pope of Rome, inbecoming a reform prince, and father to the fatherless. I insert apassage of this speech, which seems to say that, whenever there shallbe collision between the priest and the reformer, the priest shalltriumph:--

"Another subject there is which profoundly afflicts and harasses ourmind. It is not certainly unknown to you, Venerable Brethren, thatmany enemies of Catholic truth have, in our times especially, directedtheir efforts by the desire to place certain monstrous offspringsof opinion on a par with the doctrine of Christ, or to blend themtherewith, seeking to propagate more and more that impious system of_indifference_ toward all religion whatever. 

"And lately some have been found, dreadful to narrate! who haveoffered such an insult to our name and Apostolic dignity, asslanderously to represent us participators in their folly, andfavorers of that most iniquitous system above named. These have beenpleased to infer from, the counsels (certainly not foreign tothe sanctity of the Catholic religion) which, in certain affairspertaining to the civil exercise of the Pontific sway, we had benignlyembraced for the increase of public prosperity and good, and also fromthe pardon bestowed in clemency upon certain persons subject to thatsway, in the very beginning of our Pontificate, that we had suchbenevolent sentiments toward every description of persons as tobelieve that not only the sons of the Church, but others also, remaining aliens from Catholic unity, are alike in the way ofsalvation, and may attain eternal life. Words are wanting to us, fromhorror, to repel this new and atrocious calumny against us. It is truethat with intimate affection of heart we love all mankind, but nototherwise than in the charity of God and of our Lord Jesus Christ, whocame to seek and to save that which had perished, who wisheth that allmen should be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth, and who senthis disciples through the whole world to preach the Gospel to everycreature, declaring that those who should believe and be baptizedshould be saved, but those who should not believe, should becondemned. Let those therefore who seek salvation come to the pillarand support of the Truth, which is the Church, --let them come, thatis, to the true Church of Christ, which possesses in its bishopsand the supreme head of all, the Roman Pontiff, a never-interruptedsuccession of Apostolic authority, and which for nothing has ever beenmore zealous than to preach, and with all care preserve and defend, the doctrine announced as the mandate of Christ by his Apostles; whichChurch afterward increased, from the time of the Apostles, in themidst of every species of difficulties, and flourished throughout thewhole world, radiant in the splendor of miracles, amplified by theblood of martyrs, ennobled by the virtues of confessors and virgins, corroborated by the testimony and most sapient writings of thefathers, --as it still flourishes throughout all lands, refulgent inperfect unity of the sacraments, of faith, and of holy discipline. We who, though unworthy, preside in this supreme chair of the ApostlePeter, in which Christ our Lord placed the foundation of his Church, have at no time abstained, from any cares or toils to bring, throughthe grace of Christ himself, those who are in ignorance and error tothis sole way of truth and salvation. Let those, whoever they be, that are adverse, remember that heaven and earth shall pass away, butnothing can ever perish of the words of Christ, nor be changed in thedoctrine which the Catholic Church received, to guard, defend, andpublish, from him. 

"Next to this we cannot but speak to you, Venerable Brethren, of thebitterness of sorrow by which we were affected, on seeing that a fewdays since, in this our fair city, the fortress and centre of theCatholic religion, it proved possible to find some--very few indeedand well-nigh frantic men--who, laying aside the very sense ofhumanity, and to the extreme disgust and indignation of other citizensof this town, were not withheld, by horror from triumphing openly andpublicly over the most lamentable intestine war lately excited amongthe Helvetic people; which truly fatal war we sorrow over from thedepths of our heart, as well considering the blood shed by thatnation, the slaughter of brothers, the atrocious, daily recurring, andfatal discords, hatreds, and dissensions (which usually redound amongnations in consequence especially of civil wars), as the detrimentwhich we learn the Catholic religion has suffered, and fear it may yetsuffer, in consequence of this, and, finally, the deplorable acts ofsacrilege committed in the first conflict, which our soul shrinks fromnarrating. "

It is probably on account of these fears of Pius IX. Lest he shouldbe a called a Protestant Pope, that the Roman journals thus far, intranslating the American Address to the Pope, have not dared to addany comment. 

But if the heart, the instincts, of this good man have been beyond histhinking powers, that only shows him the providential agent to workout aims beyond his ken. A wave has been set in motion, which cannotstop till it casts up its freight upon the shore, and if Pius IX. Doesnot suffer himself to be surrounded by dignitaries, and see the signsof the times through the eyes of others, --if he does not suffer theknowledge he had of general society as a simple prelate to becomeincrusted by the ignorance habitual to princes, --he cannot fail longto be a most important agent in fashioning a new and better era forthis beautiful injured land. 

I will now give another document, which may be considered asrepresenting the view of what is now passing taken by the democraticparty called "Young Italy. " Should it in any other way have reachedthe United States, yet it will not come amiss to have it translatedfor the Tribune, as many of your readers may not otherwise have achance of seeing this noble document, one of the milestones in themarch of thought. It is a letter to the Most High Pontiff, Pius IX. , from Joseph Mazzini. 

"London, 8th September, 1847. 

"MOST HOLY FATHER, --Permit an Italian, who has studied your every stepfor some months back with much hopefulness, to address to you, in themidst of the applauses, often far too servile and unworthy of you, which, resound near you, some free and profoundly sincere words. Taketo read them some moments from your infinite cares. From a simpleindividual animated by holy intentions may come, sometimes, a greatcounsel; and I write to you with so much love, with so much emotion ofmy whole soul, with so much faith in the destiny of my country, whichmay be revived by your means, that my thoughts ought to speak truth. 

"And first, it is needful, Most Holy Father, that I should say toyou somewhat of myself. My name has probably reached your ears, but accompanied by all the calumnies, by all the errors, by all thefoolish conjectures, which the police, by system, and many men of myparty through want of knowledge or poverty of intellect, have heapedupon it. I am not a subverter, nor a communist, nor a man of blood, nor a hater, nor intolerant, nor exclusive adorer of a system, or ofa form imagined by my mind. I adore God, and an idea which seems to meof God, --Italy an angel of moral unity and of progressive civilizationfor the nations of Europe. Here and everywhere I have written the bestI know how against the vices of materialism, of egotism, of reaction, and against the destructive tendencies which contaminate many ofour party. If the people should rise in violent attack against theselfishness and bad government of their rulers, I, while renderinghomage to the right of the people, shall be among the first to preventthe excesses and the vengeance which long slavery has prepared. Ibelieve profoundly in a religious principle, supreme above all socialordinances; in a divine order, which we ought to seek to realize hereon earth; in a law, in a providential design, which we all ought, according to our powers, to study and to promote. I believe in theinspiration of my immortal soul, in the teaching of Humanity, whichshouts to me, through the deeds and words of all its saints, incessantprogress for all through, the work of all my brothers toward a commonmoral amelioration, toward the fulfilment of the Divine Law. And inthe great history of Humanity I have studied the history of Italy, andhave found there Rome twice directress of the world, --first throughthe Emperors, later through the Popes. I have found there, thatevery manifestation of Italian life has also been a manifestation ofEuropean life; and that always when Italy fell, the moral unityof Europe began to fall apart in analysis, in doubt, in anarchy. I believe in yet another manifestation of the Italian idea; and Ibelieve that another European world ought to be revealed from theEternal City, that had the Capitol, and has the Vatican. And thisfaith has not abandoned me ever, through years, poverty, and griefswhich God alone knows. In these few words lies all my being, allthe secret of my life. I may err in the intellect, but the heart hasalways remained pure. I have never lied through fear or hope, and Ispeak to you as I should speak to God beyond the sepulchre. 

"I believe you good. There is no man this day, I will not say inItaly, but in all Europe, more powerful than you; you then have, mostHoly Father, vast duties. God measures these according to the meanswhich he has granted to his creatures. 

"Europe is in a tremendous crisis of doubts and desires. Through thework of time, accelerated by your predecessors of the hierarchy of theChurch, faith is dead, Catholicism is lost in despotism; Protestantismis lost in anarchy. Look around you; you will find superstitious andhypocrites, but not believers. The intellect travels in a void. Thebad adore calculation, physical good; the good pray and hope; nobody_believes_. Kings, governments, the ruling classes, combat for a powerusurped, illegitimate, since it does not represent the worship oftruth, nor disposition to sacrifice one's self for the good of all;the people combat because they suffer, because they would fain taketheir turn to enjoy; nobody fights for duty, nobody because the waragainst evil and falsehood is a holy war, the crusade of God. We haveno more a heaven; hence we have no more a society. 

"Do not deceive yourself, Most Holy Father; this is the present stateof Europe. 

"But humanity cannot exist without a heaven. The idea of society isonly a consequence of the idea of religion. We shall have then, sooneror later, religion and heaven. We shall have these not in the kingsand the privileged classes, --their very condition excludes love, the soul of all religions, --but in the people. The spirit from Goddescends on many gathered together in his name. The people havesuffered for ages on the cross, and God will bless them with a faith. 

"You can, Most Holy Father, hasten that moment. I will not tell youmy individual opinions on the religious development which is to come;these are of little importance. But I will say to you, that, whateverbe the destiny of the creeds now existing, you can put yourself at thehead of this development. If God wills that such creeds shouldrevive, you can make them revive; if God wills that they should betransformed, that, leaving the foot of the cross, dogma and worshipshould be purified by rising a step nearer God, the Father andEducator of the world, you can put yourself between the two epochs, and guide the world to the conquest and the practice of religioustruth, extirpating a hateful egotism, a barren negation. 

"God preserve me from tempting you with ambition; that would beprofanation. I call you, in the name of the power which God hasgranted you, and has not granted without a reason, to fulfil the good, the regenerating European work. I call you, after so many ages ofdoubt and corruption, to be apostle of Eternal Truth. I call you tomake yourself the 'servant of all, ' to sacrifice yourself, if needful, so that 'the will of God may be done on the earth as it is in heaven';to hold yourself ready to glorify God in victory, or to repeat withresignation, if you must fail, the words of Gregory VII. : 'I die inexile, because I have loved justice and hated iniquity. '

"But for this, to fulfil the mission which God confides to you, twothings are needful, --to be a believer, and to unify Italy. Without thefirst, you will fall in the middle of the way, abandoned by God and bymen; without the second, you will not have the lever with which onlyyou can effect great, holy, and durable things. 

"Be a believer; abhor to be king, politician, statesman. Make nocompromise with error; do not contaminate yourself with diplomacy, make no compact with fear, with expediency, with the false doctrinesof a _legality_, which is merely a falsehood invented when faithfailed. Take no counsel except from God, from the inspirations of yourown heart, and from the imperious necessity of rebuilding a temple totruth, to justice, to faith. Self-collected, in enthusiasm of love forhumanity, and apart from every human regard, ask of God that he willteach you the way; then enter upon it, with the faith of a conqueroron your brow, with the irrevocable decision of the martyr in yourheart; look neither to the right hand nor the left, but straightbefore you, and up to heaven. Of every object that meets you on theway, ask of yourself: 'Is this just or unjust, true or false, law ofman or law of God?' Proclaim aloud the result of your examination, andact accordingly. Do not say to yourself: 'If I speak and work in sucha way, the princes of the earth will disagree; the ambassadors willpresent notes and protests!' What are the quarrels of selfishness inprinces, or their notes, before a syllable of the eternal Evangelistsof God? They have had importance till now, because, though phantoms, they had nothing to oppose them but phantoms; oppose to them thereality of a man who sees the Divine view, unknown to them, of humanaffairs, of an immortal soul conscious of a high mission, and thesewill vanish before you as vapors accumulated in darkness before thesun which rises in the east. Do not let yourself be affrighted byintrigues; the creature who fulfils a duty belongs not to men, but toGod. God will protect you; God will spread around you such a haloof love, that neither the perfidy of men irreparably lost, northe suggestions of hell, can break through it. Give to the world aspectacle new, unique: you will have results new, not to be foreseenby human calculation. Announce an era; declare that Humanity issacred, and a daughter of God; that all who violate her rights toprogress, to association, are on the way of error; that in God is thesource of every government; that those who are best by intellect andheart, by genius and virtue, must be the guides of the people. Bless those who suffer and combat; blame, reprove, those who causesuffering, without regard to the name they bear, the rank that investsthem. The people will adore in you the best interpreter of theDivine design, and your conscience will give you rest, strength, andineffable comfort. 

"Unify Italy, your country. For this you have no need to work, butto bless Him who works through you and in your name. Gather round youthose who best represent the national party. Do not beg alliances withprinces. Continue to seek the alliance of our own people; say, 'Theunity of Italy ought to be a fact of the nineteenth century, ' and itwill suffice; we shall work for you. Leave our pens free; leave freethe circulation of ideas in what regards this point, vital for us, of the national unity. Treat the Austrian government, even when it nolonger menaces your territory, with the reserve of one who knows thatit governs by usurpation in Italy and elsewhere; combat it with wordsof a just man, wherever it contrives oppressions and violations ofthe rights of others out of Italy. Require, in the name of the God ofPeace, the Jesuits allied with Austria in Switzerland to withdraw fromthat country, where their presence prepares an inevitable and speedyeffusion of the blood of the citizens. Give a word of sympathy whichshall become public to the first Pole of Galicia who comes into yourpresence. Show us, in fine, by some fact, that you intend not only toimprove the physical condition of your own few subjects, but thatyou embrace in your love the twenty-four millions of Italians, yourbrothers; that you believe them called by God to unite in family unityunder one and the same compact; that you would bless the nationalbanner, wherever it should be raised by pure and incontaminate hands;and leave the rest to us. We will cause to rise around you a nationover whose free and popular development you, living, shall preside. We will found a government unique in Europe, which shall destroy theabsurd divorce between spiritual and temporal power, and in which youshall be chosen to represent the principle of which the men chosen bythe nation will make the application. We shall know how to translateinto a potent fact the instinct which palpitates through all Italy. We will excite for you active support among the nations of Europe; wewill find you friends even in the ranks of Austria; we alone, becausewe alone have unity of design, believe in the truth of our principle, and have never betrayed it. Do not fear excesses from the people onceentered upon this way; the people only commit excesses when left totheir own impulses without any guide whom they respect. Do not pausebefore the idea of becoming a cause of war. War exists, everywhere, open or latent, but near breaking out, inevitable; nor can humanpower prevent it. Nor do I, it must be said frankly, Most HolyFather, address to you these words because I doubt in the least of ourdestiny, or because I believe you the sole, the indispensable meansof the enterprise. The unity of Italy is a work of God, --a part ofthe design of Providence and of all, even of those who show themselvesmost satisfied with local improvements, and who, less sincere thanI, wish to make them means of attaining their own aims. It will befulfilled, with you or without you. But I address you, because Ibelieve you worthy to take the initiative in a work so vast; becauseyour putting yourself at the head of it would much abridge the roadand diminish the dangers, the injury, the blood; because with youthe conflict would assume a religious aspect, and be freed from manydangers of reaction and civil errors; because might be attained atonce under your banner a political result and a vast moral result;because the revival of Italy under the ęgis of a religious idea, ofa standard, not of rights, but of duties, would leave behind all therevolutions of other countries, and place her immediately at the headof European progress; because it is in your power to cause that Godand the people, terms too often fatally disjoined, should meet at oncein beautiful and holy harmony, to direct the fate of nations. 

"If I could be near you, I would invoke from God power to convinceyou, by gesture, by accent, by tears; now I can only confide to thepaper the cold corpse, as it were, of my thought; nor can I ever havethe certainty that you have read, and meditated a moment what I write. But I feel an imperious necessity of fulfilling this duty toward Italyand you, and, whatsoever you may think of it, I shall find myself morein peace with my conscience for having thus addressed you. 

"Believe, Most Holy Father, in the feelings of veneration and of highhope which professes for you your most devoted

"JOSEPH MAZZINI. "

Whatever may be the impression of the reader as to the ideas andpropositions contained in this document, [A] I think he cannot fail tobe struck with its simple nobleness, its fervent truth. 

[Footnote A: This letter was printed in Paris to be circulated inItaly. A prefatory note signed by a friend of Mazzini's, states thatthe original was known to have reached the hands of the Pope. The hopeis expressed that the publication of this letter, though without theauthority of its writer, will yet not displease him, as those who aredeceived as to his plans and motives will thus learn his true purposesand feelings, and the letter will one day aid the historian who seeksto know what were the opinions and hopes of the entire people ofItaly. --ED. ]

A thousand petty interruptions have prevented my completing thisletter, till, now the hour of closing the mail for the steamer is sonear, I shall not have time to look over it, either to see what I havewritten or make slight corrections. However, I suppose it representsthe feelings of the last few days, and shows that, without having lostany of my confidence in the Italian movement, the office of the Popein promoting it has shown narrower limits, and sooner than I hadexpected. 

This does not at all weaken my personal feeling toward this excellentman, whose heart I have seen in his face, and can never doubt. It wasnecessary to be a great thinker, a great genius, to compete with thedifficulties of his position. I never supposed he was that; I amonly disappointed that his good heart has not carried him on a littlefarther. With regard to the reception of the American address, itis only the Roman press that is so timid; the private expressions ofpleasure have been very warm; the Italians say, "The Americans areindeed our brothers. " It remains to be seen, when Pius IX. Receivesit, whether the man, the reforming prince, or the Pope is uppermost atthat moment. 

LETTER XXII. 

THE CEREMONIES SUCCEEDING EPIPHANY. --THE DEATH OF TORLONIA, AND ITSPREDISPOSING CAUSES. --FUNERAL HONORS. --A STRIKING CONTRAST IN THEDECEASE OF THE CARDINAL PRINCE MASSIMO. --THE POPE AND HIS OFFICERSOF STATE. --THE CARDINAL BOFONDI. --SYMPATHETIC EXCITEMENTS THROUGHITALY. --SICILY IN FULL INSURRECTION. --THE KING OF SICILY, PRINCEMETTERNICH, AND LOUIS PHILIPPE. --A RUMOR AS TO THE PARENTAGE OF THEKING OF THE FRENCH. --ROME: AVE MARIA. --LIFE IN THE ETERNAL CITY. --THEBAMBINO. --CATHOLICISM: ITS GIFTS AND ITS WORKINGS. --THE CHURCH OF ARACOELI. --EXHIBITION OF THE BAMBINO. --BYGONE SUPERSTITION AND LIVINGREALITY. --THE SOUL OF CATHOLICISM HAS FLED. --REFLECTIONS. --EXHIBITIONBY THE COLLEGE OF THE PROPAGANDA. --EXERCISES IN ALL LANGUAGES. --DISTURBANCES AND THEIR CAUSES. --THOUGHTS. --BLESSING ANIMALS. --ACCOUNTSFROM PAVIA. --AUSTRIA. --THE KING OF NAPLES. --RUMORS FROM OTHER PARTS OFEUROPE. --FRANCE. --GUIZOT. --APPEARANCES AND APPREHENSIONS. 

Rome, January, 1848. 

I think I closed my last letter, without having had time to speak ofthe ceremonies that precede and follow Epiphany. This month, no day, scarcely an hour, has passed unmarked by some showy spectacle or someexciting piece of news. 

On the last day of the year died Don Carlo Torlonia, brother of thebanker, a man greatly beloved and regretted. The public felt thisevent the more that its proximate cause was an attack made upon hisbrother's house by Paradisi, now imprisoned in the Castle of St. Angelo, pending a law process for proof of his accusations. DonCarlo had been ill before, and the painful agitation caused by thesecircumstances decided his fate. The public had been by no meansdispleased at this inquiry into the conduct of Don AlessandroTorlonia, believing that his assumed munificence is, in this case, literally a robbery of Peter to pay Paul, and that all he givesto Rome is taken from Rome. But I sympathized no less with theaffectionate indignation of his brother, too good a man to be made theconfidant of wrong, or have eyes for it, if such exist. 

Thus, in the poetical justice which does not fail to be done in theprose narrative of life, while men hastened, the moment a cry wasraised against Don Alessandro, to echo it back with all kinds ofimputations both on himself and his employees, every man held hisbreath, and many wept, when the mortal remains of Don Carlo passed;feeling that in him was lost a benefactor, a brother, a simple, justman. 

Don Carlo was a Knight of Malta; yet with him the celibate life hadnot hardened the heart, but only left it free on all sides to generallove. Not less than half a dozen pompous funerals were given in hishonor, by his relatives, the brotherhoods to which he belonged, andthe battalion of the Civic Guard of which he was commander-in-chief. But in his own house the body lay in no other state than that of asimple Franciscan, the order to which he first belonged, and whose vowhe had kept through half a century, by giving all he had for the goodof others. He lay on the ground in the plain dark robe and cowl, nounfit subject for a modern picture of little angels descending toshower lilies on a good man's corpse. The long files of armed men, the rich coaches, and liveried retinues of the princes, were littleobserved, in comparison with more than a hundred orphan girls whom hisliberality had sustained, and who followed the bier in mourning robesand long white veils, spirit-like, in the dark night. The trumpet'swail, and soft, melancholy music from the bands, broke at times theroll of the muffled drum; the hymns of the Church were chanted, andvolleys of musketry discharged, in honor of the departed; but muchmore musical was the whisper in which the crowd, as passed his mortalframe, told anecdotes of his good deeds. 

I do not know when I have passed more consolatory moments than in thestreets one evening during this pomp and picturesque show, --for oncenot empty of all meaning as to the present time, recognizing thatgood which remains in the human being, ineradicable by all ill, andpromises that our poor, injured nature shall rise, and bloom again, from present corruption to immortal purity. If Don Carlo had been athinker, --a man of strong intellect, --he might have devised means ofusing his money to more radical advantage than simply to give it inalms; he had only a kind human heart, but from that heart distilled abalm which made all men bless it, happy in finding cause to bless. 

As in the moral little books with which our nurseries are entertained, followed another death in violent contrast. One of those whom the newarrangements deprived of power and the means of unjust gain was theCardinal Prince Massimo, a man a little younger than Don Carlo, but who had passed his forty years in a very different manner. He remonstrated; the Pope was firm, and, at last, is said to haveanswered with sharp reproof for the past. The Cardinal containedhimself in the audience, but, going out, literally suffocated with therage he had suppressed. The bad blood his bad heart had been solong making rushed to his head, and he died on his return home. Men laughed, and proposed that all the widows he had deprived of amaintenance should combine to follow _his_ bier. It was said boyshissed as that bier passed. Now, a splendid suit of lace being forsale in a shop of the Corso, everybody says: "Have you been to lookat the lace of Cardinal Massimo, who died of rage, because he couldno longer devour the public goods?" And this is the last echo of _his_requiem. 

The Pope is anxious to have at least well-intentioned men in places ofpower. Men of much ability, it would seem, are not to be had. His lastprime minister was a man said to have energy, good dispositions, butno thinking power. The Cardinal Bofondi, whom he has taken now, issaid to be a man of scarce any ability; there being few among thenew Councillors the public can name as fitted for important trust. In consolation, we must remember that the Chancellor Oxenstiern foundnothing more worthy of remark to show his son, than by how littlewisdom the world could be governed. We must hope these men of strawwill serve as thatch to keep out the rain, and not be exposed to theassaults of a devouring flame. 

Yet that hour may not be distant. The disturbances of the 1st ofJanuary here were answered by similar excitements in Leghorn andGenoa, produced by the same hidden and malignant foe. At the sametime, the Austrian government in Milan organized an attempt to rousethe people to revolt, with a view to arrests, and other measurescalculated to stifle the spirit of independence they know to be latentthere. In this iniquitous attempt they murdered eighty persons; yetthe citizens, on their guard, refused them the desired means ofruin, and they were forced to retractions as impudently vile as theirattempts had been. The Viceroy proclaimed that "he hoped the peoplewould confide in him as he did in them"; and no doubt they will. AtLeghorn and Genoa, the wiles of the foe were baffled by the wisdom ofthe popular leaders, as I trust they always will be; but it is needfuldaily to expect these nets laid in the path of the unwary. 

Sicily is in full insurrection; and it is reported Naples, but thisis not sure. There was a report, day before yesterday, that the poor, stupid king was already here, and had taken cheap chambers at theHotel d'Allemagne, as, indeed, it is said he has always a turn foreconomy, when he cannot live at the expense of his suffering people. Day before yesterday, every carriage that the people saw with astupid-looking man in it they did not know, they looked to see if itwas not the royal runaway. But it was their wish was father to thatthought, and it has not as yet taken body as fact. In like manner theyreport this week the death of Prince Metternich; but I believe itis not sure he is dead yet, only dying. With him passes one greatembodiment of ill to Europe. As for Louis Philippe, he seems reservedto give the world daily more signal proofs of his base apostasy to thecause that placed him on the throne, and that heartless selfishness, of which his face alone bears witness to any one that has a mind toread it. How the French nation could look upon that face, while yetflushed with the hopes of the Three Days, and put him on the throneas representative of those hopes, I cannot conceive. There is a storycurrent in Italy, that he is really the child of a man first a barber, afterwards a police-officer, and was substituted at nurse for the trueheir of Orleans; and the vulgarity of form in his body of limbs, powerof endurance, greed of gain, and hard, cunning intellect, so unlikeall traits of the weak, but more "genteel" Bourbon race, might welllend plausibility to such a fable. 

But to return to Rome, where I hear the Ave Maria just ringing. By theway, nobody pauses, nobody thinks, nobody prays. 

 "Ave Maria! 't is the hour of prayer, Ave Maria! 't is the hour of love, " &c. , is but a figment of the poet's fancy. 

To return to Rome: what a Rome! the fortieth day of rain, and damp, and abominable reeking odors, such as blessed cities swept by thesea-breeze--bitter sometimes, yet indeed a friend--never know. It hasbeen dark all day, though the lamp has only been lit half an hour. Themusic of the day has been, first the atrocious _arias_, which last inthe Corso till near noon, though certainly less in virulence on rainydays. Then came the wicked organ-grinder, who, apart from the horrorof the noise, grinds exactly the same obsolete abominations as athome or in England, --the Copenhagen Waltz, "Home, sweet home, " and allthat! The cruel chance that both an English my-lady and a Councillorfrom one of the provinces live opposite, keeps him constantly beforemy window, hoping baiocchi. Within, the three pet dogs of my landlady, bereft of their walk, unable to employ their miserable legs and eyes, exercise themselves by a continual barking, which is answered by allthe dogs in the neighborhood. An urchin returning from the laundress, delighted with the symphony, lays down his white bundle in the gutter, seats himself on the curb-stone, and attempts an imitation of themusic of cats as a tribute to the concert. The door-bell rings. _Chič?_ "Who is it?" cries the handmaid, with unweariable senselessness, as if any one would answer, _Rogue_, or _Enemy_, instead of thetraditionary _Amico_, _Friend_. Can it be, perchance, a letter, newsof home, or some of the many friends who have neglected so longto write, or some ray of hope to break the clouds of the difficultFuture? Far from it. Enter a man poisoning me at once with the smellof the worst possible cigars, not to be driven out, insisting I shalllook upon frightful, ill-cut cameos, and worse-designed mosaics, made by some friend of his, who works in a chamber and will sell _so_cheap. Man of ill-odors and meanest smile! I am no Countess to befooled by you. For dogs they were not even--dog-cheap. 

A faint and misty gleam of sun greeted the day on which there was thefeast to the Bambino, the most venerated doll of Rome. This is thefamous image of the infant Jesus, reputed to be made of wood froma tree of Palestine, and which, being taken away from its presentabode, --the church of Ara Coeli, --returned by itself, making the bellsring as it sought admittance at the door. It is this which is carriedin extreme cases to the bedside of the sick. It has received moresplendid gifts than any other idol. An orphan by my side, nowstruggling with difficulties, showed me on its breast a splendidjewel, which a doting grandmother thought more likely to benefit hersoul if given to the Bambino, than if turned into money to give hergrandchildren education and prospects in life. The same old ladyleft her vineyard, not to these children, but to her confessor, awell-endowed Monsignor, who occasionally asks this youth, hisgodson, to dinner! Children so placed are not quite such devotees toCatholicism as the new proselytes of America;--they are not so muchpatted on the head, and things do not show to them under quite thesame silver veil. 

The church of Ara Coeli is on or near the site of the temple ofCapitoline Jove, which certainly saw nothing more idolatrous thanthese ceremonies. For about a week the Bambino is exhibited in anilluminated chapel, in the arms of a splendidly dressed Madonna doll. Behind, a transparency represents the shepherds, by moonlight, at thetime the birth was announced, and, above, God the Father, with manyangels hailing the event. A pretty part of this exhibition, which Iwas not so fortunate as to hit upon, though I went twice on purpose, is the children making little speeches in honor of the occasion. Many readers will remember some account of this in Andersen's"Improvvisatore. "

The last time I went was the grand feast in honor of the Bambino. Thechurch was entirely full, mostly with Contadini and the poorer people, absorbed in their devotions: one man near me never raised his heador stirred from his knees to see anything; he seemed in an anguish ofprayer, either from repentance or anxiety. I wished I could havehoped the ugly little doll could do Mm any good. The noble stairwhich descends from the great door of this church to the foot of theCapitol, --a stair made from fragments of the old imperial time, --wasflooded with people; the street below was a rapid river also, whosewaves were men. The ceremonies began with splendid music from theorgan, pealing sweetly long and repeated invocations. As if answeringto this call, the world came in, many dignitaries, the Conservatori, (I think conservatives are the same everywhere, official or no, ) anddid homage to the image; then men in white and gold, with the candlesthey are so fond here of burning by daylight, as if the poorestartificial were better than the greatest natural light, uplifted highabove themselves the baby, with its gilded robes and crown, and madetwice the tour of the church, passing twice the column labelled "Fromthe Home of Augustus, " while the band played--what?--the Hymn to PiusIX. And "Sons of Rome, awake!" Never was a crueller comment upon theirreconcilableness of these two things. Rome seeks to reconcile reformand priestcraft. 

But her eyes are shut, that they see not. O awake indeed, Romans! andyou will see that the Christ who is to save men is no wooden dingyeffigy of bygone superstitions, but such as Art has seen him in yourbetter mood, --a Child, living, full of love, prophetic of a boundlessfuture, --a Man acquainted with all sorrows that rend the heart ofall, and ever loving man with sympathy and faith death could notquench, --_that_ Christ lives and may be sought; burn your doll ofwood. 

How any one can remain a Catholic--I mean who has ever been aroused tothink, and is not biassed by the partialities of childish years--afterseeing Catholicism here in Italy, I cannot conceive. There was once asoul in the religion while the blood of its martyrs was yet freshupon the ground, but that soul was always too much encumbered withthe remains of pagan habits and customs: that soul is now quite fledelsewhere, and in the splendid catafalco, watched by so many whiteand red-robed snuff-taking, sly-eyed men, would they let it be opened, nothing would be found but bones!

Then the College for propagating all this, the most venerablePropaganda, has given its exhibition in honor of the Magi, wise men ofthe East who came to Christ. I was there one day. In conformity withthe general spirit of Rome, --strangely inconsistent in a country wherethe Madonna is far more frequently and devoutly worshipped than God orChrist, in a city where at least as many female saints and martyrs arevenerated as male, --there was no good place for women to sit. Allthe good seats were for the men in the area below, but in the gallerywindows, and from the organ-loft, a few women were allowed to peepat what was going on. I was one of these exceptional characters. Theexercises were in all the different languages under the sun. It wouldhave been exceedingly interesting to hear them, one after theother, each in its peculiar cadence and inflection, but much of theindividual expression was taken away by that general false academictone which is sure to pervade such exhibitions where young men speakwho have as yet nothing to say. It would have been different, indeed, if we could have heard natives of all those countries, who wereanimated by real feelings, real wants. Still it was interesting, particularly the language and music of Kurdistan, and the full-grownbeauty of the Greek after the ruder dialects. Among those who appearedto the best advantage were several blacks, and the majesty of theLatin hexameters was confided to a full-blooded Guinea negro, whoacquitted himself better than any other I heard. I observed, too, theperfectly gentlemanly appearance of these young men, and that theyhad nothing of that Cuffy swagger by which those freed from a servilestate try to cover a painful consciousness of their position in ourcountry. Their air was self-possessed, quiet and free beyond that ofmost of the whites. 

January 22, 2 o'clock, P. M. 

Pour, pour, pour again, dark as night, --many people coming in to seeme because they don't know what to do with themselves. I am very gladto see them for the same reason; this atmosphere is so heavy, I seemto carry the weight of the world on my head and feel unfitted forevery exertion. As to eating, that is a bygone thing; wine, coffee, meat, I have resigned; vegetables are few and hard to have, excepthorrible cabbage, in which the Romans delight. A little rice stillremains, which I take with pleasure, remembering it growing in therich fields of Lombardy, so green and full of glorious light. Thatlight fell still more beautiful on the tall plantations of hemp, butit is dangerous just at present to think of what is made from hemp. 

This week all the animals are being blessed, [A] and they get agratuitous baptism, too, the while. The lambs one morning were takenout to the church of St. Agnes for this purpose. The little companionof my travels, if he sees this letter, will remember how often we sawher with her lamb in pictures. The horses are being blessed by St. Antonio, and under his harmonizing influence are afterward driventhrough the city, twelve and even twenty in hand. They are harnessedinto light wagons, and men run beside them to guard against accident, in case the good influence of the Saint should fail. 

[Footnote A: One of Rome's singular customs. --ED. ]

This morning came the details of infamous attempts by the Austrianpolice to exasperate the students of Pavia. The way is to send personsto smoke cigars in forbidden places, who insult those who are obligedto tell them to desist. These traps seem particularly shocking whenlaid for fiery and sensitive young men. They succeeded: the studentswere lured, into combat, and a number left dead and wounded on bothsides. The University is shut up; the inhabitants of Pavia and Milanhave put on mourning; even at the theatre they wear it. The Milanesewill not walk in that quarter where the blood of their fellow-citizenshas been so wantonly shed. They have demanded a legal investigation ofthe conduct of the officials. 

At Piacenza similar attempts have been made to excite the Italians, bysmoking in their faces, and crying, "Long live the Emperor!" It is aworthy homage to pay to the Austrian crown, --this offering of cigarsand blood. 

 "O this offence is rank; it smells to Heaven. "

This morning authentic news is received from Naples. The king, whenassured by his own brother that Sicily was in a state of irresistiblerevolt, and that even the women quelled the troops, --showering on themstones, furniture, boiling oil, such means of warfare as the householdmay easily furnish to a thoughtful matron, --had, first, a stroke ofapoplexy, from, which the loss of a good deal of bad blood relievedhim. His mind apparently having become clearer thereby, he has offeredhis subjects an amnesty and terms of reform, which, it is hoped, willarrive before his troops have begun to bombard the cities in obedienceto earlier orders. 

Comes also to-day the news that the French Chamber of Peers proposean Address to the King, echoing back all the falsehoods of his speech, including those upon reform, and the enormous one that "the peace ofEurope is now assured"; but that some members have worthily opposedthis address, and spoken truth in an honorable manner. 

Also, that the infamous sacrifice of the poor little queen of Spainputs on more tragic colors; that it is pretended she has epilepsy, andshe is to be made to renounce the throne, which, indeed, has been aterrific curse to her. And Heaven and Earth have looked calmly on, while the king of France has managed all this with the most unnaturalof mothers. 

January 27. 

This morning comes the plan of the Address of the Chamber of Deputiesto the King: it contains some passages that are keenest satire uponhim, as also some remarks which have been made, some words of truthspoken in the Chamber of Peers, that must have given him some twingesof nervous shame as he read. M. Guizot's speech on the affairs ofSwitzerland shows his usual shabbiness and falsehood. Surely neverprime minister stood in so mean a position as he: one like Metternichseems noble and manly in comparison; for if there is a cruel, atheistical, treacherous policy, there needs not at least continualevasion to avoid declaring in words what is so glaringly manifest infact. 

There is news that the revolution has now broken out in Naples; thatneither Sicilians nor Neapolitans will trust the king, but demandhis abdication; and that his bad demon, Coclo, has fled, carrying twohundred thousand ducats of gold. But in particulars this news is notyet sure, though, no doubt, there is truth, at the bottom. 

Aggressions on the part of the Austrians continue in the North. Theadvocates Tommaso and Manin (a light thus reflected on the name of thelast Doge), having dared to declare formally the necessity of reform, are thrown into prison. Every day the cloud swells, and the nextfortnight is likely to bring important tidings. 

LETTER XXIII. 

UNPLEASANTNESS OF A ROMAN WINTER. --PROGRESS OF EVENTS IN EUROPE, AND THEIR EFFECT UPON ITALY. --THE CARNIVAL. --RAIN INTERRUPTSTHE GAYETY. --REJOICINGS FOR THE REVOLUTIONS OF FRANCE ANDAUSTRIA. --TRANSPORTS OF THE PEOPLE. --OBLATIONS TO THE CAUSE OFLIBERTY. --CASTLE FUSANO. --THE WEATHER, GLADSOMENESS OF NATURE, AND THEPLEASURE OF THOUGHT. 

Rome, March 29, 1848. 

It is long since I have written. My health entirely gave way beneaththe Roman winter. The rain was constant, commonly falling in torrentsfrom the 16th of December to the 19th of March. Nothing could surpassthe dirt, the gloom, the desolation, of Rome. Let no one fancy he hasseen her who comes here only in the winter. It is an immense mistaketo do so. I cannot sufficiently rejoice that I did not first see Italyin the winter. 

The climate of Rome at this time of extreme damp I have found equallyexasperating and weakening. I have had constant nervous headachewithout strength to bear it, nightly fever, want of appetite. Someconstitutions bear it better, but the complaint of weakness andextreme dejection of spirits is general among foreigners in the wetseason. The English say they become acclimated in two or three years, and cease to suffer, though never so strong as at home. 

Now this long dark dream--to me the most idle and most sufferingseason of my life--seems past. The Italian heavens wear again theirdeep blue; the sun shines gloriously; the melancholy lustres arestealing again over the Campagna, and hundreds of larks sing unweariedabove its ruins. 

Nature seems in sympathy with the great events that aretranspiring, --with the emotions which are swelling the hearts ofmen. The morning sun is greeted by the trumpets of the Roman legionsmarching out once more, now not to oppress but to defend. The starslook down on their jubilees over the good news which nightly reachesthem from their brothers of Lombardy. This week has been one ofnobler, sweeter feeling, of a better hope and faith, than Rome in hergreatest days ever knew. How much has happened since I wrote! First, the victorious resistance of Sicily and the revolution of Naples. This has led us yet only to half-measures, but even these have been ofgreat use to the progress of Italy. The Neapolitans will probably haveto get rid at last of the stupid crowned head who is at present theirpuppet; but their bearing with him has led to the wiser sovereignsgranting these constitutions, which, if eventually inadequate to thewants of Italy, will be so useful, are so needed, to educate her toseek better, completer forms of administration. 

In the midst of all this serious work came the play of Carnival, inwhich there was much less interest felt than usual, but enough todazzle and captivate a stranger. One thing, however, has been omittedin the description of the Roman Carnival; i. E. That it rains everyday. Almost every day came on violent rain, just as the tide of gaymasks was fairly engaged in the Corso. This would have been well worthbearing once or twice, for the sake of seeing the admirable goodhumor of this people. Those who had laid out all their savings in thegayest, thinnest dresses, on carriages and chairs for the Corso, foundthemselves suddenly drenched, their finery spoiled, and obliged toride and sit shivering all the afternoon. But they never murmured, never scolded, never stopped throwing their flowers. Their strength ofconstitution is wonderful. While I, in my shawl and boa, was coughingat the open window from the moment I inhaled the wet sepulchral air, the servant-girls of the house had taken off their woollen gowns, and, arrayed in white muslins and roses, sat in the drenched streetbeneath the drenching rain, quite happy, and have suffered nothing inconsequence. 

The Romans renounced the _Moccoletti_, ostensibly as an expression ofsympathy for the sufferings of the Milanese, but really because, atthat time, there was great disturbance about the Jesuits, and thegovernment feared that difficulties would arise in the excitement ofthe evening. But, since, we have had this entertainment in honorof the revolutions of France and Austria, and nothing could be morebeautiful. The fun usually consists in all the people blowing oneanother's lights out. We had not this; all the little tapers wereleft to blaze, and the long Corso swarmed with tall fire-flies. Lightscrept out over the surface of all the houses, and such merry littletwinkling lights, laughing and flickering with each slightest movementof those who held them! Up and down the Corso they twinkled, theyswarmed, they streamed, while a surge of gay triumphant sound ebbedand flowed beneath that glittering surface. Here and there danced mencarrying aloft _moccoli_, and clanking chains, emblem of the tyrannicpower now vanquished by the people;--the people, sweet and noble, who, in the intoxication of their joy, were guilty of no rude or unkindlyword or act, and who, no signal being given as usual for thetermination of their diversion, closed, of their own accord and withone consent, singing the hymns for Pio, by nine o'clock, andretired peacefully to their homes, to dream of hopes they yet scarceunderstand. 

This happened last week. The news of the dethronement of LouisPhilippe reached us just after the close of the Carnival. It was justa year from my leaving Paris. I did not think, as I looked with suchdisgust on the empire of sham he had established in France, and sawthe soul of the people imprisoned and held fast as in an iron vice, that it would burst its chains so soon. Whatever be the result, Francehas done gloriously; she has declared that she will not be satisfiedwith pretexts while there are facts in the world, --that to stop hermarch is a vain attempt, though the onward path be dangerous anddifficult. It is vain to cry, Peace! peace! when there is no peace. The news from France, in these days, sounds ominous, though stillvague. It would appear that the political is being merged in thesocial struggle: it is well. Whatever blood is to be shed, whateveraltars cast down, those tremendous problems MUST be solved, whateverbe the cost! That cost cannot fail to break many a bank, many a heart, in Europe, before the good can bud again out of a mighty corruption. To you, people of America, it may perhaps be given to look on andlearn in time for a preventive wisdom. You may learn the real meaningof the words FRATERNITY, EQUALITY: you may, despite the apes of thepast who strive to tutor you, learn the needs of a true democracy. Youmay in time learn to reverence, learn to guard, the true aristocracyof a nation, the only really nobles, --the LABORING CLASSES. 

And Metternich, too, is crushed; the seed of the woman has had hisfoot on the serpent. I have seen the Austrian arms dragged throughthe streets of Rome and burned in the Piazza del Popolo. The Italiansembraced one another, and cried, _Miracolo! Providenza!_ the modernTribune Ciceronacchio fed the flame with faggots; Adam Mickiewicz, thegreat poet of Poland, long exiled from his country or the hopes of acountry, looked on, while Polish women, exiled too, or who perhaps, like one nun who is here, had been daily scourged by the orders of atyrant, brought little pieces that had been scattered in the streetand threw them into the flames, --an offering received by the Italianswith loud plaudits. It was a transport of the people, who found no wayto vent their joy, but the symbol, the poesy, natural to the Italianmind. The ever-too-wise "upper classes" regret it, and the Germanschoose to resent it as an insult to Germany; but it was nothing ofthe kind; the insult was to the prisons of Spielberg, to those whocommanded the massacres of Milan, --a base tyranny little congenial tothe native German heart, as the true Germans of Germany are at thismoment showing by their resolves, by their struggles. 

When the double-headed eagle was pulled down from above the loftyportal of the Palazzo di Venezia, the people placed there in its steadone of white and gold, inscribed with the name ALTA ITALIA, and quickupon the emblem followed the news that Milan was fighting against hertyrants, --that Venice had driven them out and freed from their prisonsthe courageous Protestants in favor of truth, Tommaso and Manin, --thatManin, descendant of the last Doge, had raised the republican banneron the Place St. Mark, --and that Modena, that Parma, were driving outthe unfeeling and imbecile creatures who had mocked Heaven and man bythe pretence of government there. 

With indescribable rapture these tidings were received in Rome. Menwere seen dancing, women weeping with joy along the street. The youthrushed to enroll themselves in regiments to go to the frontier. In theColosseum their names were received. Father Gavazzi, a truly patrioticmonk, gave them the cross to carry on a new, a better, becausedefensive, crusade. Sterbini, long exiled, addressed them. He said:"Romans, do you wish to go; do you wish to go with all your hearts?If so, you _may_, and those who do not wish to go themselves may givemoney. To those who will go, the government gives bread and fifteenbaiocchi a day. " The people cried: "We wish to go, but we do not wishso much; the government is very poor; we can live on a paul a day. "The princes answered by giving, one sixty thousand, others twenty, fifteen, ten thousand dollars. The people responded by giving atthe benches which are opened in the piazzas literally everything;street-pedlers gave the gains of each day; women gave everyornament, --from the splendid necklace and bracelet down to the poorestbit of coral; servant-girls gave five pauls, two pauls, even half apaul, if they had no more. A man all in rags gave two pauls. "Itis, " said he, "all I have. " "Then, " said Torlonia, "take from me thisdollar. " The man of rags thanked him warmly, and handed that also tothe bench, which refused to receive it. "No! _that_ must stay withyou, " shouted all present. These are the people whom the travelleraccuses of being unable to rise above selfish considerations;--anation rich and glorious by nature, capable, like all nations, allmen, of being degraded by slavery, capable, as are few nations, fewmen, of kindling into pure flame at the touch of a ray from the Sun ofTruth, of Life. 

The two or three days that followed, the troops were marching about bydetachments, followed always by the people, to the Ponte Molle, oftenfarther. The women wept; for the habits of the Romans are so domestic, that it seemed a great thing to have their sons and lovers gone evenfor a few months. The English--or at least those of the illiberal, bristling nature too often met here, which casts out its porcupinequills against everything like enthusiasm (of the more generous Saxonblood I know some noble examples)--laughed at all this. They have saidthat this people would not fight; when the Sicilians, men and women, did so nobly, they said: "O, the Sicilians are quite unlike theItalians; you will see, when the struggle comes on in Lombardy, theycannot resist the Austrian force a moment. " I said: "That force isonly physical; do not you think a sentiment can sustain them?" Theyreplied: "All stuff and poetry; it will fade the moment their bloodflows. " When the news came that the Milanese, men and women, fight asthe Sicilians did, they said: "Well, the Lombards are a better race, but these Romans are good for nothing. It is a farce for a Roman totry to walk even; they never walk a mile; they will not be able tosupport the first day's march of thirty miles, and not have theirusual _minéstra_ to eat either. " Now the troops were not willing towait for the government to make the necessary arrangements for theirmarch, so at the first night's station--Monterosi--they did _not_ findfood or bedding; yet the second night, at Civita Castellana, they wereso well alive as to remain dancing and vivaing Pio Nono in the piazzatill after midnight. No, Gentlemen, soul is not quite nothing, ifmatter be a clog upon its transports. 

The Americans show a better, warmer feeling than they did; the meetingin New York was of use in instructing the Americans abroad! The dinnergiven here on Washington's birthday was marked by fine expressions ofsentiment, and a display of talent unusual on such occasions. Therewas a poem from Mr. Story of Boston, which gave great pleasure; aspeech by Mr. Hillard, said to be very good, and one by Rev. Mr. Hedgeof Bangor, exceedingly admired for the felicity of thought and image, and the finished beauty of style. 

Next week we shall have more news, and I shall try to write andmention also some interesting things want of time obliges me to omitin this letter. 

April 1. 

Yesterday I passed at Ostia and Castle Fusano. A million birds sang;the woods teemed with blossoms; the sod grew green hourly over thegraves of the mighty Past; the surf rushed in on a fair shore; theTiber majestically retreated to carry inland her share from thetreasures of the deep; the sea-breezes burnt my face, but revived myheart. I felt the calm of thought, the sublime hopes of the future, nature, man, --so great, though so little, --so dear, though incomplete. Returning to Rome, I find the news pronounced official, that theviceroy Ranieri has capitulated at Verona; that Italy is free, independent, and one. I trust this will prove no April-foolery, nopremature news; it seems too good, too speedy a realization of hope, to have come on earth, and can only be answered in the words of theproclamation made yesterday by Pius IX. :--

"The events which these two months past have seen rush after oneanother in rapid succession, are no human work. Woe to him who, inthis wind, which shakes and tears up alike the lofty cedars and humbleshrubs, hears not the voice of God! Woe to human pride, if to thefault or merit of any man whatsoever it refer these wonderful changes, instead of adoring the mysterious designs of Providence. "

LETTER XXIV. 

AFFAIRS IN ITALY. --THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF MILAN. --ADDRESS TOTHE GERMAN NATION. --BROTHERHOOD, AND THE INDEPENDENCE OF ITALY. --THEPROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT TO THE NATIONS SUBJECT TO THE RULE OF THEHOUSE OF AUSTRIA. --REFLECTIONS ON THESE MOVEMENTS. --LAMARTINE. --BERANGER. --MICKIEWICZ IN FLORENCE: ENTHUSIASTIC RECEPTION: STYLEDTHE DANTE OF POLAND: HIS ADDRESS BEFORE THE FLORENTINES. --EXILESRETURNING. --MAZZINI. --THE POSITION OF PIUS IX. --HIS DERELICTION FROMTHE CAUSE OF FREEDOM AND OF PROGRESS. --THE AFFAIR OF THE JESUITS. --HIS COURSE IN VARIOUS MATTERS. --LANGUAGE OF THE PEOPLE. --THE WORKBEGUN BY NAPOLEON VIRTUALLY FINISHED. --THE LOSS OF PIUS IX. FOR THEMOMENT A GREAT ONE. --THE RESPONSIBILITY OF EVENTS LYING WHOLLY WITHTHE PEOPLE. --HOPES AND PROSPECTS OF THE FUTURE. 

Rome, April 19, 1848. 

In closing my last, I hoped to have some decisive intelligenceto impart by this time, as to the fortunes of Italy. But thougheverything, so far, turns in her favor, there has been no decisivebattle, no final stroke. It pleases me much, as the news comes fromday to day, that I passed so leisurely last summer over that part ofLombardy now occupied by the opposing forces, that I have in my mindthe faces both of the Lombard and Austrian leaders. A number of thepresent members of the Provisional Government of Milan I knew whilethere; they are men of twenty-eight and thirty, much more advanced inthought than the Moderates of Rome, Naples, Tuscany, who are too muchfettered with a bygone state of things, and not on a par in thought, knowledge, preparation for the great future, with the rest of thecivilized world at this moment. The papers that emanate from theMilanese government are far superior in tone to any that have beenuttered by the other states. Their protest in favor of their rights, their addresses to the Germans at large and the countries under thedominion of Austria, are full of nobleness and thoughts sufficientlygreat for the use of the coming age. These addresses I translate, thinking they may not in other form reach America. 

"THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF MILAN TO THE GERMAN NATION. 

"We hail you as brothers, valiant, learned, generous Germans!

"This salutation from a people just risen after a terrible struggle toself-consciousness and to the exercise of its rights, ought deeply tomove your magnanimous hearts. 

"We deem ourselves worthy to utter that great word Brotherhood, whicheffaces among nations the traditions of all ancient hate, and weproffer it over the new-made graves of our fellow-citizens, who havefought and died to give us the right to proffer it without fear orshame. 

"We call brothers men of all nations who believe and hope in theimprovement of the human family, and seek the occasion to further it;but you, especially, we call brothers, you Germans, with whom, we havein common so many noble sympathies, --the love of the arts and higherstudies, the delight of noble contemplation, --with whom also we havemuch correspondence in our civil destinies. 

"With you are of first importance the interests of the great country, Germany, --with us, those of the great country, Italy. 

"We were induced to rise in arms against Austria, (we mean, notthe people, but the government of Austria, ) not only by the need ofredeeming ourselves from the shame and grief of thirty-one years ofthe most abject despotism, but by a deliberate resolve to take ourplace upon the plane of nations, to unite with our brothers of thePeninsula, and take rank with them under the great banner raised byPius IX. , on which is written, THE INDEPENDENCE OF ITALY. 

"Can you blame us, independent Germans? In blaming us, you wouldsink beneath your history, beneath your most honored and recentdeclarations. 

"We have chased the Austrian from our soil; we shall give ourselvesno repose till we have chased him from all parts of Italy. No thisenterprise we are all sworn; for this fights our army enrolled inevery part of the Peninsula, --an array of brothers led by the king ofSardinia, who prides himself on being the sword of Italy. 

"And the Austrian is not more our enemy than yours. 

"The Austrian--we speak still of the government, and not of thepeople--has always denied and contradicted the interests of the wholeGerman nation, at the head of an assemblage of races differing inlanguage, in customs, in institutions. When it was in his power tohave corrected the errors of time and a dynastic policy, by assumingthe high mission of uniting them by great moral interests, hepreferred to arm one against the other, and to corrupt them all. 

"Fearing every noble instinct, hostile to every grand idea, devotedto the material interests of an oligarchy of princes spoiled by asenseless education, of ministers who had sold their consciences, ofspeculators who subjected and sacrificed everything to gold, the onlyaim of such a government was to sow division everywhere. What wonderif everywhere in Italy, as in Germany, it reaps harvests of hate andignominy. Yes, of hate! To this the Austrian has condemned us, to knowhate and its deep sorrows. But we are absolved in the sight of God, and by the insults which have been heaped upon us for so many years, the unwearied efforts to debase us, the destruction of our villages, the cold-blooded slaughter of our aged people, our priests, our women, our children. And you, --you shall be the first to absolve us, you, virtuous among the Germans, who certainly have shared our indignationwhen a venal and lying press accused us of being enemies to your greatand generous nation, and we could not answer, and were constrained todevour in silence the shame of an accusation which wounded us to theheart. 

"We honor you, Germans! we pant to give you glorious evidence of this. And, as a prelude to the friendly relations we hope to form with yourgovernments, we seek to alleviate as much as possible the pains ofcaptivity to some officers and soldiers belonging to various states ofthe Germanic Confederation, who fought in the Austrian army. Thesewe wish to send back to you, and are occupied by seeking the means toeffect this purpose. We honor you so much, that we believe you capableof preferring to the bonds of race and language the sacred titles ofmisfortune and of right. 

"Ah! answer to our appeal, valiant, wise, and generous Germans! Claspthe hand, which we offer you with the heart of a brother and friend;hasten to disavow every appearance of complicity with a governmentwhich the massacres of Galicia and Lombardy have blotted from the listof civilized and Christian governments. It would be a beautiful thingfor you to give this example, which will be new in history and worthyof these miraculous times, --the example of a strong and generouspeople casting aside other sympathies, other interests, to answerthe invitation of a regenerate people, to cheer it in its new career, obedient to the great principles of justice, of humanity, of civil andChristian brotherhood. "

"THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF MILAN TO THE NATIONS SUBJECT TO THERULE OF THE HOUSE OF AUSTRIA. 

"From your lands have come three armies which have brought war intoours; your speech is spoken by those hostile bands who come to us withfire and sword; nevertheless we come to you as to brothers. 

"The war which calls for our resistance is not your war; you are notour enemies: you are only instruments in the hand of our foe, and thisfoe, brothers, is common to us all. 

"Before God, before men, solemnly we declare it, --our only enemy isthe government of Austria. 

"And that government which for so many years has labored to cancel, inthe races it has subdued, every vestige of nationality, which takesno heed of their wants or prayers, bent only on serving miserableinterests and more miserable pride, fomenting always antipathiesconformably with the ancient maxim of tyrants, _Divide andgovern_, --this government has constituted itself the adversary ofevery generous thought, the ally and patron of all ignoble causes, the government declared by the whole civilized world paymaster of theexecutioners of Galicia. 

"This government, after having pertinaciously resisted the legalexpression of moderate desires, --after having defied with ludicroushauteur the opinion of Europe, has found itself in its metropolistoo weak to resist an insurrection of students, and has yielded, --hasyielded, making an assignment on time, and throwing to you, brothers, as an alms-gift to the importunate beggar, the promise of institutionswhich, in these days, are held essential conditions of life for acivilized nation. 

"But you have not confided in this promise; for the youth of Vienna, which feels the inspiring breath of this miraculous time, is impelledon the path of progress; and therefore the Austrian government, uncertain of itself and of your dispositions, took its old part ofstanding still to wait for events, in the hope of turning them to itsown profit. 

"In the midst of this it received the news of our glorious revolution, and it thought to have found in this the best way to escape fromits embarrassment. First it concealed that news; then made it knownpiecemeal, and disfigured by hypocrisy and hatred. We were a handfulof rebels thirsting for German blood. We make a war of stilettos, wewish the destruction of all Germany. But for us answers the admirationof all Italy, of all Europe, even the evidence of your own people whomwe are constrained to hold prisoners or hostages, who will unanimouslyavow that we have shown heroic courage in the fight, heroic moderationin victory. 

"Yes! we have risen as one man against the Austrian government, tobecome again a nation, to make common cause with our Italian brothers, and the arms which we have assumed for so great an object we shall notlay down till we have attained it. Assailed by a brutal executor ofbrutal orders, we have combated in a just war; betrayed, a priceset on our heads, wounded in the most vital parts, we have nottransgressed the bounds of legitimate defence. The murders, thedepredations of the hostile band, irritated against us by most wickedarts, have excited our horror, but never a reprisal. The soldier, hisarms once laid down, was for us only an unfortunate. 

"But behold how the Austrian government provokes you against us, andbids you come against us as a crusade! A crusade! The parody would beludicrous if it were not so cruel. A crusade against a people which, in the name of Christ, under a banner blessed by the Vicar of Christ, and revered by all the nations, fights to secure its indefeasiblerights. 

"Oh! if you form against us this crusade, --we have already shownthe world what a people can do to reconquer its liberty, itsindependence, --we will show, also, what it can do to preservethem. If, almost unarmed, we have put to flight an army inured towar, --surely, brothers, that army wanted faith in the cause for whichit fought, --can we fear that our courage will grow faint after ourtriumph, and when aided by all our brothers of Italy? Let the Austriangovernment send against us its threatened battalions, they will findin our breasts a barrier more insuperable than the Alps. Everythingwill be a weapon to us; from every villa, from every field, from everyhedge, will issue defenders of the national cause; women and childrenwill fight like men; men will centuple their strength, their courage;and we will all perish amid the ruins of our city, before receivingforeign rule into this land which at last we call ours. 

"But this must not be. You, our brothers, must not permit it to be;your honor, your interests, do not permit it. Will you fight in acause which you must feel to be absurd and wicked? You sink to thecondition of hirelings, and do you not believe that the Austriangovernment, should it conquer us and Italy, would turn against you thearms you had furnished for the conquest? Do you not believe it wouldact as after the struggle with Napoleon? And are you not terrified bythe idea of finding yourself in conflict with all civilized Europe, and constrained to receive, to feast as your ally, the Autocrat ofRussia, that perpetual terror to the improvement and independence ofEurope? It is not possible for the house of Lorraine to forget itstraditions; it is not possible that it should resign itself to livetranquil in the atmosphere of Liberty. You can only constrain it bysustaining yourself, with the Germanic and Slavonian nationalities, and with this Italy, which longs only to see the nations harmonizewith that resolve which she has finally taken, that she may never morebe torn in pieces. 

"Think of us, brothers. This is for you and for us a question of lifeand of death; it is a question on which depends, perhaps, the peace ofEurope. 

"For ourselves, we have already weighed the chances of the struggle, and subordinated them all to this final resolution, that we will befree and independent, with our brothers of Italy. 

"We hope that our words will induce you to calm counsels; if not, youwill find us on the field of battle generous and loyal enemies, as nowwe profess ourselves your generous and loyal brothers. 

 (Signed, )

 "CASATI, _President_, DURINI, STRIGELLI, BERETTA, GRAPPI, TURRONI, REZZONICO, CARBONERA, BORROMEO, P. LITTA, GIULINI, GUERRIERI, PORRO, MORRONI, AB. ANELLI, CORRENTI, _Sec. -Gen. _"

These are the names of men whose hearts glow with that generous ardor, the noble product of difficult times. Into their hearts flows wisdomfrom on high, --thoughts great, magnanimous, brotherly. They may notall remain true to this high vocation, but, at any rate, they willhave lived a period of true life. I knew some of these men when inLombardy; of old aristocratic families, with all the refinement ofinheritance and education, they are thoroughly pervaded by principlesof a genuine democracy of brotherhood and justice. In the flowerof their age, they have before them a long career of the noblestusefulness, if this era follows up its present promise, and they arefaithful to their present creed, and ready to improve and extend it. 

Every day produces these remarkable documents. So many years as wehave been suffocated and poisoned by the atmosphere of falsehood inofficial papers, how refreshing is the tone of noble sentiment inLamartine! What a real wisdom and pure dignity in the letterof Béranger! _He_ was always absolutely true, --an oasis in thepestilential desert of Humbug; but the present time allowed him a fineoccasion. 

The Poles have also made noble manifestations. Their great poet, AdamMickiewicz, has been here to enroll the Italian Poles, publish thedeclaration of faith in which they hope to re-enter and re-establishtheir country, and receive the Pope's benediction on their banner. Intheir declaration of faith are found these three articles:--

"Every one of the nation a citizen, --every citizen equal in rights andbefore authorities. 

"To the Jew, our elder brother, respect, brotherhood, aid on the wayto his eternal and terrestrial good, entire equality in political andcivil rights. 

"To the companion of life, woman, citizenship, entire equality ofrights. "

This last expression of just thought the Poles ought to initiate, forwhat other nation has had such truly heroic women? Women indeed, --notchildren, servants, or playthings. 

Mickiewicz, with the squadron that accompanied him from Rome, wasreceived with the greatest enthusiasm at Florence. Deputations fromthe clubs and journals went to his hotel and escorted him to thePiazza del Gran Dśca, where, amid an immense concourse of people, somegood speeches were made. A Florentine, with a generous forgetfulnessof national vanity, addressed him as the Dante of Poland, who, morefortunate than the great bard and seer of Italy, was likely to returnto his country to reap the harvest of the seed he had sown. 

"O Dante of Poland! who, like our Alighieri, hast received fromHeaven sovereign genius, divine song, but from earth sufferings andexile, --more happy than our Alighieri, thou hast reacquired a country;already thou art meditating on the sacred harp the patriotic hymn ofrestoration and of victory. The pilgrims of Poland have become thewarriors of their nation. Long live Poland, and the brotherhood ofnations!"

When this address was finished, the great poet appeared on the balconyto answer. The people received him with a tumult of applause, followedby a profound silence, as they anxiously awaited his voice. Thosewho are acquainted with the powerful eloquence, the magnetism, ofMickiewicz as an orator, will not be surprised at the effect producedby this speech, though delivered in a foreign language. It is theforce of truth, the great vitality of his presence, that loads hiswords with such electric power. He spoke as follows:--

"People of Tuscany! Friends! Brothers! We receive your shouts ofsympathy in the name of Poland; not for us, but for our country. Ourcountry, though distant, claims from you this sympathy by its longmartyrdom. The glory of Poland, its only glory, truly Christian, isto have suffered more than all the nations. In other countries thegoodness, the generosity of heart, of some sovereigns protected thepeople; as yours has enjoyed the dawn of the era now coming, under theprotection of your excellent prince. [Viva Leopold II. !] But conqueredPoland, slave and victim, of sovereigns who were her sworn enemies andexecutioners, --Poland, abandoned by the governments and the nations, lay in agony on her solitary Golgotha. She was believed slain, dead, burred. 'We have slain her, ' shouted the despots; 'she is dead!'[No, no! long live Poland!] 'The dead cannot rise again, ' repliedthe diplomatists; 'we may now be tranquil. ' [A universal shudder offeeling in the crowd. ] There came a moment in which the world doubtedof the mercy and justice of the Omnipotent. There was a moment inwhich the nations thought that the earth might be for ever abandonedby God, and condemned to the rule of the demon, its ancient lord. Thenations forgot that Jesus Christ came down from heaven to give libertyand peace to the earth. The nations had forgotten all this. But Godis just. The voice of Pius IX. Roused Italy. [Long live Pius IX. !] Thepeople of Paris have driven out the great traitor against the causeof the nations. [Bravo! Viva the people of Paris!] Very soon will beheard the voice of Poland. Poland will rise again! [Yes, yes!Poland will rise again!] Poland will call to life all the Slavonicraces, --the Croats, the Dalmatians, the Bohemians, the Moravians, the Illyrians. These will form the bulwark against the tyrant of theNorth. [Great applause. ] They will close for ever the way against thebarbarians of the North, --destroyers of liberty and of civilization. Poland is called to do more yet: Poland, as crucified nation, is risenagain, and called to serve her sister nations. The will of Godis, that Christianity should become in Poland, and through Polandelsewhere, no more a dead letter of the law, but the living law ofstates and civil associations;--[Great applause;]--that Christianityshould be manifested by acts, the sacrifices of generosity andliberality. This Christianity is not new to you, Florentines; yourancient republic knew and has acted upon it: it is time that the samespirit should make to itself a larger sphere. The will of God is thatthe nations should act towards one another as neighbors, --as brothers. [A tumult of applause. ] And you, Tuscans, have to-day done an act ofChristian brotherhood. Receiving thus foreign, unknown pilgrims, whogo to defy the greatest powers of the earth, you have in us salutedonly what is in us of spiritual and immortal, --our faith and ourpatriotism. [Applause. ] We thank you; and we will now go into thechurch to thank God. "

"All the people then followed the Poles to the church of Santa Cróce, where was sung the _Benedictus Dominus_, and amid the memorials of thegreatness of Italy collected in that temple was forged more stronglythe chain of sympathy and of union between two nations, sisters inmisfortune and in glory. "

This speech and its reception, literally translated from the journalof the day, show how pleasant it is on great occasions to be broughtin contact with this people, so full of natural eloquence and oflively sensibility to what is great and beautiful. 

It is a glorious time too for the exiles who return, and reap even amomentary fruit of their long sorrows. Mazzini has been able to returnfrom his seventeen years' exile, during which there was no hour, nightor day, that the thought of Italy was banished from his heart, --nopossible effort that he did not make to achieve the emancipation ofhis people, and with it the progress of mankind. He returns, likeWordsworth's great man, "to see what he foresaw. " He will see hispredictions accomplishing yet for a long time, for Mazzini has amind far in advance of his times in general, and his nation inparticular, --a mind that will be best revered and understood whenthe "illustrious Gioberti" shall be remembered as a pompous verbosecharlatan, with just talent enough to catch the echo from theadvancing wave of his day, but without any true sight of the wants ofman at this epoch. And yet Mazzini sees not all: he aims at politicalemancipation; but he sees not, perhaps would deny, the bearing of someevents, which even now begin to work their way. Of this, more anon;but not to-day, nor in the small print of the Tribune. Suffice it tosay, I allude to that of which the cry of Communism, the systems ofFourier, &c. , are but forerunners. Mazzini sees much already, --atMilan, where he is, he has probably this day received the intelligenceof the accomplishment of his foresight, implied in his letter to thePope, which angered Italy by what was thought its tone of irreverenceand doubt, some six months since. 

To-day is the 7th of May, for I had thrown aside this letter, begunthe 19th of April, from a sense that there was something coming thatwould supersede what was then to say. This something has appeared in aform that will cause deep sadness to good hearts everywhere. Good andloving hearts, that long for a human form which they can revere, will be unprepared and for a time must suffer much from the finaldereliction of Pius IX. To the cause of freedom, progress, and of thewar. He was a fair image, and men went nigh to idolize it; thisthey can do no more, though they may be able to find excuse forhis feebleness, love his good heart no less than before, and drawinstruction from the causes that have produced his failure, morevaluable than his success would have been. 

Pius IX. , no one can doubt who has looked on him, has a good and pureheart; but it needed also, not only a strong, but a great mind, "To _comprehend his trust_, and to the same Keep faithful, with a singleness of aim. "

A highly esteemed friend in the United States wrote to expressdistaste to some observations in a letter of mine to the Tribune onfirst seeing the Pontiff a year ago, observing, "To say that he hadnot the expression of great intellect was _uncalled for_" Alas!far from it; it was an observation that rose inevitably on knowingsomething of the task before Pius IX. , and the hopes he had excited. The problem he had to solve was one of such difficulty, that onlyone of those minds, the rare product of ages for the redemption ofmankind, could be equal to its solution. The question that inevitablyrose on seeing him was, "Is he such a one?" The answer was immediatelynegative. But at the same time, he had such an aspect of truebenevolence and piety, that a hope arose that Heaven would act throughhim, and impel him to measures wise beyond his knowledge. 

This hope was confirmed by the calmness he showed at the time of theconspiracy of July, and the occupation of Ferrara by the Austrians. Tales were told of simple wisdom, of instinct, which he obeyed inopposition to the counsels of all his Cardinals. Everything went onwell for a time. 

But tokens of indubitable weakness were shown by the Pope in earlyacts of the winter, in the removal of a censor at the suggestion ofothers, in his speech, to the Consistory, in his answer to the firstaddress of the Council. In these he declared that, when there wasconflict between the priest and the man, he always meant to be thepriest; and that he preferred the wisdom of the past to that of thefuture. 

Still, times went on bending his predeterminations to the call of themoment. He _acted_ wiselier than he intended; as, for instance, threeweeks after declaring he would not give a constitution to his people, he gave it, --a sop to Cerberus, indeed, --a poor vamped-up thing thatwill by and by have to give place to something more legitimate, butwhich served its purpose at the time as declaration of rights for thepeople. When the news of the revolution of Vienna arrived, the Popehimself cried _Viva Pio Nono!_ and this ebullition of truth in one sohumble, though opposed to his formal declarations, was received by hispeople with that immediate assent which truth commands. 

The revolution of Lombardy followed. The troops of the line were sentthither; the volunteers rushed to accompany them. In the streets ofRome was read the proclamation of Charles Albert, in which he styleshimself the servant of Italy and of Pius IX. The priests preached thewar, and justly, as a crusade; the Pope blessed their banners. Nobodydreamed, or had cause to dream, that these movements had not hisfull sympathy; and his name was in every form invoked as the choseninstrument of God to inspire Italy to throw off the oppressive yoke ofthe foreigner, and recover her rights in the civilized world. 

At the same time, however, the Pope was seen to act with greatblindness in the affair of the Jesuits. The other states of Italydrove them out by main force, resolved not to have in the midst ofthe war a foe and spy in the camp. Rome wished to do the same, but thePope rose in their defence. He talked as if they were assailed as a_religious_ body, when he could not fail, like everybody else, to beaware that they were dreaded and hated solely as agents of despotism. He demanded that they should be assailed only by legal means, whennone such were available. The end was in half-measures, always theworst possible. He would not entirely yield, and the people wouldnot at all. The Order was ostensibly dissolved; but great part ofthe Jesuits really remain here in disguise, a constant source ofirritation and mischief, which, if still greater difficulties hadnot arisen, would of itself have created enough. Meanwhile, in theearnestness of the clergy about the pretended loss of the head of St. Andrew, in the ceremonies of the holy week, which at this junctureexcited no real interest, was much matter for thought to the calmobserver as to the restlessness of the new wine, the old bottles beingheard to crack on every side, and hour by hour. 

Thus affairs went on from day to day, --the Pope kissing the foot ofthe brazen Jupiter and blessing palms of straw at St. Peter's;the _Circolo Romano_ erecting itself into a kind of Jacobin Club, dictating programmes for an Italian Diet-General, and choosingcommittees to provide for the expenses of the war; the Civic Guardarresting people who tried to make mobs as if famishing, and, beingsearched, were found well provided both with arms and money; theministry at their wits' end, with their trunks packed up ready tobe off at a moment's warning, --when the report, it is not yet knownwhether true or false, that one of the Roman Civic Guard, a well-knownartist engaged in the war of Lombardy, had been taken and hung by theAustrians as a brigand, roused the people to a sense of the positionof their friends, and they went to the Pope to demand that he shouldtake a decisive stand, and declare war against the Austrians. 

The Pope summoned, a consistory; the people waited anxiously, forexpressions of his were reported, as if the troops ought not to havethought of leaving the frontier, while every man, woman, and childin Rome knew, and every letter and bulletin declared, that all theirthought was to render active aid to the cause of Italian independence. This anxious doubt, however, had not prepared at all for the excess towhich they were to be disappointed. 

The speech of the Pope declared, that he had never any thought ofthe great results which had followed his actions; that he had onlyintended local reforms, such as had previously been suggested by thepotentates of Europe; that he regretted the _mis_use which had beenmade of his name; and wound up by lamenting over the war, --dear toevery Italian heart as the best and holiest cause in which for agesthey had been called to embark their hopes, --as if it was somethingoffensive to the spirit of religion, and which he would fain seehushed up, and its motives smoothed out and ironed over. 

A momentary stupefaction followed this astounding performance, succeeded by a passion of indignation, in which the words _traitor_and _imbecile_ were associated with the name that had been so dear tohis people. This again yielded to a settled grief: they felt that hewas betrayed, but no traitor; timid and weak, but still a sovereignwhom they had adored, and a man who had brought them much good, whichcould not be quite destroyed by his wishing to disown it. Even ofthis fact they had no time to stop and think; the necessity was tooimminent of obviating the worst consequences of this ill; and thefirst thought was to prevent the news leaving Rome, to dishearten theprovinces and army, before they had tried to persuade the Pontiff towiser resolves, or, if this could not be, to supersede his power. 

I cannot repress my admiration at the gentleness, clearness, and goodsense with which the Roman people acted under these most difficultcircumstances. It was astonishing to see the clear understanding whichanimated the crowd, as one man, and the decision with which they actedto effect their purpose. Wonderfully has this people been developedwithin a year!

The Pope, besieged by deputations, who mildly but firmly showed himthat, if he persisted, the temporal power must be placed in otherhands, his ears filled with reports of Cardinals, "such venerablepersons, " as he pathetically styles them, would not yield in spirit, though compelled to in act. After two days' struggle, he was obligedto place the power in the hands of the persons most opposed to him, and nominally acquiesce in their proceedings, while in his secondproclamation, very touching from the sweetness of its tone, he shows afixed misunderstanding of the cause at issue, which leaves no hope ofhis ever again being more than a name or an effigy in their affairs. 

His people were much affected, and entirely laid aside their anger, but they would not be blinded as to the truth. While gladly returningto their accustomed habits of affectionate homage toward the Pontiff, their unanimous sense and resolve is thus expressed in an ablepamphlet of the day, such as in every respect would have been deemedimpossible to the Rome of 1847:--

"From the last allocution of Pius result two facts of extremegravity;--the entire separation between the spiritual and temporalpower, and the express refusal of the Pontiff to be chief of anItalian Republic. But far from drawing hence reason for discouragementand grief, who looks well at the destiny of Italy may blessProvidence, which breaks or changes the instrument when the workis completed, and by secret and inscrutable ways conducts us to thefulfilment of our desires and of our hopes. 

"If Pius IX. Refuses, the Italian people does not therefore draw back. Nothing remains to the free people of Italy, except to unite in oneconstitutional kingdom, founded on the largest basis; and if the chiefwho, by our assemblies, shall be called to the highest honor, eitherdeclines or does not answer worthily, the people will take care ofitself. 

"Italians! down with all emblems of private and partial interests. Let us unite under one single banner, the tricolor, and if he who hascarried it bravely thus far lets it fall from his hand, we will takeit one from the other, twenty-four millions of us, and, till the lastof us shall have perished under the banner of our redemption, thestranger shall not return into Italy. 

"Viva Italy! viva the Italian people!"[A]

[Footnote A: Close of "A Comment by Pio Angelo Fierortino on theAllocution of Pius IX. Spoken in the Secret Consistory of 29th April, 1848, " dated Italy, 30th April, 1st year of the Redemption of Italy. ]

These events make indeed a crisis. The work begun by Napoleon isfinished. There will never more be really a Pope, but only the effigyor simulacrum of one. 

The loss of Pius IX. Is for the moment a great one. His name had realmoral weight, --was a trumpet appeal to sentiment. It is not the samewith any man that is left. There is not one that can be truly a leaderin the Roman dominion, not one who has even great intellectual weight. 

The responsibility of events now lies wholly with the people, andthat wave of thought which has begun to pervade them. Sovereigns andstatesmen will go where they are carried; it is probable power will bechanged continually from, hand to hand, and government become, to allintents and purposes, representative. Italy needs now quite to throwaside her stupid king of Naples, who hangs like a dead weight on hermovements. The king of Sardinia and the Grand Duke of Tuscany will betrusted while they keep their present course; but who can feel sureof any sovereign, now that Louis Philippe has shown himself so madand Pius IX. So blind? It seems as if fate was at work to bewilderand cast down the dignities of the world and democratize society at ablow. 

In Rome there is now no anchor except the good sense of the people. It seems impossible that collision should not arise between him whoretains the name but not the place of sovereign, and the provisionalgovernment which calls itself a ministry. The Count Mamiani, its newhead, is a man of reputation as a writer, but untried as yet as aleader or a statesman. Should agitations arise, the Pope can no longercalm them by one of his fatherly looks. 

All lies in the future; and our best hope must be that the Power whichhas begun so great a work will find due means to end it, and make theyear 1850 a year of true jubilee to Italy; a year not merely of pompsand tributes, but of recognized rights and intelligent joys; a year ofreal peace, --peace, founded not on compromise and the lying etiquettesof diplomacy, but on truth and justice. 

Then this sad disappointment in Pius IX. May be forgotten, or, whileall that was lovely and generous in his life is prized and reverenced, deep instruction may be drawn from his errors as to the inevitabledangers of a priestly or a princely environment, and a higherknowledge may elevate a nobler commonwealth than the world has yetknown. 

Hoping this era, I remain at present here. Should my hopes be dashedto the ground, it will not change my faith, but the struggle for itsmanifestation is to me of vital interest. My friends write to urge myreturn; they talk of our country as the land of the future. It is so, but that spirit which made it all it is of value in my eyes, whichgave all of hope with which I can sympathize for that future, ismore alive here at present than in America. My country is at presentspoiled by prosperity, stupid with the lust of gain, soiled by crimein its willing perpetuation of slavery, shamed by an unjust war, noblesentiment much forgotten even by individuals, the aims of politiciansselfish or petty, the literature frivolous and venal. In Europe, amidthe teachings of adversity, a nobler spirit is struggling, --a spiritwhich cheers and animates mine. I hear earnest words of pure faith andlove. I see deeds of brotherhood. This is what makes _my_ America. Ido not deeply distrust my country. She is not dead, but in my time shesleepeth, and the spirit of our fathers flames no more, but lies hidbeneath the ashes. It will not be so long; bodies cannot live when thesoul gets too overgrown with gluttony and falsehood. But it is not themaking a President out of the Mexican war that would make me wish tocome back. Here things are before my eyes worth recording, and, if Icannot help this work, I would gladly be its historian. 

May 13. 

Returning from a little tour in the Alban Mount, where everythinglooks so glorious this glorious spring, I find a temporary quiet. ThePope's brothers have come to sympathize with him; the crowd sighs overwhat he has done, presents him with great bouquets of flowers, andreads anxiously the news from the north and the proclamations of thenew ministry. Meanwhile the nightingales sing; every tree and plantis in flower, and the sun and moon shine as if paradise were alreadyre-established on earth. I go to one of the villas to dream it is so, beneath the pale light of the stars. 

LETTER XXV. 

REVIEW OF THE COURSE OF PIUS IX. --MAMIANI. --THE PEOPLE'S DISAPPOINTEDHOPES. --THE MONUMENTS IN MILAN, NAPLES, ETC. --THE KING OF NAPLES ANDHIS TROOPS. --CALAMITIES OF THE WAR. --THE ITALIAN PEOPLE. --CHARLESALBERT. --DEDUCTIONS. --SUMMER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF ITALY. 

Rome, December 2, 1848. 

I have not written for six months, and within that time what changeshave taken place on this side "the great water, "--changes of howgreat dramatic interest historically, --of bearing infinitely importantideally! Easy is the descent in ill. 

I wrote last when Pius IX. Had taken the first stride on the downwardroad. He had proclaimed himself the foe of further reform measures, when he implied that Italian independence was not important in hiseyes, when he abandoned the crowd of heroic youth who had gone to thefield with his benediction, to some of whom his own hand had givencrosses. All the Popes, his predecessors, had meddled with, mostfrequently instigated, war; now came one who must carry out, literally, the doctrines of the Prince of Peace, when the war wasnot for wrong, or the aggrandizement of individuals, but toredeem national, to redeem human, rights from the grasp of foreignoppression. 

I said some cried "traitor, " some "imbecile, " some wept, but In theminds of all, I believe, at that time, grief was predominant. Theycould no longer depend on him they had thought their best friend. Theyhad lost their father. 

Meanwhile his people would not submit to the inaction he urged. Theysaw it was not only ruinous to themselves, but base and treacherousto the rest of Italy. They said to the Pope, "This cannot be; youmust follow up the pledges you have given, or, if you will not act toredeem them, you must have a ministry that will. " The Pope, after hehad once declared to the contrary, ought to have persisted. He shouldhave said, "I cannot thus belie myself, I cannot put my name to acts Ihave just declared to be against my conscience. "

The ministers of the people ought to have seen that the position theyassumed was utterly untenable; that they could not advance with anenemy in the background cutting off all supplies. But some patriotismand some vanity exhilarated them, and, the Pope having weakly yielded, they unwisely began their impossible task. Mamiani, their chief, Iesteem a man, under all circumstances, unequal to such a position, --aman of rhetoric merely. But no man could have acted, unless thePope had resigned his temporal power, the Cardinals been put undersufficient check, and the Jesuits and emissaries of Austria drivenfrom their lurking-places. 

A sad scene began. The Pope, --shut up more and more in his palace, thecrowd of selfish and insidious advisers darkening round, enslaved bya confessor, --he who might have been the liberator of suffering Europepermitted the most infamous treacheries to be practised in his name. Private letters were written to the foreign powers, denying theacts he outwardly sanctioned; the hopes of the people were evadedor dallied with; the Chamber of Deputies permitted to talk and passmeasures which they never could get funds to put into execution;legions to form and manoeuvre, but never to have the arms andclothing they needed. Again and again the people went to the Pope forsatisfaction. They got only--benediction. 

Thus plotted and thus worked the scarlet men of sin, playing the hopesof Italy off and on, while _their_ hope was of the miserable defeatconsummated by a still worse traitor at Milan on the 6th of August. But, indeed, what could be expected from the "Sword of Pius IX. , " whenPius IX. Himself had thus failed in his high vocation. The king ofNaples bombarded his city, and set on the Lazzaroni to rob and murderthe subjects he had deluded by his pretended gift of the Constitution. Pius proclaimed that he longed to embrace _all_ the princes of Italy. He talked of peace, when all knew for a great part of the Italiansthere was no longer hope of peace, except in the sepulchre, orfreedom. 

The taunting manifestos of Welden are a sufficient comment on theconduct of the Pope. "As the government of his Holiness is too weakto control his subjects, "--"As, singularly enough, a great number ofRomans are found, fighting against us, contrary to the _expressed_will of their prince, "--such were the excuses for invasions of thePontifical dominions, and the robbery and insult by which they wereaccompanied. Such invasions, it was said, made his Holiness veryindignant; he remonstrated against these; but we find no word ofremonstrance against the tyranny of the king of Naples, --no wordof sympathy for the victims of Lombardy, the sufferings of Verona, Vicenza, Padua, Mantua, Venice. 

In the affairs of Europe there are continued signs of the plan of theretrograde party to effect similar demonstrations in different placesat the same hour. The 15th of May was one of these marked days. On that day the king of Naples made use of the insurrection he hadcontrived to excite, to massacre his people, and find an excuse forrecalling his troops from Lombardy. The same day a similar crisis washoped in Rome from the declarations of the Pope, but that did not workat the moment exactly as the foes of enfranchisement hoped. 

However, the wounds were cruel enough. The Roman volunteers receivedthe astounding news that they were not to expect protection orcountenance from their prince; all the army stood aghast, that theywere no longer to fight in the name of Pio. It had been so dear, so sweet, to love and really reverence the head of their Church, so inspiring to find their religion for once in accordance with theaspirations of the soul! They were to be deprived, too, of the aid ofthe disciplined Neapolitan troops and their artillery, on which theyhad counted. How cunningly all this was contrived to cause dissensionand dismay may easily be seen. 

The Neapolitan General Pepe nobly refused to obey, and called on thetroops to remain with him. They wavered; but they are a pampered army, personally much attached to the king, who pays them well and indulgesthem at the expense of his people, that they may be his supportagainst that people when in a throe of nature it rises and strivenfor its rights. For the same reason, the sentiment of patriotism waslittle diffused among them in comparison with the other troops. Andthe alternative presented was one in which it required a very clearsense of higher duty to act against habit. Generally, after waveringawhile, they obeyed and returned. The Roman States, which had receivedthem with so many testimonials of affection and honor, on theirretreat were not slack to show a correspondent aversion and contempt. The towns would not suffer their passage; the hamlets were unwillingto serve them even with fire and water. They were filled at once withshame and rage; one officer killed himself, unable to bear it; in theunreflecting minds of the soldiers, hate sprung up for the rest ofItaly, and especially Rome, which will make them admirable tools oftyranny in case of civil war. 

This was the first great calamity of the war. But apart from thetreachery of the king of Naples and the dereliction of the Pope, it was impossible it should end thoroughly well. The people werein earnest, and have shown themselves so; brave, and able to bearprivation. No one should dare, after the proofs of the summer, toreiterate the taunt, so unfriendly frequent on foreign lips at thebeginning of the contest, that the Italian can boast, shout, and flinggarlands, but not _act_. The Italian always showed himself noble andbrave, even in foreign service, and is doubly so in the cause of hiscountry. But efficient heads were wanting. The princes were not inearnest; they were looking at expediency. The Grand Duke, timid andprudent, wanted to do what was safest for Tuscany; his ministry, "_Moderate_" and prudent, would have liked to win a great prize atsmall risk. They went no farther than the people pulled them. The kingof Sardinia had taken the first bold step, and the idea that treacheryon his part was premeditated cannot be sustained; it arises from theextraordinary aspect of his measures, and the knowledge that he is notincapable of treachery, as he proved in early youth. But now it wasonly his selfishness that worked to the same results. He fought andplanned, not for Italy, but the house of Savoy, which his Balbis andGiobertis had so long been prophesying was to reign supreme in thenew great era of Italy. These prophecies he more than half believed, because they chimed with his ambitious wishes; but he had not soulenough to realize them; he trusted only in his disciplined troops;he had not nobleness enough to believe he might rely at all onthe sentiment of the people. For his troops he dared not have goodgenerals; conscious of meanness and timidity, he shrank from theapproach of able and earnest men; he was inly afraid they would, in helping Italy, take her and themselves out of his guardianship. Antonini was insulted, Garibaldi rejected; other experienced leaders, who had rushed to Italy at the first trumpet-sound, could neverget employment from him. As to his generalship, it was entirelyinadequate, even if he had made use of the first favorable moments. But his first thought was not to strike a blow at the Austrians beforethey recovered from the discomfiture of Milan, but to use the panicand need of his assistance to induce Lombardy and Venice to annexthemselves to his kingdom. He did not even wish seriously to get thebetter till this was done, and when this was done, it was too late. The Austrian army was recruited, the generals had recovered theirspirits, and were burning to retrieve and avenge their past defeat. The conduct of Charles Albert had been shamefully evasive in the firstmonths. The account given by Franzini, when challenged in the Chamberof Deputies at Turin, might be summed up thus: "Why, gentlemen, what would you have? Every one knows that the army is in excellentcondition, and eager for action. They are often reviewed, hearspeeches, and sometimes get medals. We take places always, if it isnot difficult. I myself was present once when the troops advanced; ourmen behaved gallantly, and had the advantage in the first skirmish;but afterward the enemy pointed on us artillery from the heights, and, naturally, we retired. But as to supposing that his Majesty CharlesAlbert is indifferent to the success of Italy in the war, that isabsurd. He is 'the Sword of Italy'; he is the most magnanimous ofprinces; he is seriously occupied about the war; many a day I havebeen called into his tent to talk it over, before he was up in themorning!"

Sad was it that the heroic Milan, the heroic Venice, the heroicSicily, should lean on such a reed as this, and by hurried acts, equally unworthy as unwise, sully the glory of their shields. Somenames, indeed, stand, out quite free from this blame. Mazzini, whokept up a combat against folly and cowardice, day by day and hour byhour, with almost supernatural strength, warned the people constantlyof the evils which their advisers were drawing upon them. He was heardthen only by a few, but in this "Italia del Popolo" may be found manyprophecies exactly fulfilled, as those of "the golden-haired love ofPhoebus" during the struggles of Ilium. He himself, in the last saddays of Milan, compared his lot to that of Cassandra. At all events, his hands are pure from that ill. What could be done to arouseLombardy he did, but the "Moderate" party unable to wean themselvesfrom old habits, the pupils of the wordy Gioberti thought there couldbe no safety unless under the mantle of a prince. They did not foreseethat he would run away, and throw that mantle on the ground. 

Tommaso and Manin also were clear in their aversion to these measures;and with them, as with all who were resolute in principle at thattime, a great influence has followed. 

It is said Charles Albert feels bitterly the imputations on hiscourage, and says they are most ungrateful, since he has exposed thelives of himself and his sons in the combat. Indeed, there ought tobe made a distinction between personal and mental courage. The formerCharles Albert may possess, may have too much of what this stillaristocratic world calls "the feelings of a gentleman" to shunexposing himself to a chance shot now and then. An entire want ofmental courage he has shown. The battle, decisive against him, wasmade so by his giving up the moment fortune turned against him. It isshameful to hear so many say this result was inevitable, just becausethe material advantages were in favor of the Austrians. Pray, wasnever a battle won against material odds? It is precisely such that agood leader, a noble man, may expect to win. Were the Austrians drivenout of Milan because the Milanese had that advantage? The Austrianswould again, have suffered repulse from them, but for the baseness ofthis man, on whom they had been cajoled into relying, --a baseness thatdeserves the pillory; and on a pillory will the "Magnanimous, " as hewas meanly called in face of the crimes of his youth and the timidselfishness of his middle age, stand in the sight of posterity. Hemade use of his power only to betray Milan; he took from the citizensall means of defence, and then gave them up to the spoiler; hepromised to defend them "to the last drop of his blood, " and soldthem the next minute; even the paltry terms he made, he has not seenmaintained. Had the people slain him in their rage, he well deservedit at their hands; and all his conduct since show how righteous wouldhave been that sudden verdict of passion. 

Of all this great drama I have much to write, but elsewhere, in a morefull form, and where I can duly sketch the portraits of actors littleknown in America. The materials are over-rich. I have bought my rightin them by much sympathetic suffering; yet, amid the blood and tearsof Italy, 'tis joy to see some glorious new births. The Italians aregetting cured of mean adulation and hasty boasts; they are learningto prize and seek realities; the effigies of straw are getting knockeddown, and living, growing men take their places. Italy is beingeducated for the future, her leaders are learning that the time ispast for trust in princes and precedents, --that there is no hopeexcept in truth and God; her lower people are learning to shout lessand think more. 

Though my thoughts have been much with the public in this struggle forlife, I have been away from it during the summer months, in the quietvalleys, on the lonely mountains. There, personally undisturbed, Ihave seen the glorious Italian summer wax and wane, --the summer ofSouthern Italy, which I did not see last year. On the mountains it wasnot too hot for me, and I enjoyed the great luxuriance of vegetation. I had the advantage of having visited the scene of the war minutelylast summer, so that, in mind, I could follow every step of thecampaign, while around me were the glorious relics of old times, --thecrumbling theatre or temple of the Roman day, the bird's-nest villageof the Middle Ages, on whose purple height shone the sun and moon ofItaly in changeless lustre. It was great pleasure to me to watch thegradual growth and change of the seasons, so different from ours. Last year I had not leisure for this quiet acquaintance. Now I saw thefields first dressed in their carpets of green, enamelled richly withthe red poppy and blue corn-flower, --in that sunshine how resplendent!Then swelled the fig, the grape, the olive, the almond; and my foodwas of these products of this rich clime. For near three months I hadgrapes every day; the last four weeks, enough daily for two personsfor a cent! Exquisite salad for two persons' dinner and supper costbut a cent, and all other products of the region were in the sameproportion. One who keeps still in Italy, and lives as the people do, may really have much simple luxury for very little money; though bothtravel, and, to the inexperienced foreigner, life in the cities, areexpensive. 

LETTER XXVI. 

THOUGHTS OF THE ITALIAN RACE, THE SEASONS, AND ROME. --CHANGES. --THEDEATH OF THE MINISTER ROSSI. --THE CHURCH OF SAN LUIGI DELFRANCESI. --ST. CECILIA AND THE DOMENICHINO CHAPEL. --THE PIAZZA DELPOPOLO. --THE TROOPS: PREPARATORY MOVEMENTS TOWARD THE QUIRINAL. --THEDEMONSTRATION ON THE PALACE. --THE CHURCH: ITS POSITION AND AIMS. --THEPOPE'S FLIGHT, &C. --SOCIAL LIFE. --DON TIRLONE. --THE NEW YEAR. 

Rome, December 2, 1848. 

Not till I saw the snow on the mountains grow rosy in the autumnsunset did I turn my steps again toward Rome. I was very ready toreturn. After three or four years of constant excitement, this sixmonths of seclusion had been welcome; but now I felt the need ofmeeting other eyes beside those, so bright and so shallow, of theItalian peasant. Indeed, I left what was most precious, but whichI could not take with me;[A] still it was a compensation that I wasagain to see Rome, --Rome, that almost killed me with her cold breathof last winter, yet still with that cold breath whispered a tale ofimport so divine. Rome so beautiful, so great! her presence stupefies, and one has to withdraw to prize the treasures she has given. Cityof the soul! yes, it is _that_; the very dust magnetizes you, andthousand spells have been chaining you in every careless, everymurmuring moment. Yes! Rome, however seen, thou must be still adored;and every hour of absence or presence must deepen love with one whohas known what it is to repose in thy arms. 

[Footnote A: Her child, who was born in Rieti, September 5, 1848, andwas necessarily left in that town during the difficulties and siege ofRome. --ED. ]

Repose! for whatever be the revolutions, tumults, panics, hopes, ofthe present day, still the temper of life here is repose. The greatpast enfolds us, and the emotions of the moment cannot here greatlydisturb that impression. From the wild shout and throng of thestreets the setting sun recalls us as it rests on a hundred domes andtemples, --rests on the Campagna, whose grass is rooted in departedhuman greatness. Burial-place so full of spirit that death itselfseems no longer cold! O let me rest here, too! Hest here seemspossible; meseems myriad lives still linger here, awaiting some onegreat summons. 

The rivers had burst their bounds, and beneath the moon the fieldsround Rome lay one sheet of silver. Entering the gate while thebaggage was under examination, I walked to the entrance of a villa. Far stretched its overarching shrubberies, its deep green bowers; twostatues, with foot advanced and uplifted finger, seemed to greet me;it was near the scene of great revels, great splendors in the oldtime; there lay the gardens of Sallust, where were combined palace, theatre, library, bath, and villa. Strange things have happened since, the most attractive part of which--the secret heart--lies buried orhas fled to animate other forms; for of that part historians haverarely given a hint more than they do now of the truest life of ourday, which refuses to be embodied, by the pen, craving forms moremutable, more eloquent than the pen can give. 

I found Rome empty of foreigners. Most of the English have fled inaffright, --the Germans and French are wanted at home, --the Czar hasrecalled many of his younger subjects; he does not like the schoolingthey get here. That large part of the population, which lives by thevisits of foreigners was suffering very much, --trade, industry, forevery reason, stagnant. The people were every moment becoming moreexasperated by the impudent measures of the Minister Rossi, and theirmortification at seeing Rome represented and betrayed by a foreigner. And what foreigner? A pupil of Guizot and Louis Philippe. The news ofthe bombardment and storm of Vienna had just reached Rome. Zucchi, the Minister of War, at once left the city to put down over-freemanifestations in the provinces, and impede the entrance of the troopsof the patriot chief, Garibaldi, into Bologna. From the provinces camesoldiery, called by Rossi to keep order at the opening of the Chamberof Deputies. He reviewed them in the face of the Civic Guard; thepress began to be restrained; men were arbitrarily seized and sentout of the kingdom. The public indignation rose to its height; the cupoverflowed. 

The 15th was a beautiful day, and I had gone out for a long walk. Returning at night, the old Padrona met me with her usual smile alittle clouded. "Do you know, " said she, "that the Minister Rossi hasbeen killed?" No Roman said _murdered_. 

"Killed?"

"Yes, --with a thrust in the back. A wicked man, surely; but is thatthe way to punish even the wicked?"

"I cannot, " observed a philosopher, "sympathize under anycircumstances with so immoral a deed; but surely the manner of doingit was great. "

The people at large were not so refined in their comments as eitherthe Padrona or the philosopher; but soldiers and populace alike ran upand down, singing, "Blessed the hand that rids the earth of a tyrant. "

Certainly, the manner _was_ "great. "

The Chamber was awaiting the entrance of Rossi. Had he lived to enter, he would have found the Assembly, without a single exception, rangedupon the Opposition benches. His carriage approached, attended by ahowling, hissing multitude. He smiled, affected unconcern, but musthave felt relieved when his horses entered the courtyard gate ofthe _Cancelleria_. He did not know he was entering the place of hisexecution. The horses stopped; he alighted in the midst of a crowd; itjostled him, as if for the purpose of insult; he turned abruptly, and received as he did so the fatal blow. It was dealt by a resolute, perhaps experienced, hand; he fell and spoke no word more. 

The crowd, as if all previously acquainted with the plan, as no doubtmost of them were, issued quietly from the gate, and passed throughthe outside crowd, --its members, among whom was he who dealt the blow, dispersing in all directions. For two or three minutes this outsidecrowd did not know that anything special had happened. When they did, the news was at the moment received in silence. The soldiers in whomRossi had trusted, whom he had hoped to flatter and bribe, stood attheir posts and said not a word. Neither they nor any one asked, "Whodid this? Where is he gone?" The sense of the people certainly wasthat it was an act of summary justice on an offender whom the lawscould not reach, but they felt it to be indecent to shout or exult onthe spot where he was breathing his last. Rome, so long supposed thecapital of Christendom, certainly took a very pagan view of this act, and the piece represented on the occasion at the theatres was "TheDeath of Nero. "

The next morning I went to the Church of St. Andrea della Valle, wherewas to be performed a funeral service, with fine music, in honor ofthe victims of Vienna; for this they do here for the victims of everyplace, --"victims of Milan, " "victims of Paris, " "victims of Naples, "and now "victims of Vienna. " But to-day I found the church closed, theservice put off, --Rome was thinking about her own victims. 

I passed into the Ripetta, and entered the Church of San Luigi deiFrancesi. The Republican flag was flying at the door; the youngsacristan said the fine musical service, which this church gaveformerly on St. Philip's day in honor of Louis Philippe, would nowbe transferred to the Republican anniversary, the 25th of February. Ilooked at the monument Chateaubriand erected when here, to a poor girlwho died, last of her family, having seen all the others perishround her. I entered the Domenichino Chapel, and gazed anew on themagnificent representations of the Life and Death of St. Cecilia. Sheand St. Agnes are my favorite saints. I love to think of those angelvisits which her husband knew by the fragrance of roses and liliesleft behind in the apartment. I love to think of his visit to theCatacombs, and all that followed. In one of the pictures St. Cecilia, as she stretches out her arms toward the suffering multitude, seemsas if an immortal fount of purest love sprung from her heart. It givesvery strongly the idea of an inexhaustible love, --the only love thatis much worth thinking about. 

Leaving the church, I passed along toward the Piazza del Popolo. "Yellow Tiber rose, " but not high enough to cause "distress, " as hedoes when in a swelling mood. I heard the drums beating, and, enteringthe Piazza, I found the troops of the line already assembled, andthe Civic Guard marching in by platoons, each battalion saluted as itentered by trumpets and a fine strain from the band of the Carbineers. 

I climbed the Pincian to see better. There is no place so fine foranything of this kind as the Piazza del Popolo, it is so full oflight, so fair and grand, the obelisk and fountain make so fine acentre to all kinds of groups. 

The object of the present meeting was for the Civic Guard and troopsof the line to give pledges of sympathy preparatory to going to theQuirinal to demand a change of ministry and of measures. The flag ofthe Union was placed in front of the obelisk; all present saluted it;some officials made addresses; the trumpets sounded, and all movedtoward the Quirinal. 

Nothing could be gentler than the disposition of those composing thecrowd. They were resolved to be played with no longer, but nothreat was uttered or thought. They believed that the court would beconvinced by the fate of Rossi that the retrograde movement it hadattempted was impracticable. They knew the retrograde party werepanic-struck, and hoped to use the occasion to free the Pope from itsmeshes. All felt that Pius IX. Had fallen irrevocably from his highplace as the friend of progress and father of Italy; but still he waspersonally beloved, and still his name, so often shouted in hope andjoy, had not quite lost its _prestige_. 

I returned to the house, which is very near the Quirinal. On oneside I could see the palace and gardens of the Pope, on the other thePiazza Barberini and street of the Four Fountains. Presently I saw thecarriage of Prince Barberini drive hurriedly into his court-yard gate, the footman signing to close it, a discharge of fire-arms was heard, and the drums of the Civic Guard beat to arms. 

The Padrona ran up and down, crying with every round of shot, "JesuMaria, they are killing the Pope! O poor Holy Father!--Tito, Tito, "(out of the window to her husband, ) "what _is_ the matter?"

The lord of creation disdained to reply. 

"O Signora! pray, pray, ask Tito what is the matter?"

I did so. 

"I don't know, Signora; nobody knows. "

"Why don't you go on the Mount and see?"

"It would be an imprudence, Signora; nobody will go. "

I was just thinking to go myself, when I saw a poor man borne by, badly wounded, and heard that the Swiss were firing on the people. Their doing so was the cause of whatever violence there was, and itwas not much. 

The people had assembled, as usual, at the Quirinal, only with moreform and solemnity than usual. They had taken with them several of theChamber of Deputies, and they sent an embassy, headed by Galetti, whohad been in the late ministry, to state their wishes. They receiveda peremptory negative. They then insisted on seeing the Pope, andpressed on the palace. The Swiss became alarmed, and fired from thewindows and from the roof. They did this, it is said, without orders;but who could, at the time, suppose that? If it had been planned toexasperate the people to blood, what more could have been done? As itwas, very little was shed; but the Pope, no doubt, felt great panic. He heard the report of fire-arms, --heard that they tried to burna door of the palace. I would lay my life that he could have shownhimself without the slightest danger; nay, that the habitual respectfor his presence would have prevailed, and hushed all tumult. He didnot think so, and, to still it, once more degraded himself and injuredhis people, by making promises he did not mean to keep. 

He protests now against those promises as extorted by violence, --astrange plea indeed for the representative of St. Peter!

Rome is all full of the effigies of those over whom violence had nopower. There was an early Pope about to be thrown into the Tiber;violence had no power to make him say what he did not mean. Delicategirls, men in the prime of hope and pride of power, --they were allalike about that. They could die in boiling oil, roasted on coals, orcut to pieces; but they could not say what they did not mean. Theseformed the true Church; it was these who had power to disseminatethe religion of him, the Prince of Peace, who died a bloody death oftorture between sinners, because he never could say what he did notmean. 

A little church, outside the gate of St. Sebastian commemorates thefollowing affecting tradition of the Church. Peter, alarmed at thepersecution of the Christians, had gone forth to fly, when in thisspot he saw a bright figure in his path, and recognized his Mastertravelling toward Rome. "Lord, " he said, "whither goest thou?" "Igo, " replied Jesus, "to die with my people. " Peter comprehended thereproof. He felt that he must not a fourth time deny his Master, yet hope for salvation. He returned to Rome to offer his life inattestation of his faith. 

The Roman Catholic Church has risen a monument to the memory ofsuch facts. And has the present head of that Church quite failed tounderstand their monition?

Not all the Popes have so failed, though the majority have beenintriguing, ambitious men of the world. But even the mob of Rome--andin Rome there _is_ a true mob of unheeding cabbage-sellers, who neverhad a thought before beyond contriving how to satisfy their animalinstincts for the day--said, on hearing the protest, "There wasanother Pius, not long since, who talked in a very different style. When the French threatened him, he said, 'You may do with me as yousee fit, but I cannot consent to act against my convictions. '"

In fact, the only dignified course for the Pope to pursue was toresign his temporal power. He could no longer hold it on his ownterms; but to it he clung; and the counsellors around him were men towish him to regard _that_ as the first of duties. When the questionwas of waging war for the independence of Italy, they regarded himsolely as the head of the Church; but when the demand was to satisfythe wants of his people, and ecclesiastical goods were threatened withtaxes, then he was the prince of the state, bound to maintain all theselfish prerogatives of bygone days for the benefit of his successors. Poor Pope! how has his mind been torn to pieces in these later days!It moves compassion. There can be no doubt that all his naturalimpulses are generous and kind, and in a more private station he wouldhave died beloved and honored; but to this he was unequal; he hassuffered bad men to surround him, and by their misrepresentations andinsidious suggestions at last entirely to cloud his mind. I believe hereally thinks now the Progress movement tends to anarchy, blood, andall that looked worst in the first French revolution. However that maybe, I cannot forgive him some of the circumstances of this flight. Tofly to Naples; to throw himself in the arms of the bombarding monarch, blessing him and thanking his soldiery for preserving that part ofItaly from anarchy; to protest that all his promises at Rome were nulland void, when he thought himself in safety to choose a commission forgoverning in his absence, composed of men of princely blood, but as tocharacter so null that everybody laughed, and said he chose thosewho could best be spared if they were killed; (but they all ran awaydirectly;) when Rome was thus left without any government, to refuseto see any deputation, even the Senator of Rome, whom he had so gladlysanctioned, --these are the acts either of a fool or a foe. They arenot his acts, to be sure, but he is responsible; he lets them stand assuch in the face of the world, and weeps and prays for their success. 

No more of him! His day is over. He has been made, it seemsunconsciously, an instrument of good his regrets cannot destroy. Norcan he be made so important an instrument of ill. These acts have nothad the effect the foes of freedom hoped. Rome remained quite cool andcomposed; all felt that they had not demanded more than was their dutyto demand, and were willing to accept what might follow. In a fewdays all began to say: "Well, who would have thought it? The Pope, theCardinals, the Princes are gone, and Rome is perfectly tranquil, andone does not miss anything, except that there are not so many richcarriages and liveries. "

The Pope may regret too late that he ever gave the people a chanceto make this reflection. Yet the best fruits of the movement maynot ripen for a long time. It is a movement which requires radicalmeasures, clear-sighted, resolute men: these last, as yet, do not showthemselves in Rome. The new Tuscan ministry has three men of superiorforce in various ways, --Montanelli, Guerazzi, D'Aguila; such are notas yet to be found in Rome. 

But should she fall this time, --and she must either advance withdecision and force, or fall, since to stand still is impossible, --thepeople have learned much; ignorance and servility of thought arelessened, --the way is paving for final triumph. 

And my country, what does she? You have chosen a new President froma Slave State, representative of the Mexican war. But he seems to behonest, a man that can be esteemed, and is one really known tothe people, which is a step upward, after having sunk last time tochoosing a mere tool of party. 

Pray send here a good Ambassador, --one that has experience of foreignlife, that he may act with good judgment, and, if possible, a manthat has knowledge and views which extend beyond the cause of partypolitics in the United States, --a man of unity in principles, butcapable of understanding variety in forms. And send a man capableof prizing the luxury of living in, or knowing Rome; the office ofAmbassador is one that should not be thrown away on a person whocannot prize or use it. Another century, and I might ask to be madeAmbassador myself, ('tis true, like other Ambassadors, I would employclerks to do the most of the duty, ) but woman's day has not come yet. They hold their clubs in Paris, but even George Sand will not actwith women as they are. They say she pleads they are too mean, tootreacherous. She should not abandon them for that, which is notnature, but misfortune. How much I shall have to say on that subjectif I live, which I desire not, for I am very tired of the battle withgiant wrongs, and would like to have some one younger and strongerarise to say what ought to be said, still more to do what ought to bedone. Enough! if I felt these things in privileged America, the criesof mothers and wives beaten at night by sons and husbands for theirdiversion after drinking, as I have repeatedly heard them these pastmonths, --the excuse for falsehood, "I _dare not_ tell my husband, hewould be ready to kill me, "--have sharpened my perception as to theills of woman's condition and the remedies that must be applied. HadI but genius, had I but energy, to tell what I know as it ought to betold! God grant them me, or some other more worthy woman, I pray. 

_Don Tirlone_, the _Punch_ of Rome, has just come in. This numberrepresents the fortress of Gaėta. Outside hangs a cage containinga parrot (_pappagallo_), the plump body of the bird surmounted by anoble large head with benign face and Papal head-dress. He sits onthe perch now with folded wings, but the cage door, in likeness of aportico, shows there is convenience to come forth for the purposesof benediction, when wanted. Outside, the king of Naples, dressedas Harlequin, plays the organ for instruction of the bird (unhappypenitent, doomed to penance), and, grinning with sharp teeth, observes: "He speaks in my way now. " In the background a youngRepublican holds ready the match for a barrel of gunpowder, but looksat his watch, waiting the moment to ignite it. 

A happy New Year to my country! may she be worthy of the privilegesshe possesses, while others are lavishing their blood to winthem, --that is all that need be wished for her at present. 

LETTER XXVII. 

ROME. --THE CARNIVAL: THE MOCCOLETTI. --THE ROMAN CHARACTER. --THEPOPE'S FLIGHT. --THE ASSEMBLY. --THE PEOPLE. --THE POPE'S MISTAKE. --HISMANIFESTO: ITS TONE AND EFFECT. --DESTRUCTION OF THE TEMPORAL DOMINIONOF THE CHURCH. 

Rome, Evening of Feb. 20, 1849. 

It is said you cannot thoroughly know any place till you have bothsummered and wintered in it; but more than one summer and winter ofexperience seems to be needed for Rome. How I fretted last winter, during the three months' rain, and sepulchral chill, and far worsethan sepulchral odors, which accompanied it! I thought it was theinvariable Roman winter, and that I should never be able to stay hereduring another; so took my room only by the month, thinking to fly sosoon as the rain set in. And lo! it has never rained at all; but therehas been glorious sun and moon, unstained by cloud, always; and theselast days have been as warm as May, --the days of the Carnival, for Ihave just come in from seeing the _Moccoletti_. 

The Republican Carnival has not been as splendid as the Papal, theabsence of dukes and princes being felt in the way of coaches andrich dresses; there are also fewer foreigners than usual, many havingfeared to assist at this most peaceful of revolutions. But ifless splendid, it was not less gay; the costumes were many andfanciful, --flowers, smiles, and fun abundant. 

This is the first time of my seeing the true _Moccoletti_; last year, in one of the first triumphs of democracy, they did not blow oat thelights, thus turning it into an illumination. The effect of the swarmsof lights, little and large, thus in motion all over the fronts ofthe houses, and up and down the Corso, was exceedingly pretty andfairy-like; but that did not make up for the loss of that wild, innocent gayety of which this people alone is capable after childhood, and which never shines out so much as on this occasion. It isastonishing the variety of tones, the lively satire and taunt of whichthe words _Senza moccolo_, _senza mo_, are susceptible fromtheir tongues. The scene is the best burlesque on the life of the"respectable" world that can be imagined. A ragamuffin with a littlepiece of candle, not even lighted, thrusts it in your face with an airof far greater superiority than he can wear who, dressed in gold andvelvet, erect in his carriage, holds aloft his light on a tall pole. In vain his security; while he looks down on the crowd to taunt thewretches _senza mo_, a weak female hand from a chamber window blotsout his pretensions by one flirt of an old handkerchief. 

Many handsome women, otherwise dressed in white, wore the red libertycap, and the noble though somewhat coarse Roman outline beneath thisbrilliant red, by the changeful glow of million lights, made a fineeffect. Men looked too vulgar in the liberty cap. 

How I mourn that my little companion E. Never saw these things, thatwould have given him such store of enchanting reminiscences for allhis after years! I miss him always on such occasions; formerly it wasthrough him that I enjoyed them. He had the child's heart, hadthe susceptible fancy, and, naturally, a fine discerning sense forwhatever is individual or peculiar. 

I missed him much at the Fair of St. Eustachio. This, like theCarnival, was last year entirely spoiled by constant rain. I neversaw it at all before. It comes in the first days, or rather nights, ofJanuary. All the quarter of St. Eustachio is turned into one toy-shop;the stalls are set out in the street and brightly lighted, up. Theseare full of cheap toys, --prices varying from half a cent up to twentycents. The dolls, which are dressed as husband and wife, or sometimesgrouped in families, are the most grotesque rag-babies that canbe imagined. Among the toys are great quantities of whistles, tintrumpets, and little tambourines; of these every man, woman, andchild has bought one, and is using it to make a noise. This extemporeconcert begins about ten o'clock, and lasts till midnight; thedelight of the numerous children that form part of the orchestra, thegood-humored familiarity without the least touch of rudeness in thecrowd, the lively effect of the light upon the toys, and the jumping, shouting figures that, exhibit them, make this the pleasantestSaturnalia. Had you only been there, E. , to guide me by the hand, blowing the trumpet for both, and spying out a hundred queer things innooks that entirely escape me!

The Roman still plays amid his serious affairs, and very serious havethey been this past winter. The Roman legions went out singing anddancing to fight in Lombardy, and they fought no less bravely forthat. 

When I wrote last, the Pope had fled, guided, he says, "by the handof Providence, "--Italy deems by the hand of Austria, --to Gaėta. Hehad already soiled his white robes, and defamed himself for ever, by heaping benedictions on the king of Naples and the bands ofmercenaries whom he employs to murder his subjects on the least signof restlessness in their most painful position. Most cowardly had beenthe conduct of his making promises he never meant to keep, stealingaway by night in the coach of a foreign diplomatist, protesting thatwhat he had done was null because he had acted under fear, --as ifsuch a protest could avail to one who boasts himself representativeof Christ and his Apostles, guardian of the legacy of the martyrs! Heselected a band of most incapable men to face the danger he had fearedfor himself; most of these followed his example and fled. Rome soughtan interview with him, to see if reconciliation were possible; herefused to receive her messengers. His wicked advisers calculated upongreat confusion and distress as inevitable on the occasion; but, for once, the hope of the bad heart was doomed to immediatedisappointment. Rome coolly said, "If you desert me, --if you will nothear me, --I must act for myself. " She threw herself into the arms ofa few men who had courage and calmness for this crisis; they bade herthink upon what was to be done, meanwhile avoiding every excess thatcould give a color to calumny and revenge. The people, with admirablegood sense, comprehended and followed up this advice. Never was Romeso truly tranquil, so nearly free from gross ill, as this winter. Afew words of brotherly admonition have been more powerful than all thespies, dungeons, and scaffolds of Gregory. 

"The hand of the Omnipotent works for us, " observed an old man whom Isaw in the street selling cigars the evening before the opening of theConstitutional Assembly. He was struck by the radiant beauty of thenight. The old people observe that there never has been such a winteras this which follows the establishment by the French of a republic. 

May the omens speed well! A host of enemies without are ready to levywar against this long-suffering people, to rivet anew their chains. Still there is now an obvious tide throughout Europe toward a betterorder of things, and a wave of it may bear Italy onward to the shore. 

The revolution, like all genuine ones, has been instinctive, itsresults unexpected and surprising to the greater part of those whoachieved them. The waters, which had flowed so secretly beneath thecrust of habit that many never heard their murmur, unless in dreams, have suddenly burst to light in full and beautiful jets; all rush todrink the pure and living draught. 

As in the time of Jesus, the multitude had been long enslaved beneatha cumbrous ritual, their minds designedly darkened by those whoshould have enlightened them, brutified, corrupted, amid monstrouscontradictions and abuses; yet the moment they hear a wordcorrespondent to the original nature, "Yes, it is true, " they cry. "Itis spoken with, authority. Yes, it ought to be so. Priests ought tobe better and wiser than other men; if they were, they would not needpomp and temporal power to command respect. Yes, it is true; we oughtnot to lie; we should not try to impose upon one another. We oughtrather to prefer that our children should work honestly for theirbread, than get it by cheating, begging, or the prostitution of theirmothers. It would be better to act worthily and kindly, probably wouldplease God more than the kissing of relics. We have long darkly feltthat these things were so; _now_ we know it. "

The unreality of relation between the people and the hierarchy wasobvious instantly upon the flight of Pius. He made an immense mistakethen, and he made it because neither he nor his Cardinals were awareof the unreality. They did not know that, great as is the force ofhabit, truth _only_ is imperishable. The people had abhorred Gregory, had adored Pius, upon whom they looked as a saviour, as a liberator;finding themselves deceived, a mourning-veil had overshadowed theirlove. Still, had Pius remained here, and had courage to show himselfon agitating occasions, his position as the Pope, before whom they hadbeen bred to bow, his aspect, which had once seemed to them full ofblessing and promise, like that of an angel, would have still retainedpower. Probably the temporal dominion of the Papacy would not havebeen broken up. He fled; the people felt contempt for his want offorce and truth. He wrote to reproach them with ingratitude; they wereindignant. What had they to be grateful for? A constitution to whichhe had not kept true an instant; the institution of the NationalGuard, which he had begun to neutralize; benedictions, followed bysuch actions as the desertion of the poor volunteers in the war forItalian independence? Still, the people were not quite alienatedfrom Pius. They felt sure that his heart was, in substance, goodand kindly, though the habits of the priest and the arts of hiscounsellors had led him so egregiously to falsify its dictates andforget the vocation with which he had been called. Many hoped he wouldsee his mistake, and return to be at one with the people. Among themore ignorant, there was a superstitious notion that he would returnin the night of the 5th of January. There were many bets that he wouldbe found in the palace of the Quirinal the morning of the 6th. Allthese lingering feelings were finally extinguished by the advice ofexcommunication. As this may not have readied America, I subjoin atranslation. Here I was obliged to make use of a manuscript copy;all the printed ones were at once destroyed. It is probably the lastdocument of the kind the world will see. 

MANIFESTO OF PIUS IX. 

"To OUR MOST BELOVED SUBJECTS:--

"From this pacific abode to which it has pleased Divine Providence toconduct us, and whence we can freely manifest our sentiments and ourwill, we have waited for testimonies of remorse from our misguidedchildren for the sacrileges and misdeeds committed against personsattached to our service, --among whom some have been slain, othersoutraged in the most barbarous manner, --as well as for those againstour residence and our person. But we have seen nothing except asterile invitation to return to our capital, unaccompanied by aword of condemnation for those crimes or the least guaranty for oursecurity against the frauds and violences of that same company offurious men which still tyrannizes with a barbarous despotism overRome and the States of the Church. We also waited, expecting thatthe protests and orders we have uttered would recall to the duties offidelity and subjection those who have despised and trampled upon themin the very capital of our States. But, instead of this, a new andmore monstrous act of undisguised felony and of actual rebellion bythem audaciously committed, has filled the measure of our affliction, and excited at the same time our just indignation, as it willafflict the Church Universal. We speak of that act, in everyrespect detestable, by which, it has been pretended to initiate theconvocation of a so-called General National Assembly of the RomanStates, by a decree of the 29th of last December, in order toestablish new political forms for the Pontifical dominion. Addingthus iniquity to iniquity, the authors and favorers of the demagogicalanarchy strive to destroy the temporal authority of the Roman Pontiffover the dominions of Holy Church, --however irrefragably establishedthrough the most ancient and solid rights, and venerated, recognized, and sustained by all the nations, --pretending and making othersbelieve that his sovereign power can be subject to controversy ordepend on the caprices of the factious. We shall spare our dignitythe humiliation of dwelling on all that is monstrous contained in thatact, abominable through the absurdity of its origin no less than theillegality of its form and the impiety of its scope; but it appertainsto the apostolic authority, with which, however unworthy, we areinvested, and to the responsibility which binds us by the most sacredoaths in the sight of the Omnipotent, not only to protest in the mostenergetic and efficacious manner against that same act, but to condemnit in the face of the universe as an enormous and sacrilegious crimeagainst our independence and sovereignty, meriting the chastisementsthreatened by divine and human laws. We are persuaded that, onreceiving the impudent invitation, you were full of holy indignation, and will have rejected far from you this guilty and shamefulprovocation. Notwithstanding, that none of you may say he has beendeluded by fallacious seductions, and by the preachers of subversivedoctrines, or ignorant of what is contriving by the foes of all order, all law, all right, true liberty, and your happiness, we to-day againraise and utter abroad our voice, so that you may be more certain ofthe absoluteness with which we prohibit men, of whatever class andcondition, from taking any part in the meetings which those personsmay dare to call, for the nomination of individuals to be sent tothe condemned Assembly. At the same time we recall to you how thisabsolute prohibition is sanctioned by the decrees of our predecessorsand of the Councils, especially of the Sacred Council-General ofTrent, Sect. XXII. Chap. 11, in which the Church has fulminated manytimes her censures, and especially the greater excommunication, asincurred without fail by any declaration of whomsoever daring tobecome guilty of whatsoever attempt against the temporal sovereigntyof the Supreme Pontiff, this we declare to have been already unhappilyincurred by all those who have given aid to the above-named act, andothers preceding, intended to prejudice the same sovereignty, and inother modes and under false pretexts have, perturbed, violated, and usurped our authority. Yet, though we feel ourselves obliged byconscience to guard the sacred deposit of the patrimony of the Spouseof Jesus Christ, confided to our care, by using the sword of severitygiven to us for that purpose, we cannot therefore forget that we areon earth the representative of Him who in exercise of his justice doesnot forget mercy. Raising, therefore, our hands to Heaven, while weto it recommend a cause which is indeed more Heaven's than ours, andwhile anew we declare ourselves ready, with the aid of its powerfulgrace, to drink even to the dregs, for the defence and glory of theCatholic Church, the cup of persecution which He first wished to drinkfor the salvation of the same, we shall not desist from supplicatingHim benignly to hear the fervent prayers which day and night weunceasingly offer for the salvation of the misguided. No day certainlycould be more joyful for us, than that in which it shall be granted tosee return into the fold of the Lord our sons from whom now we deriveso much bitterness and so great tribulations. The hope of enjoyingsoon the happiness of such a day is strengthened in us by thereflection, that universal are the prayers which, united to ours, ascend to the throne of Divine Mercy from the lips and the heart ofthe faithful throughout the Catholic world, urging it continually tochange the hearts of sinners, and reconduct them into the paths oftruth and of justice. 

"Gaėta, January 6, 1849. "

The silliness, bigotry, and ungenerous tone of this manifesto exciteda simultaneous movement in the population. The procession whichcarried it, mumbling chants, for deposit in places provided for lowestuses, and then, taking from, the doors of the hatters' shops thecardinals' hats, threw them into the Tiber, was a real and generalexpression of popular disgust. From that hour the power of the scarlethierarchy fell to rise no more. No authority can survive a universalmovement of derision. From that hour tongues and pens were loosed, theleaven of Machiavellism, which still polluted the productions of themore liberal, disappeared, and people talked as they felt, just asthose of us who do not choose to be slaves are accustomed to do inAmerica. 

"Jesus, " cried an orator, "bade them feed his lambs. If they have doneso, it has been to rob their fleece and drink their blood. "

"Why, " said another, "have we been so long deaf to the saying, thatthe temporal dominion of the Church was like a thorn in the wound ofItaly, which shall never be healed till that thorn is extracted?"

And then, without passion, all felt that the temporal dominion was infact finished of itself, and that it only remained to organize anotherform of government. 

LETTER XXVIII. 

GIOBERTI, MAMIANI, AND MAZZINI. --FORMATION OF THE CONSTITUTIONALASSEMBLY. --THE RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE. --A PROCESSION. --PROCLAMATION OFTHE REPUBLIC. --RESULTS. --DECREE OF THE ASSEMBLY. --AMERICANS INROME: DIFFERENCE OF IMPRESSIONS. --FLIGHT OF THE GRAND DUKE OFTUSCANY. --CHARLES ALBERT. --PRESENT STATE OF ROME. --REFLECTIONS ANDCONCLUSIONS. --LATEST INTELLIGENCE. 

Rome, Evening of Feb. 20, 1849. 

The League between the Italian States, and the Diet which was toestablish it, had been the thought of Gioberti, but had found theinstrument at Rome in Mamiani. The deputies were to be named byprinces or parliaments, their mandate to be limited by the existinginstitutions of the several states; measures of mutual security andsome modifications in the way of reform would be the utmost that couldbe hoped from this Diet. The scope of this party did not go beyondmore vigorous prosecution of the war for independence, and theestablishment of good, institutions for the several principalities ona basis of assimilation. 

Mazzini, the great radical thinker of Italy, was, on the contrary, persuaded that unity, not union, was necessary to this country. Hehad taken for his motto, GOD AND THE PEOPLE, and believed in noother powers. He wished an Italian Constitutional Assembly, selecteddirectly by the people, and furnished with an unlimited mandate todecide what form was now required by the needs of the Peninsula. Hisown wishes, certainly, aimed at a republic; but the decision remainedwith the representatives of the people. 

The thought of Gioberti had been at first the popular one, as he, in fact, was the seer of the so-called Moderate party. For myself, Ialways looked upon him as entirely a charlatan, who covered his wantof all real force by the thickest embroidered mantle of words. Still, for a time, he corresponded with the wants of the Italian mind. Heassailed the Jesuits, and was of real use by embodying the distrustand aversion that brooded in the minds of men against these mostinsidious and inveterate foes of liberty and progress. This triumph, at least, he may boast: that sect has been obliged to yield; itsextinction seems impossible, of such life-giving power was the fierywill of Loyola. In the Primate he had embodied the lingering hope ofthe Catholic Church; Pius IX. Had answered to the appeal, had answeredonly to show its futility. He had run through Italy as courier forCharles Albert, when the so falsely styled Magnanimous entered, pretending to save her from the stranger, really hoping to take herfor himself. His own cowardice and treachery neutralized the hope, andCharles Albert, abject in his disgrace, took a retrograde ministry. This the country would not suffer, and obliged him after a whileto reassume at least the position of the previous year, by takingGioberti for his premier. But it soon became evident that the ministryof Charles Albert was in the same position as had been that of PiusIX. The hand was powerless when the head was indisposed. Meantime thename of Mazzini had echoed through Tuscany from the revered lipsof Montanelli; it reached the Roman States, and though at firstpropagated by foreign impulse, yet, as soon as understood, waswelcomed as congenial. Montanelli had nobly said, addressing Florence:"We could not regret that the realization of this project should takeplace in a sister city, still more illustrious than ours. " The Romanstook him at his word; the Constitutional Assembly for the Roman Stateswas elected with a double mandate, that the deputies might sit in theConstitutional Assembly for all Italy whenever the other provincescould send theirs. They were elected by universal suffrage. Those wholistened to Jesuits and Moderates predicted that the project wouldfail of itself. The people were too ignorant to make use of theliberty of suffrage. 

But ravens now-a-days are not the true prophetic birds. The Romaneagle recommences her flight, and it is from its direction only thatthe high-priest may draw his augury. The people are certainly asignorant as centuries of the worst government, the neglect of populareducation, the enslavement of speech and the press, could make them;yet they have an instinct to recognize measures that are good forthem. A few weeks' schooling at some popular meetings, the clubs, theconversations of the National Guards in their quarters or on patrol, were sufficient to concert measures so well, that the people voted inlarger proportion than at contested elections in our country, and madea very good choice. 

The opening of the Constitutional Assembly gave occasion for a fineprocession. All the troops in Rome defiled from the Campidoglio;among them many bear the marks of suffering from the Lombard war. Thebanners of Sicily, Venice, and Bologna waved proudly; that of Napleswas veiled with crape. I was in a balcony in the Piazza di Venezia;the Palazzo di Venezia, that sternest feudal pile, so long thehead-quarters of Austrian machinations, seemed to frown, as the bandseach in passing struck up the _Marseillaise_. The nephew of Napoleonand Garibaldi, the hero of Montevideo, walked together, as deputies. The deputies, a grave band, mostly advocates or other professionalmen, walked without other badge of distinction than the tricoloredscarf. I remembered the entrance of the deputies to the Council onlyfourteen months ago, in the magnificent carriages lent by the princesfor the occasion; they too were mostly nobles, and their liveriedattendants followed, carrying their scutcheons. Princes andcouncillors have both fled or sunk into nothingness; in thosecouncillors was no counsel. Will it be found in the present? Let ushope so! What we see to-day has much more the air of reality than allthat parade of scutcheons, or the pomp of dress and retinue with whichthe Ecclesiastical Court was wont to amuse the people. 

A few days after followed the proclamation of a Republic. An immensecrowd of people surrounded the Palazzo della Cancelleria, within whosecourt-yard Rossi fell, while the debate was going on within. At oneo'clock in the morning of the 9th of February, a Republic was resolvedupon, and the crowd rushed away to ring all the bells. 

Early next morning I rose and went forth to observe the Republic. Over the Quirinal I went, through the Forum, to the Capitol. There wasnothing to be seen except the magnificent calm emperor, the tamersof horses, the fountain, the trophies, the lions, as usual; among themarbles, for living figures, a few dirty, bold women, and Murillo boysin the sun just as usual. I passed into the Corso; there were men inthe liberty cap, --of course the lowest and vilest had been the firstto assume it; all the horrible beggars persecuting as impudently asusual. I met some English; all their comfort was, "It would not lasta month. " "They hoped to see all these fellows shot yet. " The Englishclergyman, more mild and legal, only hopes to see them (i. E. Theministry, deputies, &c. ) _hung_. 

Mr. Carlyle would be delighted with his countrymen. They are entirelyready and anxious to see a Cromwell for Italy. They, too, think, whenthe people starve, "It is no matter what happens in the back parlor. "What signifies that, if there is "order" in the front? How dare thepeople make a noise to disturb us yawning at billiards!

I met an American. He "had no confidence in the Republic. " Why?Because he "had no confidence in the people. " Why? Because "they werenot like _our_ people. " Ah! Jonathan and John, --excuse me, but Imust say the Italian has a decided advantage over you in the power ofquickly feeling generous sympathy, as well as some other things whichI have not time now to particularize. I have memoranda from you bothin my note-book. 

At last the procession mounts the Campidoglio. It is all dressed withbanners. The tricolor surmounts the palace of the senator; the senatorhimself has fled. The deputies mount the steps, and one of them reads, in a clear, friendly voice, the following words:--

"FUNDAMENTAL DECREE OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL ASSEMBLY OF ROME. 

"ART. I. --The Papacy has fallen in fact and in right from the temporalgovernment of the Roman State. 

"ART. II. --The Roman Pontiff shall have all the necessary guarantiesfor independence in the exercise of his spiritual power. 

"ART. III. --The form of government of the Roman State shall be a puredemocracy, and will take the glorious name of Roman Republic. 

"ART. IV. --The Roman Republic shall have with the rest of Italy therelations exacted by a common nationality. "

Between each of these expressive sentences the speaker paused; thegreat bell of the Capitol gave forth its solemn melodies; the cannonanswered; while the crowd shouted, _Viva la Republica! Viva Italia!_

The imposing grandeur of the spectacle to me gave new force to theemotion that already swelled my heart; my nerves thrilled, and Ilonged to see in some answering glance a spark of Rienzi, a little ofthat soul which made my country what she is. The American at my sideremained impassive. Receiving all his birthright from a triumph ofdemocracy, he was quite indifferent to this manifestation on thisconsecrated spot. Passing the winter in Rome to study art, he wasinsensible to the artistic beauty of the scene, --insensible to thisnew life of that spirit from which all the forms he gazes atin galleries emanated. He "did not see the use of these populardemonstrations. "

Again I must mention a remark of his, as a specimen of the ignorancein which Americans usually remain during their flighty visits to thesescenes, where they associate only with one another. And I do it therather as this seemed a really thoughtful, intelligent man; no vain, vulgar trifler. He said, "The people seem only to be looking on; theytake no part. "

What people? said I. 

"Why, these around us; there is no other people. "

There are a few beggars, errand-boys, and nurse-maids. 

"The others are only soldiers. "

Soldiers! The Civic Guard! all the decent men in Rome. 

Thus it is that the American, on many points, becomes more ignorantfor coming abroad, because he attaches some value to his crudeimpressions and frequent blunders. It is not thus that any seed-corncan be gathered from foreign gardens. Without modest scrutiny, patientstudy, and observation, he spends his money and goes home, with anew coat perhaps, but a mind befooled rather than instructed. Itis necessary to speak the languages of these countries, and knowpersonally some of their inhabitants, in order to form any accurateimpressions. 

The flight of the Grand Duke of Tuscany followed. In imitation ofhis great exemplar, he promised and smiled to the last, deceivingMontanelli, the pure and sincere, at the very moment he was about toenter his carriage, into the belief that he persevered in his assentto the liberal movement. His position was certainly very difficult, but he might have left it like a gentleman, like a man of honor. 'Twas pity to destroy so lightly the good opinion the Tuscans had ofhim. Now Tuscany meditates union with Rome. 

Meanwhile, Charles Albert is filled with alarm. He is indeed betwixttwo fires. Gioberti has published one of his prolix, weak addresses, in which, he says, that in the beginning of every revolution one mustfix a limit beyond which he will not go; that, for himself, he hasdone it, --others are passing beyond his mark, and he will not go anyfarther. Of the want of thought, of insight into historic and allother truths, which distinguishes the "illustrious Gioberti, " thisassumption is a specimen. But it makes no difference; he and hisprince must go, sooner or later, if the movement continues, nor isthere any prospect of its being stayed unless by foreign intervention. This the Pope has not yet, it is believed, solicited, but there islittle reason to hope he will be spared that crowning disgrace. Hehas already consented to the incitement of civil war. Should anintervention be solicited, all depends on France. Will she baselyforfeit every pledge and every duty, to say nothing of her trueinterest? It seems that her President stands doubtful, intending todo what is for _his_ particular interest; but if his interest provesopposed to the republican principle, will France suffer herself againto be hoodwinked and enslaved? It is impossible to know, she hasalready shown such devotion to the mere prestige of a name. 

On England no dependence can be placed. She is guided by no greatidea; her Parliamentary leaders sneer at sentimental policy, and the"jargon" of ideas. She will act, as always, for her own interest; andthe interest of her present government is becoming more and more thecrushing of the democratic tendency. They are obliged to do it athome, both in the back and the front parlor; it would not be decentas yet to have a Spielberg just at home for obstreperous patriots, butEngland has so many ships, it is just as easy to transport them toa safe distance. Then the Church of England, so long an enemy to theChurch of Rome, feels a decided interest with it on the subject oftemporal possessions. The rich English traveller, fearing to see thePrince Borghese stripped of one of his palaces for a hospital orsome such low use, thinks of his own twenty-mile park and the crowdedvillage of beggars at its gate, and muses: "I hope to see them allshot yet, these rascally republicans. "

How I wish my country would show some noble sympathy when anexperience so like her own is going on. Politically she cannotinterfere; but formerly, when Greece and Poland were struggling, theywere at least aided by private contributions. Italy, naturally sorich, but long racked and impoverished by her oppressors, greatlyneeds money to arm and clothe her troops. Some token of sympathy, too, from America would be so welcome to her now. If there were a circle ofpersons inclined to trust such to me, I might venture to promise thetrust should be used to the advantage of Italy. It would make me proudto have my country show a religious faith in the progress of ideas, and make some small sacrifice of its own great resources in aid of asister cause, now. 

But I must close this letter, which it would be easy to swell to avolume from the materials in my mind. One or two traits of the hour Imust note. Mazzarelli, chief of the present ministry, was a prelate, and named spontaneously by the Pope before his flight. He hasshown entire and frank intrepidity. He has laid aside the title ofMonsignor, and appears before the world as a layman. 

Nothing can be more tranquil than has been the state of Rome allwinter. Every wile has been used by the Oscurantists to excite thepeople, but their confidence in their leaders could not be broken. A little mutiny in the troops, stimulated by letters from their oldleaders, was quelled in a moment. The day after the proclamation ofthe Republic, some zealous ignoramuses insulted the carriages thatappeared with servants in livery. The ministry published a graveadmonition, that democracy meant liberty, not license, and that hewho infringed upon an innocent freedom of action in others mustbe declared traitor to his country. Every act of the kind ceasedinstantly. An intimation that it was better not to throw large comfitsor oranges during the Carnival, as injuries have thus been sometimescaused, was obeyed with equal docility. 

On Sunday last, placards affixed in the high places summoned the cityto invest Giuseppe Mazzini with the rights of a Roman citizen. I havenot yet heard the result. The Pope made Rossi a Roman citizen; he wassuffered to retain that title only one day. It was given him on the14th of November, he died the 15th. Mazzini enters Rome at any rate, for the first time in his life, as deputy to the ConstitutionalAssembly; it would be a noble poetic justice, if he could enter alsoas a Roman citizen. 

February 24. 

The Austrians have invaded Ferrara, taken $200, 000 and six hostages, and retired. This step is, no doubt, intended to determine whetherFrance will resent the insult, or whether she will betray Italy. Itshows also the assurance of the Austrian that the Pope will approveof an armed intervention. Probably before I write again these matterswill reach some decided crisis. 

LETTER XXIX. 

THE ROMAN REPUBLIC. --CHARLES ALBERT A TRAITOR. --FALL OFGIOBERTI. --MAZZINI. --HIS CHARACTER. --HIS ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE. --HISORATORY. --AMERICAN ARTISTS. --BROWN, TERRY, AND FREEMAN. --HICKS ANDHIS PICTURES. --CROPSEY AND CRANCH CONTRASTED. --AMERICANLANDSCAPE PAINTINGS. --SCULPTORS. --STORY'S "FISHER BOY. "--MOZIER'S"POCAHONTAS. "--GREENOUGH'S GROUP. --POWERS'S "SLAVE. "--THEEQUESTRIAN STATUE OF WASHINGTON. --CRAWFORD'S DESIGN. --TRIALS OF THEARTIST. --AMERICAN PATRONS OF ART. --EXPENSES OF ARTIST LIFE. --A GERMANSCULPTOR. --OVERBECK AND HIS PAINTINGS. --FESTIVAL OF FRIED RICE. --ANAVE MARIA. 

Rome, March 20, 1849. 

The Roman Republic moves on better than could have been expected. There are great difficulties about money, necessarily, as thegovernment, so beset with trials and dangers, cannot commandconfidence in that respect. The solid coin has crept out ofthe country or lies hid, and in the use of paper there are thecorresponding inconveniences. But the poor, always the chief sufferersfrom such a state of things, are wonderfully patient, and I doubt notthat the new form, if Italy could be left to itself, would be settledfor the advantage of all. Tuscany would soon be united with Rome, andto the Republic of Central Italy, no longer broken asunder by pettyrestrictions and sacrificed to the interests of a few persons, wouldcome that prosperity natural to a region so favored by nature. 

Could Italy be left alone! But treacherous, selfish men at home striveto betray, and foes threaten her from without on every side. EvenFrance, her natural ally, promises to prove foolishly and baselyfaithless. The dereliction from principle of her government seemscertain, and thus far the nation, despite the remonstrance of a fewworthy men, gives no sign of effective protest. There would be littlehope for Italy, were not the thrones of her foes in a tottering state, their action liable at every moment to be distracted by domesticdifficulties. The Austrian government seems as destitute of supportfrom the nation as is possible for a government to be, and the army isno longer what it was, being made up so largely of new recruits. TheCroats are uncertain in their adhesion, the war in Hungary likely togive them much to do; and if the Russian is called in, the rest ofEurope becomes hostile. All these circumstances give Italy a chanceshe otherwise could not have; she is in great measure unfurnished witharms and money; her king in the South is a bloody, angry, well-armedfoe; her king in the North, a proved traitor. Charles Albert has nowdeclared, war because he could not do otherwise; but his sympathiesare in fact all against liberty; the splendid lure that he mightbecome king of Italy glitters no more; the Republicans are in theascendant, and he may well doubt, should the stranger be driven out, whether Piedmont could escape the contagion. Now, his people insistingon war, he has the air of making it with a good grace; but should hebe worsted, probably he will know some loophole by which to steal out. The rat will get out and leave the lion in the trap. 

The "illustrious Gioberti" has fallen, --fallen for ever from his highscaffold of words. His demerits were too unmistakable for rhetoric tohide. That he sympathized with the Pope rather than the Roman people, and could not endure to see him stripped of his temporal power, noone could blame in the author of the _Primato_. That he refused theItalian General Assembly, if it was to be based on the so-calledMontanelli system instead of his own, might be conviction, or it mightbe littleness and vanity. But that he privily planned, without evenadherence of the council of ministers, an armed intervention of thePiedmontese troops in Tuscany, thus willing to cause civil war, and, at this great moment, to see Italian blood shed by Italian hands, wastreachery. I think, indeed, he has been probably made the scape-goatin that affair; that Charles Albert planned the measure, and, findinghimself unable to carry it out, in consequence of the vigilance andindignant opposition of the Chamber of Deputies, was somewhat consoledby making it an occasion to victimize the "Illustrious, " whom fourweeks before the people had forced him to accept as his minister. 

Now the name of Gioberti is erased from the corners of the streets towhich it was affixed a year ago; he is stripped of all his honorarydegrees, and proclaimed an unworthy son of the country. Mazzini isthe idol of the people. "Soon to be hunted out, " sneered the scepticalAmerican. Possibly yes; for no man is secure of his palm till thefight is over. The civic wreath may be knocked from his head a hundredtimes in the ardor of the contest. No matter, if he can always keepthe forehead pure and lofty, as will Mazzini. 

In thinking of Mazzini, I always remember Petrarch's invocation toRienzi. Mazzini comes at a riper period in the world's history, withthe same energy of soul, but of purer temper and more enlarged viewsto answer them. 

I do not know whether I mentioned a kind of poetical correspondenceabout Mazzini and Rossi. Rossi was also an exile for liberalprinciples, but he did not value his birthright; he alienated it, andas a French citizen became peer of France and representative of LouisPhilippe in Italy. When, with the fatuity of those whom the godshave doomed to perish, Pius IX. Took the representative of the fallenGuizot policy for his minister, he made him a Roman citizen. He wasproclaimed such on the 14th of November. On the 15th he perished, before he could enter the parliament he had called. He fell at thedoor of the Cancelleria when it was sitting. 

Mazzini, in his exile, remained absolutely devoted to his nativecountry. Because, though feeling as few can that the interests ofhumanity in all nations are identical, he felt also that, born of arace so suffering, so much needing devotion and energy, his firstduty was to that. The only powers he acknowledged were _God and thePeople_, the special scope of his acts the unity and independence ofItaly. Rome was the theme of his thoughts, but, very early exiled, he had never seen that home to which all the orphans of the soulso naturally turn. Now he entered it as a Roman citizen, electedrepresentative of the people by universal suffrage. His motto, _Dioe Popolo_, is put upon the coin with the Roman eagle; unhappily thisfirst-issued coin is of brass, or else of silver, with much alloy. _Dii, avertite omen_, and may peaceful days turn it all to pure gold!

On his first entrance to the house, Mazzini, received with ferventapplause and summoned, to take his place beside the President, spokeas follows:--

"It is from me, colleagues, that should come these tokens of applause, these tokens of affection, because the little good I have not done, but tried to do, has come to me from Rome. Rome was always a sort oftalisman for me; a youth, I studied the history of Italy, and found, while all the other nations were born, grew up, played their part inthe world, then fell to reappear no more in the same power, a singlecity was privileged by God to die only to rise again greater thanbefore, to fulfil a mission greater than the first. I saw the Romeof the Empire extend her conquests from the confines of Africa to theconfines of Asia. I saw Rome perish, crushed by the barbarians, bythose whom even yet the world, calls barbarians. I saw her riseagain, after having chased away these same barbarians, reviving inits sepulchre the germ of Civilization. I saw her rise more greatfor conquest, not with arms, but with words, --rise in the name of thePopes to repeat her grand mission. I said in my heart, the city whichalone in the world has had two grand lives, one greater than theother, will have a third. After the Rome which wrought by conquest ofarms, the Rome which wrought by conquest of words, must come a thirdwhich shall work by virtue of example. After the Rome of the Emperors, after the Rome of the Popes, will come the Rome of the People. TheRome of the People is arisen; do not salute with applauses, but letus rejoice together! I cannot promise anything for myself, exceptconcurrence in all you shall do for the good of Rome, of Italy, ofmankind. Perhaps we shall have to pass through great crises; perhapswe shall have to fight a sacred battle against the only enemy thatthreatens us, --Austria. We will fight it, and we will conquer. I hope, please God, that foreigners may not be able to say any more that whichso many of them repeat to-day, speaking of our affairs, --that thelight which, comes from Rome is only an _ignis fatuus_ wandering amongthe tombs. The world shall see that it is a starry light, eternal, pure, and resplendent as those we look up to in the heavens!"

On a later day he spoke more fully of the difficulties that threatenat home the young republic, and said:--

"Let us not hear of Right, of Left, of Centre; these terms expressthe three powers in a constitutional monarchy; for us they haveno meaning; the only divisions for us are of Republicans ornon-Republicans, --or of sincere men and temporizing men. Let us nothear so much of the Republicans of to-day and of yesterday; I am aRepublican of twenty years' standing. Entertaining such hopes forItaly, when many excellent, many sincere men held them as Utopian, shall I denounce these men because they are now convinced of theirpracticability?"

This last I quote from memory. In hearing the gentle tone ofremonstrance with those of more petty mind, or influenced by thepassions of the partisan, I was forcibly reminded of the parable byJesus, of the vineyard and the discontent of the laborers that thosewho came at the eleventh hour "received also a penny. " Mazzini also iscontent that all should fare alike as brethren, if only they will comeinto the vineyard. He is not an orator, but the simple conversationaltone of his address is in refreshing contrast with the boyish rhetoricand academic swell common to Italian speakers in the present unfledgedstate. As they have freer use of the power of debate, they willbecome more simple and manly. The speech of Mazzini is laden withthought, --it goes straight to the mark by the shortest path, and moveswithout effort, from the irresistible impression of deep convictionand fidelity in the speaker. Mazzini is a man of genius, an elevatedthinker; but the most powerful and first impression from his presencemust always be of the religion of his soul, of his _virtue_, both inthe modern and antique sense of that word. 

If clearness of right, if energy, if indefatigable perseverance, cansteer the ship through this dangerous pass, it will be done. He said, "We will conquer"; whether Rome will, this time, is not to me certain, but such men as Mazzini conquer always, --conquer in defeat. Yet Heavengrant that no more blood, no more corruption of priestly government, be for Italy. It could only be for once more, for the strength, of herpresent impulse would not fail to triumph at last; but even one moretrial seems too intolerably much, when I think of the holocaust of thebroken hearts, baffled lives, that must attend it. 

But enough of politics for the present; this letter goes by privatehand, and, as news, will be superseded before it can arrive. 

Let me rather take the opportunity to say some things that I have letlie by, while writing of political events. Especially of our artists Iwish to say something. I know many of thorn, if not all, and see withpleasure our young country so fairly represented. 

Among the painters I saw of Brown only two or three pictures at theexhibition in Florence; they were coarse, flashy things. I was toldhe could do better; but a man who indulges himself with such, coarsesale-work cannot surely do well at any time. 

The merits of Terry and Freeman are not my merits; they are besideboth favorites in our country, and have a sufficient number ofpictures there for every one to judge. I am no connoisseur as regardsthe technical merits of paintings; it is only poetic invention, or atender feeling of nature, which captivates me. 

Terry loves grace, and consciously works from the model. The result isa pleasing transposition of the hues of this clime. But the design ofthe picture is never original, nor is it laden with any message from, the heart. Of Freeman I know less; as the two or three pictures of histhat I have seen never interested me. I have not visited his studio. 

Of Hicks I think very highly. He is a man of ideas, an originalobserver, and with a poetic heart. His system of coloring is derivedfrom a thoughtful study, not a mere imitation of nature, and showsthe fineness of his organization. Struggling unaided to pursue theexpensive studies of his art, he has had only a small studio, andreceived only orders for little cabinet pictures. Could, he carry outadequately his ideas, in him would be found the treasure of genius. Hehas made the drawings for a large picture of many figures; the designis original and noble, the grouping highly effective. Could he paintthis picture, I believe it would be a real boon to the lovers of art, the lovers of truth. I hope very much that, when he returns to theUnited States, some competent patron of art--one of the few who havemind as well as purse--will see the drawings and order the picture. Otherwise he cannot paint it, as the expenses attendant on modelsfor so many figures, &c. Are great, and the time demanded could nototherwise be taken from the claims of the day. 

Among landscape painters Cropsey and Cranch have the true artistspirit. In faculties, each has what the other wants. Cropsey is areverent and careful student of nature in detail; it is no pedantry, but a true love he has, and his pictures are full of little, gentlesigns of intimacy. They please and touch; but yet in poetic feelingof the heart of nature he is not equal to Cranch, who producesfine effects by means more superficial, and, on examination, lesssatisfactory. Each might take somewhat from the other to advantage, could he do it without diminishing his own original dower. Both areartists of high promise, and deserve to be loved and cherished bya country which may, without presumption, hope to carry landscapepainting to a pitch of excellence unreached before. For the historicalpainter, the position with us is, for many reasons, not favorable;but there is no bar in the way of the landscape painter, and fate, bestowing such a prodigality of subject, seems to give us a hint notto be mistaken. I think the love of landscape painting is genuine inour nation, and as it is a branch of art where achievement has beencomparatively low, we may not unreasonably suppose it has been leftfor us. I trust it will be undertaken in the highest spirit. Nature, it seems to me, reveals herself more freely in our land; she is true, virgin, and confiding, --she smiles upon the vision of a true Endymion. I hope to see, not only copies upon canvas of our magnificent scenes, but a transfusion of the spirit which is their divinity. 

Then why should the American landscape painter come to Italy? crymany. I think, myself, he ought not to stay here very long. Yet a fewyears' study is precious, for here Nature herself has worked with man, as if she wanted to help him in the composition of pictures. The ruinsof Italy, in their varied relations with vegetation and the heavens, make speeches from every stone for instruction of the artist; thegreatest variety here is found with the greatest harmony. To know howthis union may be accomplished is a main secret of art, and though thecoloring is not the same, yet he who has the key to its mysteries ofbeauty is the more initiated to the same in other climates, andwill easily attune afresh his more instructed eye and mind to thecontemplation of that which moulded his childhood. 

I may observe of the two artists I have named, that Cranch has enteredmore into the spirit of Italian landscape, while Cropsey is still moredistinguished on subjects such as he first loved. He seemed to findthe Scotch lake and mountain scenery very congenial; his sketches andpictures taken from a short residence there are impressive. Perhaps amelancholy or tender subject suits him best; something rich, bold, andmellow is more adapted to call out the genius of Cranch. 

Among the sculptors new names rise up, to show that this is decidedlya province for hope in America. I look upon this as the natural talentof an American, and have no doubt that glories will be displayed byour sculptors unknown to classic art. The facts of our history, idealand social, will be grand and of new import; it is perfectly naturalto the American to mould in clay and carve in stone. The permanence ofmaterial and solid, relief in the forms correspond to the positivenessof his nature better than the mere ephemeral and even tricky methodsof the painter, --to his need of motion and action, better thanthe chambered scribbling of the poet. He will thus record his bestexperiences, and these records will adorn the noble structures thatmust naturally arise for the public uses of our society. 

It is particularly gratifying to see men that might amass far moremoney and attain more temporary power in other things, despise thoselower lures, too powerful in our country, and aim only at excellencein the expression of thought. Among these I may mention Story andMozier. Story has made in Florence the model for a statue of hisfather. This I have not seen, but two statuettes that he modelledhere from the "Fisher" of Goethe pleased me extremely. The languid, meditative reverie of the boy, the morbid tenderness of his nature, ismost happily expressed in the first, as is the fascinated surrender tothe siren murmur of tire flood in the second. He has taken the moment

 "Half drew she him; half sank he in, " &c. 

I hope some one will give him an order to make them in marble. Mozierseemed to have an immediate success. The fidelity and spirit of hisportrait-busts could be appreciated by every one; for an ideal head ofPocahontas, too, he had at once orders for many copies. It was notan Indian head, but, in the union of sweetness and strength with aprincelike, childlike dignity, very happily expressive of his idea ofher character. I think he has modelled a Rebecca at the Well, but thisI did not see. 

These have already a firm hold on the affections of our people; everyAmerican who comes to Italy visits their studios, and speaks of themwith pride, as indeed they well may, in comparing them with artists ofother nations. It will not be long before you see Greenough's group;it is in spirit a pendant to Cooper's novels. I confess I wish hehad availed himself of the opportunity to immortalize the real nobleIndian in marble. This is only the man of the woods, --no Metamora, noUncas. But the group should be very instructive to our people. 

You seem as crazy about Powers's Greek Slave as the Florentines wereabout Cimabue's Madonnas, in which we still see the spark of genius, but not fanned to its full flame. If your enthusiasm be as genuine asthat of the lively Florentines, we will not quarrel with it; but Iam afraid a great part is drawing-room rapture and newspaper echo. Genuine enthusiasm, however crude the state of mind from which itsprings, always elevates, always educates; but in the same proportiontalking and writing for effect stultifies and debases. I shall notjudge the adorers of the Greek Slave, but only observe, that they havenot kept in reserve any higher admiration for works even now extant, which are, in comparison with that statue, what that statue iscompared with any weeping marble on a common monument. 

I consider the Slave as a form of simple and sweet beauty, but thatneither as an ideal expression nor a specimen of plastic power is ittranscendent. Powers stands far higher in his busts than in any idealstatue. His conception of what is individual in character is clearand just, his power of execution almost unrivalled; but he has had alifetime of discipline for the bust, while his studies on the humanbody are comparatively limited; nor is his treatment of it free andmasterly. To me, his conception of subject is not striking: I do notconsider him rich in artistic thought. 

He, no less than Greenough and Crawford, would feel it a rich rewardfor many labors, and a happy climax to their honors, to make anequestrian statue of Washington for our country. I wish they might alldo it, as each would show a different kind of excellence. To presentthe man on horseback, the wise centaur, the tamer of horses, may wellbe deemed a high achievement of modern, as it was of ancient art. Thestudy of the anatomy and action of the horse, so rich in suggestions, is naturally most desirable to the artist; happy he who, obligedby the brevity of life and the limitations of fortune, to make hisstudies conform to his "orders, " finds himself justified by a nationalbehest in entering on this department. 

At home one gets callous about the character of Washington, from along experience of Fourth of July bombast in his praise. But seeingthe struggles of other nations, and the deficiencies of the leaderswho try to sustain them, the heart is again stimulated, and puts forthbuds of praise. One appreciates the wonderful combination of eventsand influences that gave our independence so healthy a birth, and thealmost miraculous merits of the men who tended its first motions. Inthe combination of excellences needed at such a period with the purityand modesty which dignify the private man in the humblest station, Washington as yet stands alone. No country has ever had such a goodfuture; no other is so happy as to have a pattern of spotless worthwhich will remain in her latest day venerable as now. 

Surely, then, that form should be immortalized in material solid asits fame; and, happily for the artist, that form was of natural beautyand dignity, and he who places him on horseback simply represents hishabitual existence. Everything concurs to make an equestrian statue ofWashington desirable. 

The dignified way to manage that affair would be to have a committeechosen of impartial judges, men who would look only to the merits ofthe work and the interests of the country, unbiassed by any personalinterest in favor of some one artist. It is said it is impossible tofind such a committee, but I cannot believe it. Let there be put asidethe mean squabbles and jealousies, the vulgar pushing of unworthyfriends, with which, unhappily, the artist's career seems more rifethan any other, and a fair concurrence established; let each artistoffer his design for an equestrian statue of Washington, and let thebest have the preference. 

Mr. Crawford has made a design which he takes with him to America, andwhich, I hope, will be generally seen. He has represented Washingtonin his actual dress; a figure of Fame, winged, presents the laurel andcivic wreath; his gesture declines them; he seems to say, "For me thedeed is enough, --I need no badge, no outward, token in reward. "

This group has no insipid, allegorical air, as might be supposed; andits composition is very graceful, simple, and harmonious. The costumeis very happily managed. The angel figure is draped, and with, theliberty-cap, which, as a badge both of ancient and modern times, seemsto connect the two figures, and in an artistic point of view balanceswell the cocked hat; there is a similar harmony between the angel'swings and the extremities of the horse. The action of the wingedfigure induces a natural and spirited action of the horse and rider. Ithought of Goethe's remark, that a fine work of art will always have, at a distance, where its details cannot be discerned, a beautifuleffect, as of architectural ornament, and that this excellence thegroups of Raphael share with the antique. He would have been pleasedwith the beautiful balance of forms in this group, with the freedomwith which light and air play in and out, the management of the wholebeing clear and satisfactory at the first glance. But one should gointo a great number of studies, as you can in Rome or Florence, andsee the abundance of heavy and inharmonious designs to appreciate themerits of this; anything really good seems so simple and so a matterof course to the unpractised observer. 

Some say the Americans will not want a group, but just the fact; theportrait of Washington riding straight onward, like Marcus Aurelius, or making an address, or lifting his sword. I do not know aboutthat, --it is a matter of feeling. This winged figure not only givesa poetic sense to the group, but a natural support and occasion foraction to the horse and rider. Uncle Sam must send Major Downing tolook at it, and then, if he wants other designs, let him establisha concurrence, as I have said, and choose what is best. I am notparticularly attached to Mr. Greenough, Mr. Powers, or Mr. Crawford. Iadmire various excellences in the works of each, and should be gladif each received an order for an equestrian statue. Nor is there anyreason why they should not. There is money enough in the country, andthe more good things there are for the people to see freely in opendaylight, the better. That makes artists germinate. 

I love the artists, though I cannot speak of their works in a way tocontent their friends, or even themselves, often. Who can, that has astandard of excellence in the mind, and a delicate conscience inthe use of words? My highest tribute is meagre of superlatives incomparison with the hackneyed puffs with which artists submit tobe besmeared. Submit? alas! often they court them, rather. I do notexpect any kindness from my contemporaries. I know that what is tome justice and honor is to them only a hateful coldness. Still Ilove them, I wish for their good, I feel deeply for their sufferings, annoyances, privations, and would lessen them if I could. I havethought it might perhaps be of use to publish some account of theexpenses of the artist. There is a general impression, that the artistlives very cheaply in Italy. This is a mistake. Italy, comparedwith America, is not so very cheap, except for those who have ironconstitutions to endure bad food, eaten in bad air, damp and dirtylodgings. The expenses, even in Florence, of a simple but clean andwholesome life, are little less than in New York. The great differenceis for people that are rich. An Englishman of rank and fortune doesnot need the same amount of luxury as at home, to be on a footing withthe nobles of Italy. The Broadway merchant would find his display ofmahogany and carpets thrown away in a country where a higher kind ofornament is the only one available. But poor people, who can, at anyrate, buy only the necessaries of life, will find them in the Italiancities, where all sellers live by cheating foreigners, very littlecheaper than in America. 

The patrons of Art in America, ignorant of these facts, and notknowing the great expenses which attend the study of Art and theproduction of its wonders, are often guilty of most undesignedcruelty, and do things which it would grieve their hearts to havedone, if they only knew the facts. They have read essays on the usesof adversity in developing genius, and they are not sufficientlyafraid to administer a dose of adversity beyond what the forces ofthe patient can bear. Laudanum in drops is useful as a medicine, but acupful kills downright. 

Beside this romantic idea about letting artists suffer to developtheir genius, the American Męcenas is not sufficiently aware ofthe expenses attendant on producing the work he wants. He does notconsider that the painter, the sculptor, must be paid for the timehe spends in designing and moulding, no less than in painting andcarving; that he must have his bread and sleeping-house, his workhouseor studio, his marbles and colors, --the sculptor his workmen; so thatif the price be paid he asks, a modest and delicate man very commonlyreceives _no_ guerdon for his thought, --the real essence of thework, --except the luxury of seeing it embodied, which he could nototherwise have afforded, The American Męcenas often pushes the pricedown, not from want of generosity, but from a habit of making what arecalled good bargains, --i. E. Bargains for one's own advantage at theexpense of a poorer brother. Those who call these good do not believethat

 "Mankind is one, And beats with one great heart. "

They have not read the life of Jesus Christ. 

Then the American Męcenas sometimes, after ordering a work, has beenknown to change his mind when the statue is already modelled. It isthe American who does these things, because an American, who eitherfrom taste or vanity buys a picture, is often quite uneducated as tothe arts, and cannot understand why a little picture or figure costsso much money. The Englishman or Frenchman, of a suitable position toseek these adornments for his house, usually understands better thanthe visitor of Powers who, on hearing the price of the Proserpine, wonderingly asked, "Isn't statuary riz lately?" Queen Victoria ofEngland, and her Albert, it is said, use their royal privilege to getworks of art at a price below their value; but their subjects would beashamed to do so. 

To supply means of judging to the American merchant (full of kindnessand honorable sympathy as beneath the crust he so often is) who wantspictures and statues, not merely from ostentation, but as means ofdelight and improvement to himself and his friends, who has a soul torespect the genius and desire the happiness of the artist, and who, if he errs, does so from ignorance of the circumstances, I give thefollowing memorandum, made at my desire by an artist, my neighbor:--

"The rent of a suitable studio for modelling in clay and executingstatues in marble may be estimated at $200 a year. 

"The best journeyman carver in marble at Rome receives $60 a month. Models are paid $1 a day. 

"The cost of marble varies according to the size of the block, beinggenerally sold by the cubic palm, a square of nine inches English. As a general guide regarding the prices established among the highersculptors of Rome, I may mention that for a statue of life-size thedemand is from $1, 000 to $5, 000, varying according to the compositionof the figure and the number of accessories. 

"It is a common belief in the United States, that a student of Art canlive in Italy and pursue his studies on an income of $300 or $400 ayear. This is a lamentable error; the Russian government allows itspensioners $700, which is scarcely sufficient. $1, 000 per annum shouldbe placed at the disposal of every young artist leaving our countryfor Europe. "

Let it be remembered, in addition to considerations inevitablefrom this memorandum, that an artist may after years and months ofuncheered and difficult toil, after he has gone through the earlierstages of an education, find it too largely based, and of aim toohigh, to finish in this world. 

The Prussian artist here on my left hand learned not only his art, but reading and writing, after he was thirty. A farmer's son, he wasallowed no freedom to learn anything till the death of the head ofthe house left him a beggar, but set him free; he walked to Berlin, distant several hundred miles, attracted by his first works someattention, and received some assistance in money, earned more byinvention of a ploughshare, walked to Rome, struggled through everyprivation, and has now a reputation which has secured him the means ofputting his thoughts into marble. True, at forty-nine years of age heis still severely poor; he cannot marry, because he cannot maintain afamily; but he is cheerful, because he can work in his own way, trustswith childlike reliance in God, and is still sustained by the vigoroushealth he won laboring in his father's fields. Not every mancould continue to work, circumstanced as he is, at the end of thehalf-century. For him the only sad thing in my mind is that his worksare not worth working, though of merit in composition and execution, yet ideally a product of the galvanized piety of the German school, more mutton-like than lamb-like to my unchurched eyes. 

You are likely to have a work to look at in the United States by thegreat master of that school, Overbeck; Mr. Perkins of Boston, whoknows how to spend his money with equal generosity and discretion, having bought his "Wise and Foolish Virgins. " It will be precious tothe country from great artistic merits. As to the spirit, "blessed arethe poor in spirit. " That kind of severity is, perhaps has become, thenature of Overbeck. He seems like a monk, but a really pious and pureone. This spirit is not what I seek; I deem it too narrow for ourday, but being deeply sincere in him, its expression is at times alsodeeply touching. Barabbas borne in triumph, and the child Jesus, who, playing with his father's tools, has made himself a cross, aresubjects best adapted for expression of this spirit. 

I have written too carelessly, --much writing hath made me mad of late. Forgive if the "style be not neat, terse, and sparkling, " if there benaught of the "thrilling, " if the sentences seem not "written with adiamond pen, " like all else that is published in America. Some time Imust try to do better. For this time

 "Forgive my faults; forgive my virtues too. "

March 21. 

Day before yesterday was the Feast of St. Joseph. He is supposed tohave acquired a fondness for fried rice-cakes during his residencein Egypt. Many are eaten in the open street, in arbors made for theoccasion. One was made beneath my window, on Piazza Barberini. All theday and evening men, cleanly dressed in white aprons and libertycaps, quite new, of fine, red cloth, were frying cakes for crowds oflaughing, gesticulating customers. It rained a little, and they heldan umbrella over the frying-pan, but not over themselves. The arboris still there, and little children are playing in and out of it; onestill lesser runs in its leading-strings, followed by the bold, gaynurse, to the brink of the fountain, after its orange which hasrolled before it. Tenerani's workmen are coming out of his studio, the priests are coming home from Ponte Pio, the Contadini beginningto play at _moro_, for the setting sun has just lit up the magnificentrange of windows in the Palazzo Barberini, and then faded tenderly, sadly away, and the mellow bells have chimed the Ave Maria. Rome looksas Roman, that is to say as tranquil, as ever, despite the troublethat tugs at her heart-strings. There is a report that Mazzini is tobe made Dictator, as Manin is in Venice, for a short time, so as toprovide hastily and energetically for the war. Ave Maria Sanissima!when thou didst gaze on thy babe with such infinite hope, thou didstnot dream that, so many ages after, blood would be shed and cursesuttered in his name. Madonna Addolorata! hadst thou not hoped peaceand good-will would spring from his bloody woes, couldst thou haveborne those hours at the foot of the cross. O Stella! woman's heart oflove, send yet a ray of pure light on this troubled deep?

LETTER XXX. 

THE STRUGGLE IN ROME. --POSITION OF THE FRENCH. --THEAUSTRIANS. --FEELING OF THE ROMAN PEOPLE. --THE FRENCH TROOPS. --EFFECTSOF WAR. --HOSPITALS. --THE PRINCESS BELGIOIOSO. --POSITION OF MR. CASS ASENVOY. --DIFFICULTIES AND SUGGESTIONS. --AMERICA AND ROME. --REFLECTIONSON THE ETERNAL CITY. --THE FRENCH: THE PEOPLE. 

Rome, May 27, 1849. 

I have suspended writing in the expectation of some decisive event;but none such comes yet. The French, entangled in a web of falsehood, abashed by a defeat that Oudinot has vainly tried to gloss over, theexpedition disowned by all honorable men at home, disappointed atGaėta, not daring to go the length Papal infatuation demands, know notwhat to do. The Neapolitans have been decidedly driven back into theirown borders, the last time in a most shameful rout, their king flyingin front. We have heard for several days that the Austrians wereadvancing, but they come not. They also, it is probable, meet withunexpected embarrassments. They find that the sincere movement of theItalian people is very unlike that of troops commanded by princesand generals who never wished to conquer and were always waiting tobetray. Then their troubles at home are constantly increasing, and, should the Russian intervention quell these to-day, it is only toraise a storm far more terrible to-morrow. 

The struggle is now fairly, thoroughly commenced between the principleof democracy and the old powers, no longer legitimate. That strugglemay last fifty years, and the earth be watered with the blood andtears of more than one generation, but the result is sure. All Europe, including Great Britain, where the most bitter resistance of all willbe made, is to be under republican government in the next century. 

 "God moves in a mysterious way. "

Every struggle made by the old tyrannies, all their Jesuiticaldeceptions, their rapacity, their imprisonments and executions of themost generous men, only sow more dragon's teeth; the crop shoots updaily more and more plenteous. 

When I first arrived in Italy, the vast majority of this people had nowish beyond limited monarchies, constitutional governments. They stillrespected the famous names of the nobility; they despised the priests, but were still fondly attached to the dogmas and ritual of the RomanCatholic Church. It required King Bomba, the triple treacheryof Charles Albert, Pius IX. , and the "illustrious Gioberti, " thenaturally kind-hearted, but, from the necessity of his position, cowardly and false Leopold of Tuscany, the vagabond "serene"meannesses of Parma and Modena, the "fatherly" Radetzsky, and, finally, the imbecile Louis Bonaparte, "would-be Emperor of France, "to convince this people that no transition is possible between theold and the new. _The work is done_; the revolution in Italy is nowradical, nor can it stop till Italy becomes independent and united asa republic. Protestant she already is, and though the memory of saintsand martyrs may continue to be revered, the ideal of woman to beadored under the name of Mary, yet Christ will now begin to be alittle thought of; _his_ idea has always been kept carefully out ofsight under the old _régime_; all the worship being for the Madonnaand saints, who were to be well paid for interceding for sinners;--anexample which might make men cease to be such, was no way coveted. Nowthe New Testament has been translated into Italian; copies are alreadydispersed far and wide; men calling themselves Christians will nolonger be left entirely ignorant of the precepts and life of Jesus. 

The people of Rome have burnt the Cardinals' carriages. They took theconfessionals out of the churches, and made mock confessions in thepiazzas, the scope of which was, "I have sinned, father, so and so. ""Well, my son, how much will you _pay_ to the Church for absolution?"Afterward the people thought of burning the confessionals, or usingthem for barricades; but at the request of the Triumvirate theydesisted, and even put them back into the churches. But it was from noreaction of feeling that they stopped short, only from respect forthe government. The "Tartuffe" of Moličre has been translated intoItalian, and was last night performed with great applause at theValle. Can all this be forgotten? Never! Should guns and bayonetsreplace the Pope on the throne, he will find its foundations, oncedeep as modern civilization, now so undermined that it falls with theleast awkward movement. 

But I cannot believe he will be replaced there. France alone couldconsummate that crime, --that, for her, most cruel, most infamoustreason. The elections in France will decide. In three or four dayswe shall know whether the French nation at large be guilty orno, --whether it be the will of the nation to aid or strive to ruin agovernment founded on precisely the same basis as their own. 

I do not dare to trust that people. The peasant is yet very ignorant. The suffering workman is frightened as he thinks of the punishmentsthat ensued on the insurrections of May and June. The man of propertyis full of horror at the brotherly scope of Socialism. The aristocratdreams of the guillotine always when he hears men speak of the people. The influence of the Jesuits is still immense in France. Both inFrance and England the grossest falsehoods have been circulated withunwearied diligence about the state of things in Italy. An amusingspecimen of what is still done in this line I find just now in aforeign journal, where it says there are red flags on all the housesof Rome; meaning to imply that the Romans are athirst for blood. Now, the fact is, that these flags are put up at the entrance of thosestreets where there is no barricade, as a signal to coachmen andhorsemen that they can pass freely. There is one on the house whereI am, in which is no person but myself, who thirst for peace, and thePadrone, who thirsts for money. 

Meanwhile the French troops are encamped at a little distance fromRome. Some attempts at fair and equal treaty when their desire tooccupy Rome was firmly resisted, Oudinot describes in his despatchesas a readiness for _submission_. Having tried in vain to gain thispoint, he has sent to France for fresh orders. These will be decidedby the turn the election takes. Meanwhile the French troops are muchexposed to the Roman force where they are. Should the Austrians comeup, what will they do? Will they shamelessly fraternize with theFrench, after pretending and proclaiming that they came here as acheck upon their aggressions? Will they oppose them in defence ofRome, with which they are at war?

Ah! the way of falsehood, the way of treachery, --how dark, how full ofpitfalls and traps! Heaven defend from it all who are not yet engagedtherein!

War near at hand seems to me even more dreadful than I had fanciedit. True, it tries men's souls, lays bare selfishness in undeniabledeformity. Here it has produced much fruit of noble sentiment, nobleact; but still it breeds vice too, drunkenness, mental dissipation, tears asunder the tenderest ties, lavishes the productions of Earth, for which her starving poor stretch out their hands in vain, in themost unprofitable manner. And the ruin that ensues, how terrible! Letthose who have ever passed happy days in Rome grieve to hear thatthe beautiful plantations of Villa Borghese--that chief delight andrefreshment of citizens, foreigners, and little children--are laidlow, as far as the obelisk. The fountain, singing alone amid thefallen groves, cannot be seen and heard without tears; it seems likesome innocent infant calling and crowing amid dead bodies on a fieldwhich battle has strewn with the bodies of those who once cherishedit. The plantations of Villa Salvage on the Tiber, also, the beautifultrees on the way from St. John Lateran to La Maria Maggiore, the treesof the Forum, are fallen. Rome is shorn of the locks which lent graceto her venerable brow. She looks desolate, profaned. I feel what Inever expected to, --as if I might by and by be willing to leave Rome. 

Then I have, for the first time, seen what wounded men suffer. Thenight of the 30th of April I passed in the hospital, and saw theterrible agonies of those dying or who needed amputation, felt theirmental pains and longing for the loved ones who were away; for many ofthese were Lombards, who had come from the field of Novarra to fightwith a fairer chance, --many were students of the University, who hadenlisted and thrown themselves into the front of the engagement. Theimpudent falsehoods of the French general's despatches are incredible. The French were never decoyed on in any way. They were received withevery possible mark of hostility. They were defeated in open field, the Garibaldi legion rushing out to meet them; and though theysuffered much from the walls, they sustained themselves nowhere. Theynever put up a white flag till they wished to surrender. The vanitythat strives to cover over these facts is unworthy of men. The onlyexcuse for the imprudent conduct of the expedition is that they weredeceived, not by the Romans here, but by the priests of Gaėta, leadingthem to expect action in their favor within the walls. These prieststhemselves were deluded by their hopes and old habits of mind. Thetroops did not fight well, and General Oudinot abandoned his woundedwithout proper care. All this says nothing against French valor, proved by ages of glory, beyond the doubt of their worst foes. Theywere demoralized because they fought in so bad a cause, and there wasno sincere ardor or clear hope in any breast. 

But to return to the hospitals: these were put in order, and have beenkept so, by the Princess Belgioioso. The princess was born of oneof the noblest families of the Milanese, a descendant of the greatTrivalzio, and inherited a large fortune. Very early she compromisedit in liberal movements, and, on their failure, was obliged to fly toParis, where for a time she maintained herself by writing, and Ithink by painting also. A princess so placed naturally excited greatinterest, and she drew around her a little court of celebrated men. After recovering her fortune, she still lived in Paris, distinguishedfor her talents and munificence, both toward literary men and herexiled countrymen. Later, on her estate, called Locate, between Paviaand Milan, she had made experiments in the Socialist direction withfine judgment and success. Association for education, for labor, fortransaction of household affairs, had been carried on for severalyears; she had spared no devotion of time and money to this object, loved, and was much beloved by, those objects of her care, and saidshe hoped to die there. All is now despoiled and broken up, though itmay be hoped that some seeds of peaceful reform have been sown whichwill spring to light when least expected. The princess returned toItaly in 1847-8, full of hope in Pius IX and Charles Albert. Sheshowed her usual energy and truly princely heart, sustaining, at herown expense, a company of soldiers and a journal up to the last sadbetrayal of Milan, August 6th. These days undeceived all the people, but few of the noblesse; she was one of the few with mind strongenough to understand the lesson, and is now warmly interested in therepublican movement. From Milan she went to France, but, findingit impossible to effect anything serious there in behalf of Italy, returned, and has been in Rome about two months. Since leavingMilan she receives no income, her possessions being in the grasp ofRadetzky, and cannot know when, if ever, she will again. But asshe worked so largely and well with money, so can she without. Shepublished an invitation to the Roman women to make lint and bandages, and offer their services to the wounded; she put the hospitals inorder; in the central one, Trinita de Pellegrini, once the abode wherethe pilgrims were received during holy week, and where foreignerswere entertained by seeing their feet washed by the noble dames anddignitaries of Rome, she has remained day and night since the 30th ofApril, when the wounded were first there. Some money she procured atfirst by going through Rome, accompanied by two other ladies veiled, to beg it. Afterward the voluntary contributions were generous; amongthe rest, I am proud to say, the Americans in Rome gave $250, of whicha handsome portion came from Mr. Brown, the Consul. 

I value this mark of sympathy more because of the irritation andsurprise occasioned here by the position of Mr. Cass, the Envoy. It ismost unfortunate that we should have an envoy here for the firsttime, just to offend and disappoint the Romans. When all the otherambassadors are at Gaėta, ours is in Rome, as if by his presence todiscountenance the republican government, which he does not recognize. Mr. Cass, it seems, is required by his instructions not to recognizethe government till sure it can be sustained. Now it seems to me thatthe only dignified ground for our government, the only legitimateground for any republican government, is to recognize for any nationthe government chosen by itself. The suffrage had been correct here, and the proportion of votes to the whole population was much larger, it was said by Americans here, than it is in our own country at thetime of contested elections. It had elected an Assembly; that Assemblyhad appointed, to meet the exigencies of this time, the Triumvirate. If any misrepresentations have induced America to believe, as Franceaffects to have believed, that so large a vote could have beenobtained by moral intimidation, the present unanimity of thepopulation in resisting such immense odds, and the enthusiasm of theirevery expression in favor of the present government, puts the matterbeyond a doubt. The Roman people claims once more to have a nationalexistence. It declines further serfdom to an ecclesiastical court. It claims liberty of conscience, of action, and of thought. Should itfall from its present position, it will not be from, internal dissent, but from foreign oppression. 

Since this is the case, surely our country, if no other, is bound torecognize the present government _so long as it can sustain itself_. This position is that to which we have a right: being such, it is nomatter how it is viewed by others. But I dare assert it is the onlyrespectable one for our country, in the eyes of the Emperor of Russiahimself. 

The first, best occasion is past, when Mr. Cass might, had he beenempowered to act as Mr. Rush did in France, have morally strengthenedthe staggering republic, which would have found sympathy where aloneit is of permanent value, on the basis of principle. Had it been invain, what then? America would have acted honorably; as to our beingcompromised thereby with the Papal government, that fear is idle. Popeand Cardinals have great hopes from America; the giant influence thereis kept up with the greatest care; the number of Catholic writersin the United States, too, carefully counted. Had our republicangovernment acknowledged this republican government, the PapalCamarilla would have respected us more, but not loved us less; forhave we not the loaves and fishes to give, as well as the precioussouls to be saved? Ah! here, indeed, America might go straightforwardwith all needful impunity. Bishop Hughes himself need not beanxious. That first, best occasion has passed, and the unrecognized, unrecognizing Envoy has given offence, and not comfort, by a presencethat seemed constantly to say, I do not think you can sustainyourselves. It has wounded both the heart and the pride of Rome. Someof the lowest people have asked me, "Is it not true that your countryhad a war to become free?" "Yes. " "Then why do they not feel for us?"

Yet even now it is not too late. If America would only hailtriumphant, though she could not sustain injured Rome, that wouldbe something. "Can you suppose Rome will triumph, " you say, "withoutmoney, and against so potent a league of foes?" I am not sure, butI hope, for I believe something in the heart of a people when fairlyawakened. I have also a lurking confidence in what our fathers spokeof so constantly, a providential order of things, by which brute forceand selfish enterprise are sometimes set at naught by aid which seemsto descend from a higher sphere. Even old pagans believed in that, you know; and I was born in America, Christianized by thePuritans, --America, freed by eight years' patient suffering, poverty, and struggle, --America, so cheered in dark days by one spark ofsympathy from a foreign shore, --America, first "recognized" byLafayette. I saw him when traversing our country, then great, rich, and free. Millions of men who owed in part their happiness to what, nodoubt, was once sneered at as romantic sympathy, threw garlands in hispath. It is natural that I should have some faith. 

Send, dear America! to thy ambassadors a talisman precious beyond allthat boasted gold of California. Let it loose his tongue to cry, "Longlive the Republic, and may God bless the cause of the people, thebrotherhood of nations and of men, --equality of rights for all. " _VivaAmerica!_

Hail to my country! May she live a free, a glorious, a lovinglife, and not perish, like the old dominions, from, the leprosy ofselfishness. 

Evening. 

I am alone in the ghostly silence of a great house, not long sincefull of gay faces and echoing with gay voices, now deserted by everyone but me, --for almost all foreigners are gone now, driven by forceeither of the summer heats or the foe. I hear all the Spaniards aregoing now, --that twenty-one have taken passports to-day; why that is, I do not know. 

I shall not go till the last moment; my only fear is of France. Icannot think in any case there would be found men willing to damnthemselves to latest posterity by bombarding Rome. Other cities theymay treat thus, careless of destroying the innocent and helpless, thebabe and old grandsire who cannot war against them. But Rome, preciousinheritance of mankind, --will they run the risk of marring her shrinedtreasures? Would they dare do it?

Two of the balls that struck St. Peter's have been sent to Pius IX. Byhis children, who find themselves so much less "beloved" than were theAustrians. 

These two days, days of solemn festivity in the calends of the Church, have been duly kept, and the population looks cheerful as it swarmsthrough the streets. The order of Rome, thronged as it is with troops, is amazing. I go from one end to the other, and amid the poorest andmost barbarous of the population, (barbarously ignorant, I mean, )alone and on foot. My friends send out their little children alonewith their nurses. The amount of crime is almost nothing to what itwas. The Roman, no longer pent in ignorance and crouching beneathespionage, no longer stabs in the dark. His energies have true vent;his better feelings are roused; he has thrown aside the stiletto. Thepower here is indeed miraculous, since no doubt still lurk within thewalls many who are eager to incite brawls, if only to give an excusefor slander. 

To-day I suppose twelve thousand Austrians marched into Florence. The Florentines have humbled and disgraced themselves in vain. Theyrecalled the Grand Duke to ward off the entrance of the Austrians, butin vain went the deputation to Gaėta--in an American steamer! Leopoldwas afraid to come till his dear cousins of Austria had put everythingin perfect order; then the Austrians entered to take Leghorn, but theFlorentines still kept on imploring them not to come there; Florencewas as subdued, as good as possible, already:--they have had theanswer they deserved. Now they crown their work by giving overGuerazzi and Petracci to be tried by an Austrian court-martial. Trulythe cup of shame brims over. 

I have been out on the balcony to look over the city. All sleeps withthat peculiar air of serene majesty known to this city only;--thiscity that has grown, not out of the necessities of commerce nor theluxuries of wealth, but first out of heroism, then out of faith. Swelling domes, roofs softly tinted with yellow moss! what deepmeaning, what deep repose, in your faintly seen outline!

The young moon climbs among clouds, --the clouds of a departingthunderstorm. Tender, smiling moon! can it be that thy full orb maylook down on a smoking, smouldering Rome, and see her best blood runalong the stones, without one nation in the world to defend, one toaid, --scarce one to cry out a tardy "Shame"? We will wait, whisper thenations, and see if they can bear it. Rack them well to see if theyare brave. _If they can do without us_, we will help them. Is it thusye would be served in your turn? Beware!

LETTER XXXI. 

THE FRENCH TREASON AT ROME. --OUDINOT. --LESSEPS. --LETTER OF THETRIUMVIRATE. --REPLY OF LESSEPS. --COURSE OF OUDINOT. --THE WOUNDEDITALIANS. --GARIBALDI. --ITALIAN YOUNG MEN. --MILITARY FUNERAL. --HAVOC OFTHE SIEGE. --COURAGE OF MAZZINI. --FALSENESS OF THE LONDON TIMES. 

Rome, June 10, 1849. 

What shall I write of Rome in these sad but glorious days? Plain factsare the best; for my feelings I could not find fit words. 

When I last wrote, the French were playing the second act of theirfarce. 

In the first, the French government affected to consult the Assembly. The Assembly, or a majority of the Assembly, affected to believe thepretext it gave, and voted funds for twelve thousand men to go toCivita Vecchia. Arriving there, Oudinot proclaimed that he had comeas a friend and brother. He was received as such. Immediately he tookpossession of the town, disarmed the Roman troops, and published amanifesto in direct opposition to his first declaration. 

He sends to Rome that he is coming there as a friend; receives theanswer that he is not wanted and cannot be trusted. This answer hechooses to consider as coming from a minority, and advances on Rome. The pretended majority on which he counts never shows itself bya single movement within the walls. He makes an assault, and isdefeated. On this subject his despatches to his government are fullof falsehoods that would disgrace the lowest pickpocket, --falsehoodswhich it is impossible he should not know to be such. 

The Assembly passed a vote of blame. M. Louis Bonaparte writes aletter of compliment and assurance that this course of violence shallbe sustained. In conformity with this promise twelve thousand moretroops are sent. This time it is not thought necessary to consult theAssembly. Let us view the

SECOND ACT. 

Now appears in Rome M. Ferdinand Lesseps, Envoy, &c. Of the Frenchgovernment. He declares himself clothed with full powers to treatwith Rome. He cannot conceal his surprise at all he sees there, atthe ability with which preparations have been made for defence, at thepatriotic enthusiasm which pervades the population. Nevertheless, inbeginning his game of treaty-making, he is not ashamed to insist onthe French occupying the city. Again and again repulsed, he again andagain returns to the charge on this point. And here I shall translatethe letter addressed to him by the Triumvirate, both because of itsperfect candor of statement, and to give an idea of the sweet andnoble temper in which these treacherous aggressions have been met. 

LETTER OF THE TRIUMVIRS TO MONSIEUR LESSEPS. 

"May 25, 1849. 

"We have had the honor, Monsieur, to furnish you, in our note of the16th, with some information as to the unanimous consent which wasgiven to the formation of the government of the Roman Republic. We to-day would speak to you of the actual question, such as it isdebated in fact, if not by right, between the French government andours. You will allow us to do it with the frankness demanded by theurgency of the situation, as well as the sympathy which ought togovern all relations between France and Italy. Our diplomacy is thetruth, and the character given to your mission is a guaranty that thebest possible interpretation will be given to what we shall say toyou. 

"With your permission, we return for an instant to the cause of thepresent situation of affairs. 

"In consequence of conferences and arrangements which took placewithout the government of the Roman Republic ever being called onto take part, it was some time since decided by the CatholicPowers, --1st. That a modification should take place in the governmentand institutions of the Roman States; 2d. That this modificationshould have for basis the return of Pius IX. , not as Pope, for to thatno obstacle is interposed by us, but as temporal sovereign; 3d. That if, to attain that aim, a continuous intervention was judgednecessary, that intervention should take place. 

"We are willing to admit, that while for some of the contractinggovernments the only motive was the hope of a general restoration andabsolute return to the treaties of 1815, the French governmentwas drawn into this agreement only in consequence of erroneousinformation, tending systematically to depict the Roman States asgiven up to anarchy and governed by terror exercised in the name of anaudacious minority. We know also, that, in the modification proposed, the French government intended to represent an influence more or lessliberal, opposed to the absolutist programme of Austria and ofNaples. It does none the less remain true, that under the Apostolic orconstitutional form, with or without liberal guaranties to the Romanpeople, the dominant thought in all the negotiations to which weallude has been some sort of return toward the past, a compromisebetween the Roman people and Pius IX. Considered as temporal prince. 

"We cannot dissemble to ourselves, Monsieur, that the Frenchexpedition has been planned and executed under the inspiration of thisthought. Its object was, on one side, to throw the sword of Franceinto the balance of negotiations which were to be opened at Rome;on the other, to guarantee the Roman people from the excess ofretrograde, but always on condition that it should submit toconstitutional monarchy in favor of the Holy Father. This is assuredto us partly from information which we believe we possess as to theconcert with Austria; from the proclamations of General Oudinot; fromthe formal declarations made by successive envoys to the Triumvirate;from the silence obstinately maintained whenever we have sought toapproach the political question and obtain a formal declaration of thefact proved in our note of the 16th, that the institutions bywhich the Roman people are governed at this time are the free andspontaneous expression of the wish of the people inviolable whenlegally ascertained. For the rest, the vote of the French Assemblysustains implicitly the fact that we affirm. 

"In such a situation, under the menace of an inadmissible compromise, and of negotiations which the state of our people no way provoked, ourpart, Monsieur, could not be doubtful. To resist, --we owed this toour country, to France, to all Europe. We ought, in fulfilment of amandate loyally given, loyally accepted, maintain to our country theinviolability, so far as that was possible to us, of its territory, and of the institutions decreed by all the powers, by all theelements, of the state. We ought to conquer the time needed for appealfrom France ill informed to France better informed, to save the sisterrepublic the disgrace and the remorse which must be hers if, rashlyled on by bad suggestions from without, she became, before she wasaware, accomplice in an act of violence to which we can find noparallel without going back to the partition of Poland in 1772. Weowed it to Europe to maintain, as far as we could, the fundamentalprinciples of all international life, the independence of each peoplein all that concerns its internal administration. We say it withoutpride, --for if it is with enthusiasm that we resist the attempts ofthe Neapolitan monarchy and of Austria, our eternal enemy, it is withprofound grief that we are ourselves constrained to contend with thearms of France, --we believe in following this line of conduct wehave deserved well, not only of our country, but of all the people ofEurope, even of France herself. 

"We come to the actual question. You know, Monsieur, the events whichhave followed the French intervention. Our territory has been invadedby the king of Naples. 

"Four thousand Spaniards were to embark on the 17th for invasion ofthis country. The Austrians, having surmounted the heroic resistanceof Bologna, have advanced into Romagna, and are now marching onAncona. 

"We have beaten and driven out of our territory the forces of the kingof Naples. We believe we should do the same by the Austrian forces, ifthe attitude of the French here did not fetter our action. 

"We are sorry to say it, but France must be informed that theexpedition of Civita Vecchia, said to be planned for our protection, costs us very dear. Of all the interventions with which it is hoped tooverwhelm us, that of the French has been the most perilous. Againstthe soldiers of Austria and the king of Naples we can fight, forGod protects a good cause. But we _do not wish to fight_ againstthe French. We are toward them in a state, not of war, but of simpledefence. But this position, the only one we wish to take whereverwe meet France, has for us all the inconveniences without any of thefavorable chances of war. 

"The French expedition has, from the first, forced us to concentrateour troops, thus leaving our frontier open to Austrian invasion, andBologna and the cities of Romagna unsustained. The Austrians haveprofited by this. After eight days of heroic resistance by thepopulation, Bologna was forced to yield. We had bought in France armsfor our defence. Of these ten thousand muskets have been detainedbetween Marseilles and Civita Vecchia. These are in your hands. Thuswith a single blow you deprive us of ten thousand soldiers. In everyarmed man is a soldier against the Austrians. 

"Your forces are disposed around our walls as if for a siege. Theyremain there without avowed aim or programme. They have forced us tokeep the city in a state of defence which weighs upon our finances. They force us to keep here a body of troops who might be saving ourcities from the occupation and ravages of the Austrians. They hinderour going from place to place, our provisioning the city, our sendingcouriers. They keep minds in a state of excitement and distrust whichmight, if our population were less good and devoted, lead to sinisterresults. They do _not_ engender anarchy nor reaction, for both areimpossible at Rome; but they sow the seed of irritation againstFrance, and it is a misfortune for us who were accustomed to love andhope in her. 

"We are besieged, Monsieur, besieged by France, in the name of aprotective mission, while some leagues off the king of Naples, flying, carries off our hostages, and the Austrian slays our brothers. 

"You have presented propositions. Those propositions have beendeclared inadmissible by the Assembly. To-day you add a fourth tothe three already rejected. This says that France will protect fromforeign invasion all that part of our territory that may be occupiedby her troops. You must yourself feel that this changes nothing in ourposition. 

"The parts of the territory occupied by your troops are in factprotected; but if only for the present, to what are they reduced? andif it is for the future, have we no other way to protect our territorythan by giving it up entirely to you?

"The real intent of your demands is not stated. It is the occupationof Rome. This demand has constantly stood first in your list ofpropositions. Now we have had the honor to say to you, Monsieur, thatis impossible. The people will never consent to it. If the occupationof Rome has for its aim only to protect it, the people thank you, but tell you at the same time, that, able to defend Rome by theirown forces, they would be dishonored even in your eyes by declaringthemselves insufficient, and needing the aid of some regiments ofFrench soldiers. If the occupation has otherwise a political object, which God forbid, the people, who have given themselves freelythese institutions, cannot suffer it. Rome is their capital, theirpalladium, their sacred city. They know very well, that, apart fromtheir principles, apart from their honor, there is civil war at theend of such an occupation. They are filled with distrust by yourpersistence. They foresee, the troops being once admitted, changes inmen and in actions which would be fatal to their liberty. They knowthat, in presence of foreign bayonets, the independence of theirAssembly, of their government, would be a vain word. They have alwaysCivita Vecchia before their eyes. 

"On this point be sure their will is irrevocable. They will bemassacred from barricade to barricade, before they will surrender. Can the soldiers of France wish to massacre a brother people whom theycame to protect, because they do not wish to surrender to them theircapital?

"There are for France only three parts to take in the Roman States. She ought to declare herself for us, against us, or neutral. Todeclare herself for us would be to recognize our republic, and fightside by side with us against the Austrians. To declare against us isto crush without motive the liberty, the national life, of a friendlypeople, and fight side by side with the Austrians. France _cannot_ dothat. She _will not_ risk a European war to depress us, her ally. Lether, then, rest neutral in this conflict between us and our enemies. Only yesterday we hoped more from her, but to-day we demand but this. 

"The occupation of Civita Vecchia is a fact accomplished; let it go. France thinks that, in the present state of things, she ought not toremain distant from the field of battle. She thinks that, vanquishersor vanquished, we may have need of her moderative action and of herprotection. We do not think so; but we will not react against her. Lether keep Civita Vecchia. Let her even extend her encampments, if thenumbers of her troops require it, in the healthy regions of CivitaVecchia and Viterbo. Let her then wait the issue of the combats aboutto take place. All facilities will be offered her, every proof offrank and cordial sympathy given; her officers can visit Rome, hersoldiers have all the solace possible. But let her neutrality besincere and without concealed plans. Let her declare herself inexplicit terms. Let her leave us free to use all our forces. Let herrestore our arms. Let her not by her cruisers drive back from ourports the men who come to our aid from other parts of Italy. Lether, above all, withdraw from before our walls, and cause even theappearance of hostility to cease between two nations who, later, undoubtedly are destined to unite in the same international faith, asnow they have adopted the same form of government. "

In his answer, Lesseps appears moved by this statement, andparticularly expresses himself thus:--

"One point appears above all to occupy you; it is the thought thatwe wish forcibly to impose upon you the obligation of receiving us asfriends. _Friendship and violence are incompatible. _ Thus it wouldbe _inconsistent_ on our part to begin by firing our cannon upon you, since we are your natural protectors. _Such a contradiction entersneither into my intentions, nor those of the government of the Frenchrepublic, nor of our army and its honorable chief. _"

These words were written at the head-quarters of Oudinot, andof course seen and approved by him. At the same time, in privateconversation, "the honorable chief" could swear he would occupy Romeby "one means or another. " A few days after, Lesseps consented toconditions such as the Romans would tolerate. He no longer insisted onoccupying Rome, but would content himself with good positions in thecountry. Oudinot protested that the Plenipotentiary had "exceeded hispowers, "--that he should not obey, --that the armistice was at an end, and he should attack Rome on Monday. It was then Friday. He proposedto leave these two days for the few foreigners that remained toget out of town. M. Lesseps went off to Paris, in great seemingindignation, to get _his_ treaty ratified. Of course we could nothear from him for eight or ten days. Meanwhile, the _honorable_ chief, alike in all his conduct, attacked on Sunday instead of Monday. Theattack began before sunrise, and lasted all day. I saw it from mywindow, which, though distant, commands the gate of St. Pancrazio. Whythe whole force was bent on that part, I do not know. If they couldtake it, the town would be cannonaded, and the barricades useless; butit is the same with the Pincian Gate. Small-parties made feints in twoother directions, but they were at once repelled. The French foughtwith great bravery, and this time it is said with beautiful skill andorder, sheltering themselves in their advance by movable barricades. The Italians fought like lions, and no inch of ground was gained bythe assailants. The loss of the French is said to be very great: itcould not be otherwise. Six or seven hundred Italians are dead orwounded. Among them are many officers, those of Garibaldi especially, who are much exposed by their daring bravery, and whose red tunicmakes them the natural mark of the enemy. It seems to me great follyto wear such a dress amid the dark uniforms; but Garibaldi has alwaysdone it. He has now been wounded twice here and seventeen times inAncona. 

All this week I have been much at the hospitals where are these noblesufferers. They are full of enthusiasm; this time was no treason, noVicenza, no Novara, no Milan. They had not been given up by wickedchiefs at the moment they were shedding their blood, and they hadconquered. All were only anxious to get out again and be at theirposts. They seemed to feel that those who died so gloriously werefortunate; perhaps they were, for if Rome is obliged to yield, --andhow can she stand always unaided against the four powers?--where shallthese noble youths fly? They are the flower of the Italian youth;especially among the Lombards are some of the finest young men I haveever seen. If Rome falls, if Venice falls, there is no spot of Italianearth where they can abide more, and certainly no Italian will wishto take refuge in France. Truly you said, M. Lesseps, "Violence andfriendship are incompatible. "

A military funeral of the officer Ramerino was sadly picturesque andaffecting. The white-robed priests went before the body singing, whilehis brothers in arms bore the lighted tapers. His horse followed, saddled and bridled. The horse hung his head and stepped dejectedly;he felt there was something strange and gloomy going on, --felt thathis master was laid low. Ramerino left a wife and children. A greatproportion of those who run those risks are, happily, alone. Parentsweep, but will not suffer long; their grief is not like that of widowsand children. 

Since the 3d we have only cannonade and skirmishes. The French are attheir trenches, but cannot advance much; they are too much molestedfrom the walls. The Romans have made one very successful sortie. TheFrench availed themselves of a violent thunderstorm, when thewalls were left more thinly guarded, to try to scale them, but wereimmediately driven back. It was thought by many that they never wouldbe willing to throw bombs and shells into Rome, but they do wheneverthey can. That generous hope and faith in them as republicans andbrothers, which put the best construction on their actions, andbelieved in their truth as far as possible, is now destroyed. Thegovernment is false, and the people do not resist; the general isfalse, and the soldiers obey. 

Meanwhile, frightful sacrifices are being made by Rome. All herglorious oaks, all her gardens of delight, her casinos, full of themonuments of genius and taste, are perishing in the defence. Thehouses, the trees which had been spared at the gate of St. Pancrazio, all afforded shelter to the foe, and caused so much loss of life, that the Romans have now fully acquiesced in destruction agonizing towitness. Villa Borghese is finally laid waste, the villa of Raphaelhas perished, the trees are all cut down at Villa Albani, and thehouse, that most beautiful ornament of Rome, must, I suppose, go too. The stately marble forms are already driven from their place in thatportico where Winckelmann sat and talked with such delight. VillaSalvage is burnt, with all its fine frescos, and that bank of theTiber shorn of its lovely plantations. 

Rome will never recover the cruel ravage of these days, perhapsonly just begun. I had often thought of living a few months near St. Peter's, that I might go as much as I liked to the church and themuseum, have Villa Pamfili and Monte Mario within the compass ofa walk. It is not easy to find lodgings there, as it is a quarterforeigners never inhabit; but, walking about to see what pleasantplaces there were, I had fixed my eye on a clean, simple house nearPonte St. Angelo. It bore on a tablet that it was the property ofAngela ----; its little balconies with their old wooden rails, fullof flowers in humble earthen vases, the many bird-cages, the air ofdomestic quiet and comfort, marked it as the home of some vestal orwidow, some lone woman whose heart was centred in the ordinary andsimplest pleasures of a home. I saw also she was one having the mostlimited income, and I thought, "She will not refuse to let me a roomfor a few months, as I shall be as quiet as herself, and sympathizeabout the flowers and birds. " Now the Villa Pamfili is all laid waste. The French encamp on Monte Mario; what they have done there is notknown yet. The cannonade reverberates all day under the dome of St. Peter's, and the house of poor Angela is levelled with the ground. Ihope her birds and the white peacocks of the Vatican gardens are insafety;--but who cares for gentle, harmless creatures now?

I have been often interrupted while writing this letter, and supposeit is confused as well as incomplete. I hope my next may tell ofsomething decisive one way or the other. News is not yet come fromLesseps, but the conduct of Oudinot and the formation of the newFrench ministry give reason to hope no good. Many seem resolved toforce back Pius IX. Among his bleeding flock, into the city ruinedby him, where he cannot remain, and if he come, all this struggle andsorrow is to be borne over again. Mazzini stands firm as a rock. Iknow not whether he hopes for a successful issue, but he _believes_ ina God bound to protect men who do what they deem their duty. Yet howlong, O Lord, shall the few trample on the many?

I am surprised to see the air of perfect good faith with whicharticles from the London Times, upon the revolutionary movements, are copied into our papers. There exists not in Europe a paper moreviolently opposed to the cause of freedom than the Times, and neitherits leaders nor its foreign correspondence are to be depended upon. It is said to receive money from Austria. I know not whether thisbe true, or whether it be merely subservient to the aristocraticalfeeling of England, which is far more opposed to republican movementsthan is that of Russia; for in England fear embitters hate. It isdroll to remember our reading in the class-book. 

 "Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are";--

to think how bitter the English were on the Italians who succumbed, and see how they hate those who resist. And their cowardice here inItaly is ludicrous. It is they who run away at the least intimationof danger, --it is they who invent all the "fe, fo, fum" stories aboutItaly, --it is they who write to the Times and elsewhere that they darenot for their lives stay in Rome, where I, a woman, walk everywherealone, and all the little children do the same, with their nurses. More of this anon. 

LETTER XXXII. 

PROGRESS OF THE TRAGEDY. --PIUS IX. DISAVOWS LIBERALISM. --OUDINOT, AND THE ROMAN AUTHORITIES. --SHAME OF FRANCE. --DEVASTATION OFTHE CITY. --COURAGE OF THE PEOPLE. --BOMBS EXTINGUISHED. --A CRISISAPPROACHING. 

Rome, June 21, 1849. 

It is now two weeks since the first attack of Oudinot, and as yet wehear nothing decisive from Paris. I know not yet what news may havecome last night, but by the morning's mail we did not even receivenotice that Lesseps had arrived in Paris. 

Whether Lesseps was consciously the servant of all these baseintrigues, time will show. His conduct was boyish and foolish, if itwas not treacherous. The only object seemed to be to create panic, toagitate, to take possession of Rome somehow, though what to do withit, if they could get it, the French government would hardly know. 

Pius IX. , in his allocution of the 29th of April last, has explainedhimself fully. He has disavowed every liberal act which ever seemedto emanate from him, with the exception of the amnesty. He hasshamelessly recalled his refusal to let Austrian blood be shed, whileRoman flows daily at his request. He has implicitly declared that hisfuture government, could he return, would be absolute despotism, --hasdispelled the last lingering illusion of those still anxious toapologize for him as only a prisoner now in the hands of the Cardinalsand the king of Naples. The last frail link is broken that bound tohim the people of Rome, and could the French restore him, they mustfrankly avow themselves, abandon entirely and fully the position theytook in February, 1848, and declare themselves the allies of Austriaand of Russia. 

Meanwhile they persevere in the Jesuitical policy that has alreadydisgraced and is to ruin them. After a week of vain assaults, Oudinotsent to Rome the following letter, which I translate, as well as theanswers it elicited. 

LETTER OF GENERAL OUDINOT, _Intended for the Roman Constituent Assembly, the Triumvirate, theGeneralissimo, and the Commander-in-Chief of the National Guard. _

"General, --The events of war have, as you know, conducted the Frencharmy to the gates of Rome. 

"Should the entrance into the city remain closed against us, I shouldsee myself constrained to employ immediately all the means of actionthat France has placed in my hands. 

"Before having recourse to such terrible necessity, I think it myduty to make a last appeal to a people who cannot have toward Francesentiments of hostility. 

"The Roman army wishes, no doubt, equally with myself, to spare bloodyruin to the capital of the Christian world. 

"With this conviction, I pray you, Signore General, to give theenclosed proclamation the most speedy publicity. If, twelve hoursafter this despatch shall have been delivered to you, an answercorresponding to the honor and the intentions of France shall not havereached me, I shall be constrained to give the forcible attack. 

"Accept, &c. 

"Villa Pamfili, 12 June, 1849, 5 P. M. "

He was in fact at Villa Santucci, much farther out, but could not becontent without falsifying his date as well as all his statements. 

"PROCLAMATION. 

"Inhabitants of Rome, --We did not come to bring you war. We cameto sustain among you order, with liberty. The intentions of ourgovernment have been misunderstood. The labors of the siegehave conducted us under your walls. Till now we have wished onlyoccasionally to answer the fire of your batteries. We approach theselast moments, when the necessities of war burst out in terriblecalamities. Spare them to a city fall of so many glorious memories. 

"If you persist in repelling us, on you alone will fall theresponsibility of irreparable disasters. "

The following are the answers of the various functionaries to whomthis letter was sent:--

ANSWER OF THE ASSEMBLY. 

"General, --The Roman Constitutional Assembly informs you, in reply toyour despatch of yesterday, that, having concluded a convention fromthe 31st of May, 1849, with M. De Lesseps, Minister Plenipotentiary ofthe French Republic, a convention which we confirmed soon after yourprotest, it must consider that convention obligatory for both parties, and indeed a safeguard of the rights of nations, until it has beenratified or declined by the government of France. Therefore theAssembly must regard as a violation of that convention every hostileact of the French army since the above-named 31st of May, and allothers that shall take place before the resolution of your governmentcan be made known, and before the expiration of the time agreed uponfor the armistice. You demand, General, an answer correspondent to theintentions and power of France. Nothing could be more conformable withthe intentions and power of France than to cease a flagrant violationof the rights of nations. 

"Whatever may be the results of such violation, the people of Rome arenot responsible for them. Rome is strong in its right, and decidedto maintain tire conventions which attach it to your nation; only itfinds itself constrained by the necessity of self-defence to repelunjust aggressions. 

"Accept, &c. , for the Assembly, "The President, GALLETTI. 

"Secretaries, FABRETTI, PANNACCHI, COCCHI. "

"ANSWER OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE NATIONAL GUARD. 

"General, --The treaty, of which we await the ratification, assuresthis tranquil city from every disaster. 

"The National Guard, destined to maintain order, has the duty ofseconding the resolutions of the government; willingly and zealouslyit fulfils this duty, not caring for annoyance and fatigue. 

"The National Guard showed very lately, when it escorted the prisonerssent back to you, its sympathy for France, but it shows also on everyoccasion a supreme regard for its own dignity, for the honor of Rome. 

"Any misfortune to the capital of the Catholic world, to themonumental city, must be attributed not to the pacific citizensconstrained to defend themselves, but solely to its aggressors. 

"Accept, &c. 

"STURBINETTI, _General of the National Guard, Representative of the People_". 

ANSWER OF THE GENERALISSIMO. 

"Citizen General, --A fatality leads to conflict between the armiesof two republics, whom a better destiny would have invited to combatagainst their common enemy; for the enemies of the one cannot fail tobe also enemies of the other. 

"We are not deceived, and shall combat by every means in our powerwhoever assails our institutions, for only the brave are worthy tostand before the French soldiers. 

"Reflecting that there is a state of life worse than death, if the waryou wage should put us in that state, it will be better to close oureyes for ever than to see the interminable oppressions of oar country. 

"I wish you well, and desire fraternity. 

"ROSSELLI. "

ANSWER OF THE TRIUMVIRATE. 

"We have the honor to transmit to you the answer of the Assembly. 

"We never break our promises. We have promised to defend, in executionof orders from the Assembly and people of Rome, the banner of theRepublic, the honor of the country, and the sanctity of the capital ofthe Christian world; this promise we shall maintain. 

"Accept, &c. 

"The Triumvirs, ARMELLINI. MAZZINI. SAFFI. "

Observe the miserable evasion of this missive of Oudinot: "The fortuneof war has conducted us. " What war? He pretended to come as a friend, a protector; is enraged only because, after his deceits at CivitaVecchia, Rome will not trust him within her walls. For this he dailysacrifices hundreds of lives. "The Roman people cannot be hostile tothe French?" No, indeed; they were not disposed to be so. They hadbeen stirred to emulation by the example of France. They had warmlyhoped in her as their true ally. It required all that Oudinot has doneto turn their faith to contempt and aversion. 

Cowardly man! He knows now that he comes upon a city which wished toreceive him only as a friend, and he cries, "With my cannon, with mybombs, I will compel you to let me betray you. "

The conduct of France--infamous enough before--looks tenfold blackernow that, while the so-called Plenipotentiary is absent with thetreaty to be ratified, her army daily assails Rome, --assails in vain. After receiving these answers to his letter and proclamation, Oudinotturned all the force of his cannonade to make a breach, andbegan, what no one, even in these days, has believed possible, thebombardment of Rome. 

Yes! the French, who pretend to be the advanced guard of civilization, are bombarding Rome. They dare take the risk of destroying the richestbequests made to man by the great Past. Nay, they seem to do it in anespecially barbarous manner. It was thought they would avoid, as muchas possible, the hospitals for the wounded, marked to their viewby the black banner, and the places where are the most preciousmonuments; but several bombs have fallen on the chief hospital, andthe Capitol evidently is especially aimed at. They made a breach inthe wall, but it was immediately filled up with a barricade, and allthe week they have been repulsed in every attempt they made to gainground, though with considerable loss of life on our side; on theirsit must be great, but how great we cannot know. 

Ponte Molle, the scene of Raphael's fresco of a battle, in theVatican, saw again a fierce struggle last Friday. More than fifty werebrought wounded into Rome. 

But wounds and assaults only fire more and more the courage of herdefenders. They feel the justice of their cause, and the peculiariniquity of this aggression. In proportion as there seems little aidto be hoped from man, they seem to claim it from God. The noblestsentiments are heard from every lip, and, thus far, their acts amplycorrespond. 

On the eve of the bombardment one or two officers went round witha fine band. It played on the piazzas the Marseillaise and Romanmarches; and when the people were thus assembled, they were toldof the proclamation, and asked how they felt. Many shouted loudly, _Guerra! Viva la Republica Romana!_ Afterward, bands of young men wentround singing the chorus, "Vogliamo sempre quella, Vogliamo Liberta. "

("We want always one thing; we want liberty. ") Guitars played, andsome danced. When the bombs began to come, one of the Trasteverini, those noble images of the old Roman race, redeemed her claim to thatdescent by seizing a bomb and extinguishing the match. She received amedal and a reward in money. A soldier did the same thing at PalazzaSpada, where is the statue of Pompey, at whose base great Cęsar fell. He was promoted. Immediately the people were seized with emulation;armed with pans of wet clay, they ran wherever the bombs fell, toextinguish them. Women collect the balls from the hostile cannon, andcarry them to ours. As thus very little injury has been done to life, the people cry, "Madonna protects us against the bombs; she wills notthat Rome should be destroyed. "

Meanwhile many poor people are driven from their homes, and provisionsare growing very dear. The heats are now terrible for us, and must befar more so for the French. It is said a vast number are ill of fever;indeed, it cannot be otherwise. Oudinot himself has it, and perhapsthis is one explanation of the mixture of violence and weakness in hisactions. 

He must be deeply ashamed at the poor result of his bad acts, --that atthe end of two weeks and so much bravado, he has done nothing to Rome, unless intercept provisions, kill some of her brave youth, andinjure churches, which should be sacred to him as to us. St. MariaTrastevere, that ancient church, so full of precious remains, andwhich had an air of mild repose more beautiful than almost any other, is said to have suffered particularly. 

As to the men who die, I share the impassioned sorrow of theTriumvirs. "O Frenchmen!" they wrote, "could you know what men youdestroy! _They_ are no mercenaries, like those who fill your ranks, but the flower of the Italian youth, and the noblest among the aged. When you shall know of what minds you have robbed the world, how oughtyou to repent and mourn!"

This is especially true of the Emigrant and Garibaldi legions. Themisfortunes of Northern and Southern Italy, the conscription whichcompels to the service of tyranny those who remain, has driven fromthe kingdom of Naples and from Lombardy all the brave and noble youth. Many are in Venice or Rome, the forlorn hope of Italy. Radetzky, every day more cruel, now impresses aged men and the fathers of largefamilies. He carries them with him in chains, determined, if he cannothave good troops to send into Hungary, at least to revenge himself onthe unhappy Lombards. 

Many of these young men, students from Pisa, Pavia, Padua, and theRoman University, lie wounded in the hospitals, for naturally theyrushed first to the combat. One kissed an arm which was cut off;another preserves pieces of bone which were painfully extracted fromhis wound, as relics of the best days of his life. The older men, manyof whom have been saddened by exile and disappointment, less glowing, are not less resolved. A spirit burns noble as ever animated the mostprecious deeds we treasure from the heroic age. I suffer to see thesetemples of the soul thus broken, to see the fever-weary days andpainful operations undergone by these noble men, these true priests ofa higher hope; but I would not, for much, have missed seeing itall. The memory of it will console amid the spectacles of meanness, selfishness, and faithlessness which life may yet have in store forthe pilgrim. 

June 23. 

Matters verge to a crisis. The French government sustains Oudinot anddisclaims Lesseps. Harmonious throughout, shameless in falsehood, itseems Oudinot knew that tire mission of Lesseps was at an end, whenhe availed himself of his pacific promises to occupy Monte Mario. When the Romans were anxious at seeing French troops move in thatdirection, Lesseps said it was only done to occupy them, and conjuredthe Romans to avoid all collision which might prevent his successwith the treaty. The sham treaty was concluded on the 30th of May, adetachment of French having occupied Monte Mario on the night of the29th. Oudinot flies into a rage and refuses to sign; M. Lesseps goesoff to Paris; meanwhile, the brave Oudinot attacks on the 3d of June, after writing to the French Consul that Ire should not till the 4th, to leave time for the foreigners remaining to retire. He attacked inthe night, possessing himself of Villa Pamfili, as he had of MonteMario, by treachery and surprise. 

Meanwhile, M. Lesseps arrives in Paris, to find himself seemingly orreally in great disgrace with the would-be Emperor and his cabinet. Togive reason for this, M. Drouyn de Lhuys, who had publicly declaredto the Assembly that M. Lesseps had no instructions except from thereport of the sitting of the 7th of May, shamefully publishes aletter of special instructions, hemming him in on every side, which M. Lesseps, the "Plenipotentiary, " dares not disown. 

What are we to think of a great nation, whose leading men are suchbarefaced liars? M. Guizot finds his creed faithfully followed up. 

The liberal party in France does what it can to wash its hands of thisoffence, but it seems weak, and unlikely to render effectual serviceat this crisis. Venice, Rome, Ancona, are the last strong-holds ofhope, and they cannot stand for ever thus unsustained. Night beforelast, a tremendous cannonade left no moment to sleep, even had theanxious hearts of mothers and wives been able to crave it. At morninga little detachment of French had entered by the breach of St. Pancrazio, and intrenched itself in a vineyard. Another has possessionof Villa Poniatowski, close to the Porta del Popolo, and attacksand alarms are hourly to be expected. I long to see the final one, dreadful as that hour may be, since now there seems no hope fromdelay. Men are daily slain, and this state of suspense is agonizing. 

In the evening 'tis pretty, though terrible, to see the bombs, fierymeteors, springing from the horizon line upon their bright path, to dotheir wicked message. 'T would not be so bad, methinks, to die by oneof these, as wait to have every drop of pure blood, every childlikeradiant hope, drained and driven from the heart by the betrayals ofnations and of individuals, till at last the sickened eyes refuse moreto open to that light which shines daily on such pits of iniquity. 

LETTER XXXIII. 

SIEGE OF ROME. --HEAT. --NIGHT ATTACKS. --THE BOMBARDMENT. --THENIGHT BREACH. --DEFECTION. --ENTRY OF THE FRENCH. --SLAUGHTER OFTHE ROMANS. --THE HOSPITALS. --DESTRUCTION BY BOMBS. --CESSATION OFRESISTANCE. --OUDINOT'S STUBBORNNESS. --GARIBALDI'S TROOPS. --THEIRMUSTER ON THE SCENE OF RIENZI'S TRIUMPH. --GARIBALDI. --HISDEPARTURE. --"RESPECTABLE" OPINION. --THE PROTECTORS UNMASKED. --COLDRECEPTION. --A PRIEST ASSASSINATED. --MARTIAL LAW DECLARED. --REPUBLICANEDUCATION. --DISAPPEARANCE OF FRENCH SOLDIERS. --CLEARING THEHOSPITALS. --PRIESTLY BASENESS. --INSULT TO THE AMERICAN CONSUL. --HISPROTEST AND DEPARTURE. --DISARMING THE NATIONAL GUARD. --POSITION OF MR. CASS. --PETTY OPPRESSION. --EXPULSION OF FOREIGNERS. --EFFECT OFFRENCH PRESENCE. --ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE. --VISIT TO THE SCENE OFSTRIFE. --AMERICAN SYMPATHY FOR LIBERTY IN EUROPE. 

Rome, July 6, 1849. 

If I mistake not, I closed my last letter just as the news arrivedhere that the attempt of the democratic party in France to resist theinfamous proceedings of the government had failed, and thus Rome, asfar as human calculation went, had not a hope for her liberties left. An inland city cannot long sustain a siege when there is no hope ofaid. Then followed the news of the surrender of Ancona, and Romefound herself alone; for, though Venice continued to hold out, allcommunication was cut off. 

The Republican troops, almost to a man, left Ancona, but a long marchseparated them from Rome. 

The extreme heat of these days was far more fatal to the Romans thanto their assailants, for as fast as the French troops sickened, theirplace was taken by fresh arrivals. Ours also not only sustained theexhausting service by day, but were harassed at night by attacks, feigned or real. These commonly began about eleven or twelve o'clockat night, just when all who meant to rest were fairly asleep. I canimagine the harassing effect upon the troops, from what I feel inmy sheltered pavilion, in consequence of not knowing a quiet night'ssleep for a month. 

The bombardment became constantly more serious. The house where I livewas filled as early as the 20th with persons obliged to fly from thePiazza di Gesu, where the fiery rain fell thickest. The night of the21st-22d, we were all alarmed about two o'clock, A. M. By a tremendouscannonade. It was the moment when the breach was finally made by whichthe French entered. They rushed in, and I grieve to say, that, by theonly instance of defection known in the course of the siege, thosecompanies of the regiment Union which had in charge a position onthat point yielded to panic and abandoned it. The French immediatelyentered and intrenched themselves. That was the fatal hour for thecity. Every day afterward, though obstinately resisted, the enemygained, till at last, their cannon being well placed, the city wasentirely commanded from the Janiculum, and all thought of furtherresistance was idle. 

It was true policy to avoid a street-fight, in which the Italian, an unpractised soldier, but full of feeling and sustained from thehouses, would have been a match even for their disciplined troops. After the 22d of June, the slaughter of the Romans became every daymore fearful. Their defences were knocked down by the heavy cannonof the French, and, entirely exposed in their valorous onsets, great numbers perished on the spot. Those who were brought into thehospitals were generally grievously wounded, very commonly subjectsfor amputation. My heart bled daily more and more at these sights, andI could not feel much for myself, though now the balls and bombs beganto fall round me also. The night of the 28th the effect was trulyfearful, as they whizzed and burst near me. As many as thirty fellupon or near the Hotel de Russie, where Mr. Cass has his temporaryabode. The roof of the studio in the pavilion, tenanted by Mr. Stermer, well known to the visitors of Rome for his highly-finishedcabinet pictures, was torn to pieces. I sat alone in my much exposedapartment, thinking, "If one strikes me, I only hope it will killme at once, and that God will transport my soul to some sphere wherevirtue and love are not tyrannized over by egotism and brute force, as in this. " However, that night passed; the next, we had reason toexpect a still more fiery salute toward the Pincian, as here aloneremained three or four pieces of cannon which could be used. But onthe morning of the 30th, in a contest at the foot of the Janiculum, the line, old Papal troops, naturally not in earnest like the freecorps, refused to fight against odds so terrible. The heroic Marinafell, with hundreds of his devoted Lombards. Garibaldi saw his bestofficers perish, and himself went in the afternoon to say to theAssembly that further resistance was unavailing. 

The Assembly sent to Oudinot, but he refused any conditions, --refusedeven to guarantee a safe departure to Garibaldi, his brave foe. Notwithstanding, a great number of men left the other regimentsto follow the leader whose courage had captivated them, and whosesuperiority over difficulties commanded their entire confidence. Toward the evening of Monday, the 2d of July, it was known that theFrench were preparing to cross the river and take possession of allthe city. I went into the Corso with some friends; it was filled withcitizens and military. The carriage was stopped by the crowd near theDoria palace; the lancers of Garibaldi galloped along in full career. I longed for Sir Walter Scott to be on earth again, and see them; allare light, athletic, resolute figures, many of the forms of the finestmanly beauty of the South, all sparkling with its genius and ennobledby the resolute spirit, ready to dare, to do, to die. We followedthem to the piazza of St. John Lateran. Never have I seen a sightso beautiful, so romantic, and so sad. Whoever knows Rome knows thepeculiar solemn grandeur of that piazza, scene of the first triumph ofRienzi, and whence may be seen the magnificence of the "mother of allchurches, " the baptistery with its porphyry columns, the Santa Scalawith its glittering mosaics of the early ages, the obelisk standingfairest of any of those most imposing monuments of Rome, the viewthrough the gates of the Campagna, on that side so richly strewn withruins. The sun was setting, the crescent moon rising, the flower ofthe Italian youth were marshalling in that solemn place. They had beendriven from every other spot where they had offered their hearts asbulwarks of Italian independence; in this last strong-hold they hadsacrificed hecatombs of their best and bravest in that cause; theymust now go or remain prisoners and slaves. _Where_ go, they knew not;for except distant Hungary there is not now a spot which would receivethem, or where they can act as honor commands. They had all put onthe beautiful dress of the Garibaldi legion, the tunic of bright redcloth, the Greek cap, or else round hat with Puritan plume. Their longhair was blown back from resolute faces; all looked full of courage. They had counted the cost before they entered on this perilousstruggle; they had weighed life and all its material advantagesagainst liberty, and made their election; they turned not back, norflinched, at this bitter crisis. I saw the wounded, all that could go, laden upon their baggage cars; some were already pale and fainting, still they wished to go. I saw many youths, born to rich inheritance, carrying in a handkerchief all their worldly goods. The women wereready; their eyes too were resolved, if sad. The wife of Garibaldifollowed him on horseback. He himself was distinguished by the whitetunic; his look was entirely that of a hero of the Middle Ages, --hisface still young, for the excitements of his life, though so many, have all been youthful, and there is no fatigue upon his brow orcheek. Fall or stand, one sees in him a man engaged in the career forwhich he is adapted by nature. He went upon the parapet, and lookedupon the road with a spy-glass, and, no obstruction being in sight, heturned his face for a moment back upon Rome, then led the way throughthe gate. Hard was the heart, stony and seared the eye, that had notear for that moment. Go, fated, gallant band! and if God care notindeed for men as for the sparrows, most of ye go forth to perish. AndRome, anew the Niobe! Must she lose also these beautiful and brave, that promised her regeneration, and would have given it, but for theperfidy, the overpowering force, of the foreign intervention?

I know that many "respectable" gentlemen would be surprised to hear mespeak in this way. Gentlemen who perform their "duties to society" bybuying for themselves handsome clothes and furniture with the interestof their money, speak of Garibaldi and his men as "brigands" and"vagabonds. " Such are they, doubtless, in the same sense as Jesus, Moses, and Eneas were. To me, men who can throw so lightly aside theease of wealth, the joys of affection, for the sake of what they deemhonor, in whatsoever form, are the "respectable. " No doubt there arein these bands a number of men of lawless minds, and who follow thisbanner only because there is for them no other path. But thegreater part are the noble youths who have fled from the Austrianconscription, or fly now from the renewal of the Papal suffocation, darkened by French protection. 

As for the protectors, they entirely threw aside the mask, as it wasalways supposed they would, the moment they had possession of Rome. Ido not know whether they were really so bewildered by their priestlycounsellors as to imagine they would be well received in a city whichthey had bombarded, and where twelve hundred men were lying woundedby their assault. To say nothing of the justice or injustice of thematter, it could not be supposed that the Roman people, if it had anysense of dignity, would welcome them. I did not appear in the street, as I would not give any countenance to such a wrong; but an Englishlady, my friend, told me they seemed to look expectingly for thestrong party of friends they had always pretended to have within thewalls. The French officers looked up to the windows for ladies, and, she being the only one they saw, saluted her. She made no reply. Theythen passed into the Corso. Many were assembled, the softerRomans being unable to control a curiosity the Milanese would havedisclaimed, but preserving an icy silence. In an evil hour, a foolishpriest dared to break it by the cry of _Viva Pio Nono!_ The populace, roused to fury, rushed on him with their knives. He was much wounded;one or two others were killed in the rush. The people howled then, andhissed at the French, who, advancing their bayonets, and clearing theway before them, fortified themselves in the piazzas. Next day theFrench troops were marched to and fro through Rome, to inspire awe inthe people; but it has only created a disgust amounting to loathing, to see that, with such an imposing force, and in great part fresh, theFrench were not ashamed to use bombs also, and kill women and childrenin their beds. Oudinot then, seeing the feeling of the people, andfinding they pursued as a spy any man who so much as showed the wayto his soldiers, --that the Italians went out of the cafés if Frenchmenentered, --in short, that the people regarded him and his followers inthe same light as the Austrians, --has declared martial law in Rome;the press is stifled; everybody is to be in the house at half pastnine o'clock in the evening, and whoever in any way insults his men, or puts any obstacle in their way, is to be shot. 

The fruits of all this will be the same as elsewhere; temporaryrepression will sow the seeds of perpetual resistance; and neverwas Rome in so fair a way to be educated for a republican form ofgovernment as now. 

Especially could nothing be more irritating to an Italian population, in the month of July, than to drive them to their homes at half pastnine. After the insupportable heat of the day, their only enjoymentand refreshment are found in evening walks, and chats together as theysit before their cafés, or in groups outside some friendly door. Nowthey must hurry home when the drum beats at nine o'clock. They areforbidden to stand or sit in groups, and this by their bombarding_protector!_ Comment is unnecessary. 

French soldiers are daily missing; of some it is known that they havebeen killed by the Trasteverini for daring to make court to theirwomen. Of more than a hundred and fifty, it is only known that theycannot he found; and in two days of French "order" more actsof violence have been committed, than in two months under theTriumvirate. 

The French have taken up their quarters in the court-yards of theQuirinal and Venetian palaces, which are full of the wounded, manyof whom have been driven well-nigh mad, and their burning woundsexasperated, by the sound of the drums and trumpets, --the constantsense of an insulting presence. The wounded have been warned to leavethe Quirinal at the end of eight days, though there are many whocannot be moved from bed to bed without causing them great anguishand peril; nor is it known that any other place has been provided as ahospital for them. At the Palazzo di Venezia the French have searchedfor three emigrants whom they wished to imprison, even in theapartments where the wounded were lying, running their bayonets intothe mattresses. They have taken for themselves beds given by theRomans to the hospital, --not public property, but private gift. Thehospital of Santo Spirito was a governmental establishment, and, inusing a part of it for the wounded, its director had been retained, because he had the reputation of being honest and not illiberal. Butas soon as the French entered, he, with true priestly baseness, sentaway the women nurses, saying he had no longer money to pay them, transported the wounded into a miserable, airless basement, that hadbefore been used as a granary, and appropriated the good apartments tothe use of the French!

July 8. 

The report of this morning is that the French yesterday violated thedomicile of our Consul, Mr. Brown, pretending to search for personshidden there; that Mr. Brown, banner in one hand and sword in theother, repelled the assault, and fairly drove them down stairs; thatthen he made them an appropriate speech, though in a mixed language ofEnglish, French, and Italian; that the crowd vehemently applauded Mr. Brown, who already was much liked for the warm sympathy he had shownthe Romans in their aspirations and their distresses; and that he thendonned his uniform, and went to Oudinot to make his protest. How thiswas received I know not, but understand Mr. Brown departed with hisfamily yesterday evening. Will America look as coldly on the insult toherself, as she has on the struggle of this injured people?

To-day an edict is out to disarm the National Guard. The generous"protectors" wish to take all the trouble upon themselves. Rome isfull of them; at every step are met groups in the uniform of France, with faces bronzed in the African war, and so stultified by a lifewithout enthusiasm and without thought, that I do not believeNapoleon would recognize them as French soldiers. The effect of theirappearance compared with that of the Italian free corps is that ofbody as compared with spirit. It is easy to see how they could be usedto purposes so contrary to the legitimate policy of France, for theydo not look more intellectual, more fitted to have opinions of theirown, than the Austrian soldiery. 

July 10. 

The plot thickens. The exact facts with regard to the invasion of Mr. Brown's house I have not been able to ascertain. I suppose they willbe published, as Oudinot has promised to satisfy Mr. Cass. I mustadd, in reference to what I wrote some time ago of the position of ourEnvoy here, that the kind and sympathetic course of Mr. Cass towardthe Republicans in these troubles, his very gentlemanly and courteousbearing, have from the minds of most removed all unpleasant feelings. They see that his position was very peculiar, --sent to the Papalgovernment, finding here the Republican, and just at that momentviolently assailed. Unless he had extraordinary powers, he naturallyfelt obliged to communicate further with our government beforeacknowledging this. I shall always regret, however, that he didnot stand free to occupy the high position that belonged to therepresentative of the United States at that moment, and peculiarlybecause it was by a republic that the Roman Republic was betrayed. 

But, as I say, the plot thickens. Yesterday three families werecarried to prison because a boy crowed like a cock at the Frenchsoldiery from the windows of the house they occupied. Another, becausea man pursued took refuge in their court-yard. At the same time, thecity being mostly disarmed, came the edict to take down the insigniaof the Republic, "emblems of anarchy. " But worst of all they have doneis an edict commanding all foreigners who had been in the service ofthe Republican government to leave Rome within twenty-four hours. Thisis the most infamous thing done yet, as it drives to desperation thosewho stayed because they had so many to go with and no place to goto, or because their relatives lie wounded here: no others wished toremain in Rome under present circumstances. 

I am sick of breathing the same air with men capable of a part soutterly cruel and false. As soon as I can, I shall take refuge in themountains, if it be possible to find an obscure nook unpervaded bythese convulsions. Let not my friends be surprised if they do not hearfrom me for some time. I may not feel like writing. I have seen toomuch sorrow, and, alas! without power to aid. It makes me sick to seethe palaces and streets of Rome full of these infamous foreigners, andto note the already changed aspect of her population. The men of Romehad begun, filled with new hopes, to develop unknown energy, --theywalked quick, their eyes sparkled, they delighted in duty, inresponsibility; in a year of such life their effeminacy would havebeen vanquished. Now, dejectedly, unemployed, they lounge along thestreets, feeling that all the implements of labor, all the ensigns ofhope, have been snatched from them. Their hands fall slack, their eyesrove aimless, the beggars begin to swarm again, and the black ravenswho delight in the night of ignorance, the slumber of sloth, as theonly sureties for their rule, emerge daily more and more frequent fromtheir hiding-places. 

The following Address has been circulated from hand to hand. 

"TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME. 

"Misfortune, brothers, has fallen upon us anew. But it is trial ofbrief duration, --it is the stone of the sepulchre which we shall throwaway after three days, rising victorious and renewed, an immortalnation. For with us are God and Justice, --God and Justice, who cannotdie, but always triumph, while kings and popes, once dead, revive nomore. 

"As you have been great in the combat, be so in the days ofsorrow, --great in your conduct as citizens, by generous disdain, bysublime silence. Silence is the weapon we have now to use against theCossacks of France and the priests, their masters. 

"In the streets do not look at them; do not answer if they addressyou. 

"In the cafés, in the eating-houses, if they enter, rise and go out. 

"Let your windows remain closed as they pass. 

"Never attend their feasts, their parades. 

"Regard the harmony of their musical bands as tones of slavery, and, when you hear them, fly. 

"Let the liberticide soldier be condemned to isolation; let him atonein solitude and contempt for having served priests and kings. 

"And you, Roman women, masterpiece of God's work! deign no look, nosmile, to those satellites of an abhorred Pope! Cursed be she who, before the odious satellites of Austria, forgets that she is Italian!Her name shall be published for the execration of all her people! Andeven the courtesans! let them show love for their country, and thusregain the dignity of citizens!

"And our word of order, our cry of reunion and emancipation, be nowand ever, VIVA LA REPUBLICA!

"This incessant cry, which not even French slaves can dispute, shall prepare us to administer the bequest of our martyrs, shall beconsoling dew to the immaculate and holy bones that repose, sublimeholocaust of faith and of love, near our walls, and make doubly divinethe Eternal City. In this cry we shall find ourselves always brothers, and we shall conquer. Viva Rome, the capital of Italy! Viva the Italyof the people! Viva the Roman Republic!

"A ROMAN. 

"Rome, July 4, 1849. "

Yes; July 4th, the day so joyously celebrated in our land, is that ofthe entrance of the French into Rome!

I know not whether the Romans will follow out this programme withconstancy, as the sterner Milanese have done. If they can, it willdraw upon them endless persecutions, countless exactions, but at onceeducate and prove them worthy of a nobler life. 

Yesterday I went over the scene of conflict. It was fearful even to_see_ the Casinos Quattro Venti and Vascello, where the French andRomans had been several days so near one another, all shattered topieces, with fragments of rich stucco and painting still sticking torafters between the great holes made by the cannonade, and thinkthat men had stayed and fought in them when only a mass of ruins. The French, indeed, were entirely sheltered the last days; to myunpractised eyes, the extent and thoroughness of their works seemedmiraculous, and gave me the first clear idea of the incompetency ofthe Italians to resist organized armies. I saw their commanders hadnot even known enough of the art of war to understand how the Frenchwere conducting the siege. It is true, their resources were at anyrate inadequate to resistance; only continual sorties would havearrested the progress of the foe, and to make them and man the walltheir forces were inadequate. I was struck more than ever by theheroic valor of _our_ people, --let me so call them now as ever; forgo where I may, a large part of my heart will ever remain in Italy. I hope her children will always acknowledge me as a sister, thoughI drew not my first breath here. A Contadini showed me wherethirty-seven braves are buried beneath a heap of wall that fell uponthem in the shock of one cannonade. A marble nymph, with broken arm, looked sadly that way from her sun-dried fountain; some roses wereblooming still, some red oleanders, amid the ruin. The sun was castingits last light on the mountains on the tranquil, sad Campagna, that sees one leaf more turned in the book of woe. This was in theVascello. I then entered the French ground, all mapped and hollowedlike a honeycomb. A pair of skeleton legs protruded from a bank of onebarricade; lower, a dog had scratched away its light covering ofearth from the body of a man, and discovered it lying face upward alldressed; the dog stood gazing on it with an air of stupid amazement. I thought at that moment, recalling some letters received: "O men andwomen of America, spared these frightful sights, these sudden wrecksof every hope, what angel of heaven do you suppose has time to listento your tales of morbid woe? If any find leisure to work for mento-day, think you not they have enough to do to care for the victimshere?"

I see you have meetings, where you speak of the Italians, theHungarians. I pray you _do something_; let it not end in a mere cry ofsentiment. That is better than to sneer at all that is liberal, like the English, --than to talk of the holy victims of patriotism as"anarchists" and "brigands"; but it is not enough. It ought notto content your consciences. Do you owe no tithe to Heaven for theprivileges it has showered on you, for whose achievement so manyhere suffer and perish daily? Deserve to retain them, by helpingyour fellow-men to acquire them. Our government must abstain frominterference, but private action is practicable, is due. For Italy, it is in this moment too late; but all that helps Hungary helps heralso, --helps all who wish the freedom of men from an hereditary yokenow become intolerable. Send money, send cheer, --acknowledge as thelegitimate leaders and rulers those men who represent the people, who understand their wants, who are ready to die or to live for theirgood. Kossuth I know not, but his people recognize him; Manin I knownot, but with what firm nobleness, what perserving virtue, he hasacted for Venice! Mazzini I know, the man and his acts, great, pure, and constant, --a man to whom only the next age can do justice, asit reaps the harvest of the seed he has sown in this. Friends, countrymen, and lovers of virtue, lovers of freedom, lovers of truth!be on the alert; rest not supine in your easier lives, but remember

 "Mankind is one, And beats with one great heart. "

PART III. 

LETTERS FROM ABROAD TO FRIENDS AT HOME. 

LETTERS. 

FROM A LETTER TO ---- ----. 

Bellagio, Lake of Como, August, 1847. 

You do not deceive yourself surely about religion, in so far as thatthere is a deep meaning in those pangs of our fate which, if we liveby faith, will become our most precious possession. "Live for thyfaith and thou shalt yet behold it living, " is with me, as it hathbeen, a maxim. 

Wherever I turn, I see still the same dark clouds, with occasionalgleams of light. In this Europe how much suffocated life!--a sort ofwoe much less seen with us. I know many of the noble exiles, piningfor their natural sphere; many of them seek in Jesus the guide andfriend, as you do. For me, it is my nature to wish to go straight tothe Creative Spirit, and I can fully appreciate what you say of theneed of our happiness depending on no human being. Can you really haveattained such wisdom? Your letter seemed to me very modest and pure, and I trust in Heaven all may be solid. 

I am everywhere well received, and high and low take pleasure insmoothing my path. I love much the Italians. The lower classes havethe vices induced by long subjection to tyranny; but also a winningsweetness, a ready and discriminating love for the beautiful, and adelicacy in the sympathies, the absence of which always made mesick in our own country. Here, at least, one does not suffer fromobtuseness or indifference. They take pleasure, too, in acts ofkindness; they are bountiful, but it is useless to hope the leasthonor in affairs of business. I cannot persuade those who serve me, however attached, that they should not deceive me, and plunder me. They think that is part of their duty towards a foreigner. This istroublesome no less than disagreeable; it is absolutely necessary tobe always on the watch against being cheated. 

 * * * * *

EXTRACT FROM A LETTER. 

One loses sight of all dabbling and pretension when seated at the feetof dead Rome, --Rome so grand and beautiful upon her bier. Art is deadhere; the few sparkles that sometimes break through the embers cannotmake a flame; but the relics of the past are great enough, over-great;we should do nothing but sit, and weep, and worship. 

In Rome, one has all the free feeling of the country; the city is sointerwoven with vineyards and gardens, such delightful walks in thevillas, such ceaseless music of the fountains, and from every highpoint the Campagna and Tiber seem so near. 

Full of enchantment has been my summer, passed wholly among Italians, in places where no foreigner goes, amid the snowy peaks, in theexquisite valleys of the Abruzzi. I have seen a thousand landscapes, any one of which might employ the thoughts of the painter for years. Not without reason the people dream that, at the death of a saint, columns of light are seen to hover on those mountains. They take, atsunset, the same rose-hues as the Alps. The torrents are magnificent. I knew some noblemen, with baronial castles nestled in the hills andslopes, rich in the artistic treasures of centuries. They liked me, and showed me the hidden beauties of Roman remains. 

 * * * * *

Rome, April, 1848. 

The gods themselves walk on earth, here in the Italian spring. Dayafter day of sunny weather lights up the flowery woods and Arcadianglades. The fountains, hateful during the endless rains, charm again. At Castle Turano I found heaths, as large as our pear-trees, in fullflower. Such wealth of beauty is irresistible, but ah! the drama of mylife is very strange: the ship plunges deeper as it rises higher. Youwould be amazed, could you know how different is my present phase oflife from that in which you knew me; but you would love me no less; itis tire same planet that shows such different climes. 

 * * * * *

TO HER MOTHER. 

Rome, November 16, 1848. 

I am again in Rome, situated for the first time entirely to my mind. I have only one room, but large; and everything about the bedso gracefully and adroitly disposed that it makes a beautifulparlor, --and of course I pay much less. I have the sun all day, andan excellent chimney. It is very high, and has pure air and the mostbeautiful view all around imaginable. Add, that I am with the dearest, delightful old couple one can imagine, --quick, prompt, and kind, sensible and contented. Having no children, they like to regard me andthe Prussian sculptor, my neighbor, as such; yet are too delicate andtoo busy ever to intrude. In the attic dwells a priest, who insists onmaking my fire when Antonia is away. To be sure, he pays himself forhis trouble by asking a great many questions. .. . 

You cannot conceive the enchantment of this place. So much I sufferedhere last January and February, I thought myself a little weaned; butreturning, my heart swelled even to tears with the cry of the poet, "O Rome, _my_ country, city of the soul!"

Those have not lived who have not seen Rome. Warned, however, by thelast winter, I dared not rent my lodgings for the year. I hope I amacclimated. I have been through what is called the grape-cure, muchmore charming, certainly, than the water-cure. At present I am verywell, but, alas! because I have gone to bed early, and done verylittle. I do not know if I can maintain any labor. As to my life, Ithink it is not the will of Heaven it should terminate very soon. Ihave had another strange escape. 

I had taken passage in the diligence to come to Rome; two rivers wereto be passed, the Turano and the Tiber, but passed by good bridges, and a road excellent when not broken unexpectedly by torrents fromthe mountains. The diligence sets out between three and four inthe morning, long before light. The director sent me word thatthe Marchioness Crispoldi had taken for herself and family a coachextraordinary, which would start two hours later, and that I couldhave a place in that if I liked; so I accepted. The weather had beenbeautiful, but on the eve of the day fixed for my departure, the windrose, and the rain fell in torrents. I observed that the river, whichpassed my window, was much swollen, and rushed with great violence. Inthe night I heard its voice still stronger, and felt glad I had not toset out in the dark. I rose at twilight and was expecting my carriage, and wondering at its delay, when I heard that the great diligence, several miles below, had been seized by a torrent; the horses wereup to their necks in water, before any one dreamed of danger. Thepostilion called on all the saints, and threw himself into the water. Tire door of the diligence could not be opened, and tire passengersforced themselves, one after another, into the cold water; it was darktoo. Had I been there, I had fared ill. A pair of strong men were illafter it, though all escaped with life. 

For several days there was no going to Rome; but at last we set forthin two great diligences, with all the horses of the route. For manymiles the mountains and ravines were covered with snow; I seemed tohave returned to my own country and climate. Few miles were passedbefore the conductor injured his leg under the wheel, and I had thepain of seeing him suffer all the way, while "Blood of Jesus!" and"Souls in Purgatory!" was the mildest beginning of an answer to thejeers of the postilions upon his paleness. We stopped at a miserableosteria, in whose cellar we found a magnificent relic of Cyclopeanarchitecture, --as indeed in Italy one is paid at every step fordiscomfort and danger, by some precious subject of thought. Weproceeded very slowly, and reached just at night a solitary littleinn which marks the site of the ancient home of the Sabine virgins, snatched away to become the mothers of Rome. We were there salutedwith, the news that the Tiber also had overflowed its banks, and itwas very doubtful if we could pass. But what else to do? There were noaccommodations in the house for thirty people, or even for three; andto sleep in the carriages, in that wet air of the marshes, was a morecertain danger than to attempt the passage. So we set forth; the moon, almost at the full, smiling sadly on the ancient grandeurs half drapedin mist, and anon drawing over her face a thin white veil. As weapproached the Tiber, the towers and domes of Rome could be seen, like a cloud lying low on the horizon. The road and the meadows, alikeunder water, Jay between us and it, one sheet of silver. The horsesentered; they behaved nobly. We proceeded, every moment uncertain ifthe water would not become deep; but the scene was beautiful, and Ienjoyed it highly. I have never yet felt afraid, when really in thepresence of danger, though sometimes in its apprehension. 

At last we entered the gate; the diligence stopping to be examined, Iwalked to the gate of Villa Ludovisi, and saw its rich shrubberies ofmyrtle, so pale and eloquent in the moonlight. .. . 

My dear friend, Madame Arconati, has shown me generous love; aContadina, whom I have known this summer, hardly less. Every Sundayshe came in her holiday dress, a beautiful corset of red silk, richlyembroidered, rich petticoat, nice shoes and stockings, and handsomecoral necklace, on one arm an immense basket of grapes, on the othera pair of live chickens to be eaten by me for her sake ("_per amoremio_"), and wanted no present, no reward: it was, as she said, "forthe honor and pleasure of her acquaintance. " The old father of thefamily never met me but he took off his hat, and said, "Madame, itis to me a consolation to see you. " Are there not sweet flowers ofaffection in life, glorious moments, great thoughts? Why must they beso dearly paid for?

Many Americans have shown me great and thoughtful kindness and nonemore so than William Story and his wife. They are now in Florence, butmay return. I do not know whether I shall stay here or not: I shall beguided much by the state of my health. 

All is quieted now in Rome. Late at night the Pope had to yield, butnot till the door of his palace was half burned, and his confessorkilled. This man, Parma, provoked his fate by firing on the peoplefrom a window. It seems the Pope never gave order to fire; his guardacted from a sudden impulse of their own. The new ministry chosen arelittle inclined to accept. It is almost impossible for any one to act, unless the Pope is stripped of his temporal power, and the hourfor that is not yet quite ripe; though they talk more and more ofproclaiming the Republic, and even of calling to Rome my friendMazzini. 

If I came home at this moment, I should feel as if forced to leave myown house, my own people, and the hour which I had always longed for. If I do come in this way, all I can promise is to plague other peopleas little as possible. My own plans and desires will be postponed toanother world. 

Do not feel anxious about me. Some higher Power leads me throughstrange, dark, thorny paths, broken at times by glades opening downinto prospects of sunny beauty, into which I am not permitted toenter. If God disposes for us, it is not for nothing. This I can say:my heart is in some respects better, it is kinder, and more humble. Also, my mental acquisitions have certainly been great, howeverinadequate to my desires. 

 * * * * *

TO HER BROTHER, K. F. FULLER. 

Rome, January 19, 1849. 

MY DEAR RICHARD, --With my window open, looking out upon St. Peter's, and the glorious Italian sun pouring in, I was just thinking of you; Iwas just thinking how I wished you were here, that we might walk forthand talk together under the influence of these magnificent objects. Iwas thinking of the proclamation of the Constitutional Assembly here, a measure carried by courageous youth in the face of age, sustained bythe prejudices of many years, the ignorance of the people, and all thewealth of the country; yet courageous youth faces not only these, butthe most threatening aspect of foreign powers, and dares a future ofblood and exile to achieve privileges which are our American commonbirthright. I thought of the great interests which may in our countrybe sustained without obstacle by every able man, --interests ofhumanity, interests of God. 

I thought of the new prospects of wealth opened to our countrymen bythe acquisition of New Mexico and California, --the vast prospects ofour country every way, so that it is itself a vast blessing to be bornan American; and I thought how impossible it is that one like you, of so strong and generous a nature, should, if he can but patientlypersevere, be defrauded of a rich, manifold, powerful life. 

Thursday eve, January 25. 

This has been a most beautiful day, and I have taken a long walk outof town. How much I should like sometimes to walk with you again! Iwent to the church of St. Lorenzo, one of the most ancient in Rome, rich in early mosaics, also with spoils from the temples, marbles, ancient sarcophagi with fine bassirilievi, and magnificent columns. There is a little of everything, but the medley is harmonized by theaction of time, and the sensation induced is that of repose. It hasthe public cemetery, and there lie the bones of many poor; the richand noble lie in lead coffins in the church vaults of Rome, but St. Lorenzo loved the poor. When his tormentors insisted on knowing wherehe had hid his riches, --"There, " he said, pointing to the crowd ofwretches who hovered near his bed, compelled to see the tyrants of theearth hew down the tree that had nourished and sheltered them. 

Amid the crowd of inexpressive epitaphs, one touched me, erected bya son to his father. "He was, " says the son, "an angel of prosperity, seeking our good in distant countries with unremitting toll and pain. We owe him all. For his death it is my only consolation that in life Inever left his side. "

Returning, I passed the Pretorian Camp, the Campus Salisetus, wherevestals that had broken their vows were buried alive in the citywhose founder was born from a similar event. Such are the usual, thefrightful inconsistencies of mankind. 

From my windows I see the Barberini palace; in its chambers are thepictures of the Cenci, and the Galatea, so beautifully described byGoethe; in the gardens are the remains of the tomb of Servius Tullius. 

Yesterday as I went forth I saw the house where Keats lived in Rome, and where he died; I saw the Casino of Raphael. Returning, I passedthe villa where Goethe lived when in Rome: afterwards, the houses ofClaude and Poussin. 

Ah what human companionship here! how everything speaks! I live myselfin the apartment described in Andersen's "Improvvisatore, " which getyou, and read a scene of the childhood of Antonio. I have the room, Isuppose, indicated as being occupied by the Danish sculptor. 

 * * * * *

TO THE SAME. 

Rome, March 17, 1849. 

I take occasion to enclose this seal, as a little birthday present, for I think you will be twenty-five in May. I have used it a greatdeal; the design is graceful and expressive, --the stone of some littlevalue. 

I live with the severest economy consistent with my health. I couldnot live for less anywhere. I have renounced much, have suffered more. I trust I shall not find it impossible to accomplish, at least oneof my designs. This is, to see the end of the political strugglein Italy, and write its history. I think it will come to its crisiswithin, this year. But to complete my work as I have begun, I mustwatch it to the end. 

This work, if I can accomplish it, will be a worthy chapter in thehistory of the world; and if written with the spirit which breathesthrough me, and with sufficient energy and calmness to execute wellthe details, would be what the motto on my ring indicates, --"_apossession for ever, for man_. "

It ought to be profitable to me pecuniarily; but in these respectsFate runs so uniformly counter to me, that I dare not expect ever tobe free from perplexity and uncongenial labor. Still, these will nevermore be so hard to me, if I shall have done something good, which maysurvive my troubled existence. Yet it would be like the rest, if byill health, want of means, or being driven prematurely from the fieldof observation, this hope also should be blighted. I am prepared tohave it so. Only my efforts tend to the accomplishment of my object;and should they not be baffled, you will not see me before the summerof 1850. 

Meantime, let the future be what it may, I live as well as I can inthe present. 

Farewell, my dear Richard; that you may lead a peaceful, aspiring, andgenerous life was ever, and must ever be, the prayer from the soul ofyour sister

MARGARET. 

 * * * * *

UNDAUNTED ROME. 

Rome, May 6, 1819. 

I write you from barricaded Rome. The "Mother of Nations" is now atbay against them all. Rome was suffering before. The misfortunes ofother regions of Italy, the defeat at Novara, preconcerted in hopeto strike the last blow at Italian independence, the surrender andpainful condition of Genoa, the money-difficulties, --insuperableunless the government could secure confidence abroad as well as athome, --prevented her people from finding that foothold for which theywere ready. 

The vacillations of France agitated them; still they could notseriously believe she would ever act the part she has. We must sayFrance, because, though many honorable men have washed their handsof all share in the perfidy, the Assembly voted funds to sustain theexpedition to Civita Vecchia; and the nation, the army, have remainedquiescent. No one was, no one could be, deceived as to the scope ofthis expedition. It was intended to restore the Pope to the temporalsovereignty, from which the people, by the use of suffrage, haddeposed him. No doubt the French, in case of success, proposed totemper the triumph of Austria and Naples, and stipulate for conditionsthat might soothe the Romans and make their act less odious. They wereprobably deceived, also, by the representations of Gaėta, and believedthat a large party, which had been intimidated by the republicans, would declare in favor of the Pope when they found themselves likelyto be sustained. But this last pretext can in noway avail them. Theylanded at Civita Vecchia, and no one declared for the Pope. Theymarched on Rome. Placards were affixed within the walls by handsunknown, calling upon the Papal party to rise within the town. Not asoul stirred. The French had no excuse left for pretending to believethat the present government was not entirely acceptable to the people. Notwithstanding, they assail the gates; they fire upon St. Peter's, and their balls pierce the Vatican. They were repulsed, as theydeserved, retired in quick and shameful defeat, as surely the braveFrench soldiery could not, if they had not been demoralized by thesense of what an infamous course they were pursuing. 

France, eager to destroy the last hope of Italianemancipation, --France, the alguazil of Austria, the soldiers ofrepublican France, firing upon republican Rome! If there be angelas well as demon powers that interfere in the affairs of men, thosebullets could scarcely fail to be turned back against their ownbreasts. Yet Roman blood has flowed also; I saw how it stainedthe walls of the Vatican Gardens on the 30th of April--the firstanniversary of the appearance of Pius IX. 's too famous encyclicletter. Shall he, shall any Pope, ever again walk peacefully in thesegardens? It seems impossible! The temporal sovereignty of the Popesis virtually destroyed by their shameless, merciless measures takento restore it. The spiritual dominion ultimately falls, too, intoirrevocable ruin. What may be the issue at this moment, we cannotguess. The French have retired to Civita Vecchia, but whether toreėmbark or to await reinforcements, we know not. The Neapolitan forcehas halted within a few miles of the walls; it is not large, and theyare undoubtedly surprised at the discomfiture of the French. Perhapsthey wait for the Austrians, but we do not yet hear that these haveentered the Romagna. Meanwhile, Rome is strongly barricaded, and, though she cannot stand always against a world in arms, she means atleast to do so as long as possible. Mazzini is at her head; she hasnow a guide "who understands his faith, " and all there is of a noblespirit will show itself. We all feel very sad, because the idea ofbombs, barbarously thrown in, and street-fights in Rome, is peculiarlydreadful. Apart from all the blood and anguish inevitable at suchtimes, the glories of Art may perish, and mankind be forever despoiledof the most beautiful inheritance. Yet I would defend Rome to the lastmoment. She must not be false to the higher hope that has dawned uponher. She must not fall back again into servility and corruption. 

And no one is willing. The interference of the French has roused theweakest to resistance. "From the Austrians, from the Neapolitans, "they cried, "we expected this; but from the French--it is tooinfamous; it cannot be borne;" and they all ran to arms and foughtnobly. 

The Americans here are not in a pleasant situation. Mr. Cass, theChargé of the United States, stays here without recognizing thegovernment. Of course, he holds no position at the present momentthat can enable him to act for us. Beside, it gives us pain that ourcountry, whose policy it justly is to avoid armed interference withthe affairs of Europe, should not use a moral influence. Rome has, aswe did, thrown off a government no longer tolerable; she has madeuse of the suffrage to form another; she stands on the same basis asourselves. Mr. Rush did us great honor by his ready recognition of aprinciple as represented by the French Provisional Government; hadMr. Cass been empowered to do the same, our country would have actednobly, and all that is most truly American in America would havespoken to sustain the sickened hopes of European democracy. But ofthis more when I write next. Who knows what I may have to tell anotherweek?

 * * * * *

TO HER BROTHER, R. B. FULLER. 

Rome, May 22, 1849. 

I do not write to Eugene yet, because around me is such excitement Icannot settle my mind enough to write a letter good for anything. TheNeapolitans have been driven back; but the French, seem to be amusingus with a pretence of treaties, while waiting for the Austrians tocome up. The Austrians cannot, I suppose, be more than three days'march from us. I feel but little about myself. Such thoughts aremerged in indignation, and in the fears I have that Rome may bebombarded. It seems incredible that any nation should be willing toincur the infamy of such an act, --an act that may rob posterity of amost precious part of its inheritance;--only so many incredible thingshave happened of late. I am with William Story, his wife and uncle. Very kind friends they have been in this strait. They are going away, so soon as they can find horses, --going into Germany. I remain alonein the house, under our flag, almost the only American except theConsul and Ambassador. But Mr. Cass, the Envoy, has offered to doanything for me, and I feel at liberty to call on him if I please. 

But enough of this. Let us implore of fate another good meeting, full and free, whether long or short. Love to dearest mother, Arthur, Ellen, Lloyd. Say to all, that, should any accident possible to thesetroubled times transfer me to another scene of existence, they neednot regret it. There must be better worlds than this, where innocentblood is not ruthlessly shed, where treason does not so easilytriumph, where the greatest and best are not crucified. I do not saythis in apprehension, but in case of accident, you might be glad tokeep this last word from your sister

MARGARET. 

 * * * * *

TO R. W. EMERSON. 

Rome, June 10, 1849. 

I received your letter amid the round of cannonade and musketry. Itwas a terrible battle fought here from the first to the last light ofday. I could see all its progress from my balcony. The Italians foughtlike lions. It is a truly heroic spirit that animates them. They makea stand here for honor and their rights, with little ground for hopethat they can resist, now they are betrayed by France. 

Since the 30th of April, I go almost daily to the hospitals, andthough I have suffered, for I had no idea before how terrible gun-shotwounds and wound-fevers are, yet I have taken pleasure, and greatpleasure, in being with the men. There is scarcely one who is notmoved by a noble spirit. Many, especially among the Lombards, are theflower of the Italian youth. When they begin to get better, I carrythem books and flowers; they read, and we talk. 

The palace of the Pope, on the Quirinal, is now used forconvalescents. In those beautiful gardens I walk with them, one withhis sling, another with his crutch. The gardener plays off all hiswater-works for the defenders of the country, and gathers flowers forme, their friend. 

A day or two since, we sat in the Pope's little pavilion, where heused to give private audience. The sun was going gloriously down overMonte Mario, where gleamed the white tents of the French light-horseamong the trees. The cannonade was heard at intervals. Two bright-eyedboys sat at our feet, and gathered up eagerly every word said by theheroes of the day. It was a beautiful hour, stolen from the midst ofruin and sorrow, and tales were told as full of grace and pathos as inthe gardens of Boccaccio, only in a very different spirit, --with noblehope for man, and reverence for woman. 

The young ladies of the family, very young girls, were filled withenthusiasm for the suffering, wounded patriots, and they wished togo to the hospital, to give their services. Excepting the threesuperintendents, none but married ladies were permitted to servethere, but their services were accepted. Their governess then wishedto go too, and, as she could speak several languages, she was admittedto the rooms of the wounded soldiers, to interpret for them, as thenurses knew nothing but Italian, and many of these poor men weresuffering because they could not make their wishes known. Some areFrench, some Germans, many Poles. Indeed, I am afraid it is too truethat there were comparatively few Romans among them. This young ladypassed several nights there. 

Should I never return, and sometimes I despair of doing so, it seemsso far off, --so difficult, I am caught in such a net of ties here, --ifever you know of my life here, I think you will only wonder at theconstancy with which I have sustained myself, --the degree of profit towhich, amid great difficulties, I have put the time, --at least in theway of observation. Meanwhile, love me all you can. Let me feel that, amid the fearful agitations of the world, there are pure hands, withhealthful, even pulse, stretched out toward me, if I claim theirgrasp. 

I feel profoundly for Mazzini. At moments I am tempted to say, "Cursedwith every granted prayer, "--so cunning is the demon. Mazzini hasbecome the inspiring soul of his people. He saw Rome, to which all hishopes through life tended, for the first time as a Roman citizen, andto become in a few days its ruler. He has animated, he sustains her toa glorious effort, which, if it fails this time, will not in the age. His country will be free. Yet to me it would be so dreadful to causeall this bloodshed, --to dig the graves of such martyrs!

Then, Rome is being destroyed; her glorious oaks, --her villas, haunts of sacred beauty, that seemed the possession of the world forever, --the villa of Raphael, the villa of Albani, home of Winckelmannand the best expression of the ideal of modern Rome, and so many othersanctuaries of beauty, --all must perish, lest a foe should level hismusket from their shelter. I could not, could not!

I know not, dear friend, whether I shall ever get home across thatgreat ocean, but here in Rome I shall no longer wish to live. 

O Rome, _my_ country! could I imagine that the triumph of what I helddear was to heap such desolation on thy head!

Speaking of the republic, you say, "Do you not wish Italy had a greatman?" Mazzini is a great man. In mind, a great, poetic statesman; inheart, a lover; in action, decisive and full of resource as Cęsar. Dearly I love Mazzini. He came in, just as I had finished the firstletter to you. His soft, radiant look makes melancholy music in mysoul; it consecrates my present life, that, like the Magdalen, I may, at the important hour, shed all the consecrated ointment on his head. There is one, Mazzini, who understands thee well, --who knew thee noless when an object of popular fear than now of idolatry, --and who, ifthe pen be not held too feebly, will help posterity to know thee too!

 * * * * *

TO HER SISTER, MRS. E. K. CHANNING. 

Rome, June 19, 1849. 

As was Eve, at first, I suppose every mother is delighted by the birthof a man-child. There is a hope that he will conquer more ill, andeffect more good, than is expected from girls. This prejudice in favorof man does not seem to be destroyed by his shortcomings for ages. Still, each mother hopes to find in hers an Emanuel. I should likevery much to see your children, but hardly realize I ever shall. The journey home seems so long, so difficult, so expensive. I shouldreally like to lie down here, and sleep my way into another sphere ofexistence, if I could take with me one or two that love and need me, and was sure of a good haven for them on that other side. 

The world seems to go so strangely wrong! The bad side triumphs; theblood and tears of the generous flow in vain. I assist at many saddestscenes, and suffer for those whom I knew not before. Those whom I knewand loved, --who, if they had triumphed, would have opened for me aneasier, broader, higher-mounting road, --are everyday more and moreinvolved in earthly ruin. Eternity is with us, but there is muchdarkness and bitterness in this portion of it. A baleful star rose onmy birth, and its hostility, I fear, will never be disarmed while Iwalk below. 

 * * * * *

TO W. H. CHANNING. 

July, 1849. 

I cannot tell you what I endured in leaving Rome, abandoning thewounded soldiers, --knowing that there is no provision made for them, when they rise from the beds where they have been thrown by a noblecourage, and have suffered with a noble patience. Some of the poorermen, who rise bereft even of the right arm, --one having lost both theright arm and the right leg, --I could have provided for with a smallsum. Could I have sold my hair, or blood from my arm, I would havedone it. Had any of the rich Americans remained in Rome, they wouldhave given it to me; they helped nobly at first, in the service of thehospitals, when there was far less need; but they had all gone. Whatwould I have given could I but have spoken to one of the Lawrences, or the Phillipses! They could and would have saved this misery. Thesepoor men are left helpless in the power of a mean and vindictive foe. You felt so oppressed in the Slave States; imagine what I felt atseeing all the noblest youth, all the genius of this dear land, againenslaved!

 * * * * *

TO HER MOTHER. 

Florence, February 6, 1850. 

Dearest Mother, --After receiving your letter of October, I answeredimmediately; but as Richard mentions, in one dated December 4th, thatyou have not heard, I am afraid, by some post-office mistake, it wentinto the mail-bag of some sail-ship, instead of steamer, so you werevery long without hearing. I regret it the more, as I wanted so muchto respond fully to your letter, --so lovely, so generous, and which, of all your acts of love, was perhaps the one most needed by me, andwhich has touched me the most deeply. 

I gave you in that a flattering picture of our life. And thosepleasant days lasted till the middle of December; but then came ona cold unknown to Italy, and which has lasted ever since. As theapartments were not prepared for such weather, we suffered a gooddeal. Besides, both Ossoli and myself were taken ill at New-Year'stime, and were not quite well again, all January: now we are quitewell. The weather begins to soften, though still cloudy, damp, andchilly, so that poor baby can go out very little; on that account hedoes not grow so fast, and gets troublesome by evening, as he tiresof being shut up in two or three little rooms, where he has examinedevery object hundreds of times. He is always pointing to the door. Hesuffers much with chilblains, as do other children here; however, heis, with that exception, in the best health, and is a great part ofthe time very gay, laughing and dancing in the nurse-maid's arms, andtrying to sing and drum, in imitation of the bands, which play a greatdeal in the Piazza. 

Nothing special has happened to me. The uninhabitableness of therooms where I had expected to write, and the need of using our littledining-room, the only one in which is a stove, for dressing baby, taking care of him, eating, and receiving visits and messages, haveprevented my writing for six or seven weeks past. In the evening, whenbaby went to bed, about eight, I began to have time, but was generallytoo tired to do anything but read. The four hours, however, from ninetill one, beside the bright little fire, have been very pleasant. Ihave thought of you a great deal, remembering how you suffer from coldin the winter, and hope you are in a warm, comfortable house, havepleasant books to read, and some pleasant friends to see. One does notwant many; only a few bright faces to look in now and then, and helpthaw the ice with little rills of genial conversation. I have fewer ofthese than at Rome, --but still several. * * * * *Horace Sumner, youngest son of father's friend, Mr. Charles P. Sumner, lives near us, and comes every evening to read a little while withOssoli. He has solid good in his heart and mind. We have a true regardfor him, and he has shown true and steadfast sympathy for us; when Iam ill or in a hurry, he helps me like a brother. Ossoli and Sumnerexchange some instruction in English and Italian. 

 * * * * *

My sister's last letter from Europe is full of solemnity, andevidences her clear conviction of the perils of the voyage across thetreacherous ocean. It is a leave-taking, dearly cherished now by themother to whom it was addressed, the kindred of whom she speaks, andby those other kindred, --those who in spirit felt near to and lovedher. It is as follows:--

Florence, May 14, 1850. 

"Dear Mother, --I will believe I shall be welcome with mytreasures, --my husband and child. For me, I long so much to see you!Should anything hinder our meeting upon earth, think of your daughter, as one who always wished, at least, to do her duty, and who alwayscherished you, according as her mind opened to discover excellence. 

"Give dear love, too, to my brothers; and first to my eldest, faithfulfriend, Eugene; a sister's love to Ellen; love to my kind good aunts, and to my dear cousin E. God bless them!

"I hope we shall be able to pass some time together yet, in thisworld. But if God decrees otherwise, --here and HEREAFTER, my dearestmother, "Your loving child, "MARGARET. "

PART IV. 

HOMEWARD VOYAGE, AND MEMORIALS. 

It seems proper that some account of the sad close of Madame Ossoli'searthly journeyings should be embodied in this volume recording hertravels. But a brother's hand trembles even now and _cannot_ write it. Noble, heroic, unselfish, _Christian_ was that death, even as had beenher life; but its outward circumstances were too painful for my pento describe. Nor needs it, --for a scene like that must have impresseditself indelibly on those who witnessed it, and accurate and vividhave been their narratives. The Memoirs of my sister contain a mostfaithful description; but as they are accessible to all, and I trustwill be read by all who have read this volume, I have chosen ratherto give the accounts somewhat condensed which appeared in the NewYork Tribune at the time of the calamity. The first is from the pen ofBayard Taylor, who visited the scene on the day succeeding the wreck, and describes the appearance of the shore and the remains of thevessel. This is followed by the narrative of Mrs. Hasty, wife of thecaptain, herself a participant in the scene, and so overwhelmed bygrief at her husband's loss, and that of friends she had learned somuch to value, that she has since faded from this life. A true andnoble woman, her account deserves to be remembered. The third articleis from the pen of Horace Greeley, my sister's ever-valued friend. Several poems, suggested by this scene, written by those in the OldWorld and New who loved and honored Madame Ossoli, are also insertedhere. The respect they testify for the departed is soothing to thehearts of kindred, and to the many who love and cherish the memory ofMargaret Fuller. --ED. 

LETTER OF BAYARD TAYLOR

Fire Island, Tuesday, July 23. 

To the Editors of the Tribune:--

I reached the house of Mr. Smith Oakes, about one mile from the spotwhere the Elizabeth was wrecked, at three o'clock this morning. Theboat in which I set out last night from Babylon, to cross the bay, wasseven hours making the passage. On landing among the sand-hills, Mr. Oakes admitted me into his house, and gave me a place of rest for theremaining two or three hours of the night. 

This morning I visited the wreck, traversed the beach for some extenton both sides, and collected all the particulars that are now likelyto be obtained, relative to the closing scenes of this terribledisaster. The sand is strewn for a distance of three or four mileswith fragments of planks, spars, boxes, and the merchandise with whichthe vessel was laden. With the exception of a piece of her broadside, which floated to the shore intact, all the timbers have been sochopped and broken by the sea, that scarcely a stick of ten feet inlength can be found. In front of the wreck these fragments are piledup along high-water mark to the height of several feet, while fartherin among the sand-hills are scattered casks of almonds stove in, and their contents mixed with the sand, sacks of juniper-berries, oil-flasks, &c. About half the hull remains under water, not more thanfifty yards from the shore. The spars and rigging belonging to theforemast, with part of the mast itself, are still attached to theruins, surging over them at every swell. Mr. Jonathan Smith, the agentof the underwriters, intended to have the surf-boat launched thismorning, for the purpose of cutting away the rigging and ascertaininghow the wreck lies; but the sea is still too high. 

From what I can learn, the loss of the Elizabeth is mainly to beattributed to the inexperience of the mate, Mr. H. P. Bangs, who actedas captain after leaving Gibraltar. By his own statement, he supposedhe was somewhere between Cape May and Barnegat, on Thursday evening. The vessel was consequently running northward, and struck head on. At the second thump, a hole was broken in her side, the seas pouredthrough and over her, and she began going to pieces. This happened atten minutes before four o'clock. The passengers were roused fromtheir sleep by the shock, and hurried out of the cabin in theirnight-clothes, to take refuge on the forecastle, which was the leastexposed part of the vessel. They succeeded with great difficulty; Mrs. Hasty, the widow of the late captain, fell into a hatchway, from whichshe was dragged by a sailor who seized her by the hair. 

The swells increased continually, and the danger of the vessel givingway induced several of the sailors to commit themselves to the waves. Previous to this they divested themselves of their clothes, which theytied to pieces of plank and sent ashore. These were immediatelyseized upon by the beach pirates, and never afterward recovered. The carpenter cut loose some planks and spars, and upon one of theseMadame Ossoli was advised to trust herself, the captain promising togo in advance, with her boy. She refused, saying that she had no wishto live without the child, and would not, at that hour, give the careof it to another. Mrs. Hasty then took hold of a plank, in companywith the second mate, Mr. Davis, through whose assistance she landedsafely, though terribly bruised by the floating timber. The captainclung to a hatch, and was washed ashore insensible, where he wasresuscitated by the efforts of Mr. Oakes and several others, who wereby this time collected on the beach. Most of the men were entirelydestitute of clothing, and some, who were exhausted and ready to letgo their hold, were saved by the islanders, who went into the surfwith lines about their waists, and caught them. 

The young Italian girl, Celesta Pardena, who was bound for New York, where she had already lived in the family of Henry Peters Gray, theartist, was at first greatly alarmed, and uttered the most piercingscreams. By the exertions of the Ossolis she was quieted, andapparently resigned to her fate. The passengers reconciled themselvesto the idea of death. At the proposal of the Marquis Ossoli some timewas spent in prayer, after which all sat down calmly to await theparting of the vessel. The Marchioness Ossoli was entreated by thesailors to leave the vessel, or at least to trust her child to them, but she steadily refused. 

Early in the morning some men had been sent to the lighthouse for thelife-boat which is kept there. Although this is but two miles distant, the boat did not arrive till about one o'clock, by which time the galehad so increased, and the swells were so high and terrific, that itwas impossible to make any use of it. A mortar was also brought forthe purpose of firing a line over the vessel, to stretch a hawserbetween it and the shore. The mortar was stationed on the lee ofa hillock, about a hundred and fifty rods from the wreck, that thepowder might be kept dry. It was fired five times, but failed tocarry a line more than half the necessary distance. Just before theforecastle sunk, the remaining sailors determined to leave. 

The steward, with whom the child had always been a great favorite, took it, almost by main force, and plunged with it into the sea;neither reached the shore alive. The Marquis Ossoli was soonafterwards washed away, but his wife remained in ignorance of hisfate. The cook, who was the last person that reached the shore alive, said that the last words he heard her speak were: "I see nothing butdeath before me, --I shall never reach the shore. " It was between twoand three o'clock in the afternoon, and after lingering for about tenhours, exposed to the mountainous surf that swept over the vessel, with the contemplation of death constantly forced upon her mind, shewas finally overwhelmed as the foremast fell. It is supposed that herbody and that of her husband are still buried under the ruins of thevessel. Mr. Horace Sumner, who jumped overboard early in the morning, was never seen afterwards. 

The dead bodies that were washed on shore were terribly bruised andmangled. That of the young Italian girl was enclosed in a rough box, and buried in the sand, together with those of the sailors. Mrs. Hastyhad by this time found a place of shelter at Mr. Oakes's house, andat her request the body of the boy, Angelo Eugene Ossoli, was carriedthither, and kept for a day previous to interment. The sailors, whohad all formed a strong attachment to him during the voyage, wept likechildren when they saw him. There was some difficulty in finding acoffin when the time of burial came, whereupon they took one of theirchests, knocked out the tills, laid the body carefully inside, lockedand nailed down the lid. He was buried in a little nook between two ofthe sand-hills, some distance from the sea. 

The same afternoon a trunk belonging to the Marchioness Ossoli cameto shore, and was fortunately secured before the pirates had anopportunity of purloining it. Mrs. Hasty informs me that it containedseveral large packages of manuscripts, which she dried carefully bythe fire. I have therefore a strong hope that the work on Italy willbe entirely recovered. In a pile of soaked papers near the door, I found files of the _Democratie Pacifique_ and _Il Nazionale_ ofFlorence, as well as several of Mazzini's pamphlets, which I havepreserved. 

An attempt will probably be made to-morrow to reach the wreck with thesurf-boat. Judging from its position and the known depth of the water, I should think the recovery, not only of the bodies, if they are stillremaining there, but also of Powers's statue and the blocks of roughCarrara, quite practicable, if there should be a sufficiency of stillweather. There are about a hundred and fifty tons of marble under theruins. The paintings, belonging to Mr. Aspinwall, which were washedashore in boxes, and might have been saved had any one been on thespot to care for them, are for the most part utterly destroyed. Thosewhich were least injured by the sea-water were cut from the framesand carried off by the pirates; the frames were broken in pieces, and scattered along the beach. This morning I found several shreds ofcanvas, evidently more than a century old, half buried in the sand. All the silk, Leghorn braid, hats, wool, oil, almonds, and otherarticles contained in the vessel, were carried off as soon as theycame to land. On Sunday there were nearly a thousand persons here, from all parts of the coast between Rockaway and Montauk, andmore than half of them were engaged in secreting and carrying offeverything that seemed to be of value. 

The two bodies found yesterday were those of sailors. All have nowcome to land but those of the Ossolis and Horace Sumner. If not foundin the wreck, they will be cast ashore to the westward of this, as thecurrent has set in that direction since the gale. 

Yours, &c. 

 * * * * *

THE WRECK OF THE ELIZABETH. 

From a conversation with Mrs. Hasty, widow of the captain of theill-fated Elizabeth, we gather the following particulars of her voyageand its melancholy termination. 

We have already stated that Captain Hasty was prostrated, eight daysafter leaving Leghorn, by a disease which was regarded and treated asfever, but which ultimately exhibited itself as small-pox of the mostmalignant type. He died of it just as the vessel reached Gibraltar, and his remains were committed to the deep. After a short detentionin quarantine, the Elizabeth resumed her voyage on the 8th ultimo, and was long baffled by adverse winds. Two days from Gibraltar, theterrible disease which had proved fatal to the captain attacked thechild of the Ossolis, a beautiful boy of two years, and for many dayshis recovery was regarded as hopeless. His eyes were completely closedfor five days, his head deprived of all shape, and his whole personcovered with pustules; yet, through the devoted attention of hisparents and their friends, he survived, and at length graduallyrecovered. Only a few scars and red spots remained on his face andbody, and these were disappearing, to the great joy of his mother, whofelt solicitous that his rare beauty should not be marred at his firstmeeting with those she loved, and especially her mother. 

At length, after a month of slow progress, the wind shifted, and blewstrongly from the southwest for several days, sweeping them rapidlyon their course, until, on Thursday evening last, they knew that theywere near the end of their voyage. Their trunks were brought up andrepacked, in anticipation of a speedy arrival in port. Meantime, thebreeze gradually swelled to a gale, which became decided about nineo'clock on that evening. But their ship was new and strong, andall retired to rest as usual. They were running west, and supposedthemselves about sixty miles farther south than they actually were. By their reckoning, they would be just off the harbor of New York nextmorning. About half past two o'clock, Mr. Bangs, the mate in command, took soundings, and reported twenty-one fathoms. He said that depthinsured their safety till daylight, and turned in again. Of course, all was thick around the vessel, and the storm howling fiercely. Onehour afterward, the ship struck with great violence, and in a momentwas fast aground. She was a stout brig of 531 tons, five years old, heavily laden with marble, &c. , and drawing seventeen feet water. Hadshe been light, she might have floated over the bar into twenty feetwater, and all on board could have been saved. She struck rathersidewise than bows on, canted on her side and stuck fast, the madwaves making a clear sweep over her, pouring down into the cabinthrough the skylight, which was destroyed. One side of the cabinwas immediately and permanently under water, the other frequentlydrenched. The passengers, who were all up in a moment, chose the mostsheltered positions, and there remained, calm, earnest, and resignedto any fate, for a long three hours. No land was yet visible; theyknew not where they were, but they knew that their chance of survivingwas small indeed. When the coast was first visible through the drivingstorm in the gray light of morning, the sand-hills were mistaken forrocks, which made the prospect still more dismal. The young Ossolicried a little with discomfort and fright, but was soon hushed tosleep. Our friend Margaret had two life-preservers, but one of themproved unfit for use. All the boats had been smashed in pieces or tornaway soon after the vessel struck; and it would have been madness tolaunch them in the dark, if it had been possible to launch them atall, with the waves charging over the wreck every moment. A sailor, soon after light, took Madame Ossoli's serviceable life-preserverand swam ashore with it, in quest of aid for those left on board, andarrived safe, but of course could not return his means of deliverance. 

By 7 A. M. It became evident that the cabin must soon go to pieces, andindeed it was scarcely tenantable then. The crew were collected inthe forecastle, which was stronger and less exposed, the vessel havingsettled by the stem, and the sailors had been repeatedly ordered to goaft and help the passengers forward, but the peril was so great thatnone obeyed. At length the second mate, Davis, went himself, and accompanied the Italian girl, Celesta Pardena, safely to theforecastle, though with great difficulty. Madame Ossoli went next, andhad a narrow escape from being washed away, but got over. Her childwas placed in a bag tied around a sailor's neck, and thus carriedsafely. Marquis Ossoli and the rest followed, each convoyed by themate or one of the sailors. 

All being collected in the forecastle, it was evident that theirposition was still most perilous, and that the ship could not muchlonger hold together. The women were urged to try first the experimentof taking each a plank and committing themselves to the waves. MadameOssoli refused thus to be separated from her husband and child. Shehad from the first expressed a willingness to live or die with them, but not to live without them. Mrs. Hasty was the first to try theplank, and, though the struggle was for some time a doubtful one, didfinally reach the shore, utterly exhausted. There was a strong currentsetting to the westward, so that, though the wreck lay but a quarterof a mile from the shore, she landed three fourths of a mile distant. No other woman, and no passenger, survives, though several of thecrew came ashore after she did, in a similar manner. The last who camereports that the child had been washed away from the man who held itbefore the ship broke up, that Ossoli had in like manner been washedfrom the foremast, to which he was clinging; but, in the horror of themoment, Margaret never learned that those she so clung to had precededher to the spirit land. Those who remained of the crew had justpersuaded her to trust herself to a plank, in the belief that Ossoliand their child had already started for the shore, when just as shewas stepping down, a great wave broke over the vessel and swept herinto the boiling deep. She never rose again. The ship broke up soonafter (about 10 A. M. Mrs. Hasty says, instead of the later hourpreviously reported); but both mates and most of the crew got onone fragment or another. It was supposed that those of them who weredrowned were struck by floating spars or planks, and thus stunned ordisabled so as to preclude all chance of their rescue. 

We do not know at the time of this writing whether the manuscript ofour friend's work on Italy and her late struggles has been saved. Wefear it has not been. One of her trunks is known to have been saved;but, though it contained a good many papers, Mrs. Hasty believes thatthis was not among them. The author had thrown her whole soul intothis work, had enjoyed the fullest opportunities for observation, washerself a partaker in the gallant though unsuccessful struggle whichhas redeemed the name of Rome from the long rust of sloth, servility, and cowardice, was the intimate friend and compatriot of theRepublican leaders, and better fitted than any one else to refute thecalumnies and falsehoods with which their names have been blackened bythe champions of aristocratic "order" throughout the civilized world. We cannot forego the hope that her work on Italy has been saved, orwill yet be recovered. 

 * * * * *

The following is a complete list of the persons lost by the wreck ofthe ship Elizabeth:--

 Giovanni, Marquis Ossoli. Margaret Fuller Ossoli. Their child, Eugene Angelo Ossoli. Celesta Pardena, of Rome. Horace Sumner, of Boston. George Sanford, seaman (Swede). Henry Westervelt, seaman (Swede). George Bates, steward. 

 * * * * *

DEATH OF MARGARET FULLER. 

A great soul has passed from this mortal stage of being by the deathof MARGARET FULLER, by marriage Marchioness Ossoli, who, with herhusband and child, Mr. Horace Sumner of Boston, [A] and others, wasdrowned in the wreck of the brig Elizabeth from Leghorn for thisport, on the south shore of Long Island, near Fire Island, on Fridayafternoon last. No passenger survives to tell the story of that nightof horrors, whose fury appalled many of our snugly sheltered citizensreposing securely in their beds. We can adequately realize what itmust have been to voyagers approaching our coast from the Old World, on vessels helplessly exposed to the rage of that wild southwesterngale, and seeing in the long and anxiously expected land of theiryouth and their love only an aggravation of their perils, a death-blowto their hopes, an assurance of their temporal doom!

[Footnote A: Horace Sumner, one of the victims of the lamentable wreckof the Elizabeth, was the youngest son of the late Hon. Charles P. Sumner, of Boston, for many years Sheriff of Suffolk County, and thebrother of George Sumner, Esq. , the distinguished American writer, nowresident at Paris, and of Hon. Charles Sumner of Boston, who is wellknown for his legal and literary eminence throughout the country. Hewas about twenty-four years of age, and had been abroad for nearly ayear, travelling in the South of Europe for the benefit of his health. The past winter was spent by him chiefly in Florence, where he was onterms of familiar intimacy with the Marquis and Marchioness Ossoli, and was induced to take passage in the same vessel with them for hisreturn to his native land. He was a young man of singular modesty ofdeportment, of an original turn of mind, and greatly endeared to hisfriends by the sweetness of his disposition and the purity of hischaracter. ]

Margaret Fuller was the daughter of Hon. Timothy Fuller, a lawyerof Boston, but nearly all his life a resident of Cambridge, and aRepresentative of the Middlessex District in Congress from 1817 to1825. Mr. Fuller, upon his retirement from Congress, purchased a farmat some distance from Boston, and abandoned law for agriculture, soonafter which he died. His widow and six children still survive. 

Margaret, if we mistake not, was the first-born, and from a very earlyage evinced the possession of remarkable intellectual powers. Herfather regarded her with a proud admiration, and was from childhoodher chief instructor, guide, companion, and friend. He committed thetoo common error of stimulating her intellect to an assiduity andpersistency of effort which severely taxed and ultimately injured herphysical powers. [A] At eight years of age he was accustomed to requireof her the composition of a number of Latin verses per day, whileher studies in philosophy, history, general science, and currentliterature were in after years extensive and profound. After herfather's death, she applied herself to teaching as a vocation, firstin Boston, then in Providence, and afterward in Boston again, whereher "Conversations" were for several seasons attended by classes ofwomen, some of them married, and including many from the best familiesof the "American Athens. "

[Footnote A: I think this opinion somewhat erroneous, for reasonswhich I have already given in the edition recently published of Womanin the Nineteenth Century. The reader is referred to page 352 ofthat work, and also to page 38, where I believe my sister personifiedherself under the name of Miranda, and stated clearly and justly therelation which, existed between her father and herself. --ED. ]

In the autumn of 1844, she accepted an invitation to take part in theconduct of the Tribune, with especial reference to the departmentof Reviews and Criticism on current Literature, Art, Music, &c. ; aposition which she filled for nearly two years, --how eminently, our readers well know. Her reviews of Longfellow's Poems, Wesley'sMemoirs, Poe's Poems, Bailey's "Festus, " Douglas's Life, &c. Must yetbe remembered by many. She had previously found "fit audience, thoughfew, " for a series of remarkable papers on "The Great Musicians, ""Lord Herbert of Cherbury, " "Woman, " &c. , &c. , in "The Dial, " aquarterly of remarkable breadth and vigor, of which she was at firstco-editor with Ralph Waldo Emerson, but which was afterward edited byhim only, though she continued a contributor to its pages. In 1843, she accompanied some friends on a tour via Niagara, Detroit, andMackinac to Chicago, and across the prairies of Illinois, and herresulting volume, entitled "Summer on the Lakes, " is one of the bestworks in this department ever issued from the American press. Itwas too good to be widely and instantly popular. Her "Woman in theNineteenth Century"--an extension of her essay in the Dial--waspublished by us early in 1845, and a moderate edition sold. The nextyear, a selection from her "Papers on Literature and Art" was issuedby Wiley and Putnam, in two fair volumes of their "Library of AmericanBooks. " We believe the original edition was nearly or quite exhausted, but a second has not been called for, while books nowise comparableto it for strength or worth have run through half a dozen editions. [A]These "Papers" embody some of her best contributions to the Dial, theTribune, and perhaps one or two which had not appeared in either. 

[Footnote A: A second edition has since been published. --ED. ]

In the summer of 1845, Miss Fuller accompanied the family of a devotedfriend to Europe, visiting England, Scotland, France, and passingthrough Italy to Rome, where they spent the ensuing winter. Sheaccompanied her friends next spring to the North of Italy, and therestopped, spending most of the summer at Florence, and returning atthe approach of winter to Rome, where she was soon after married toGiovanni, Marquis Ossoli, who had made her acquaintance during herfirst winter in the Eternal City. They have since resided in theRoman States until the last summer, after the surrender of Rome to theFrench army of assassins of liberty, when they deemed it expedientto migrate to Florence, both having taken an active part in theRepublican movement which resulted so disastrously, --nay, of which theultimate result is yet to be witnessed. Thence in June they departedand set sail at Leghorn for this port, in the Philadelphia brigElizabeth, which was doomed to encounter a succession of disasters. They had not been many days at sea when the captain was prostrated bya disease which ultimately exhibited itself as confluent small-poxof the most malignant type, and terminated his life soon after theytouched at Gibraltar, after a sickness of intense agony and loathsomehorror. The vessel was detained some days in quarantine by reason ofthis affliction, but finally set sail again on the 8th ultimo, just inseason to bring her on our coast on the fearful night between Thursdayand Friday last, when darkness, rain, and a terrific gale from thesouthwest (the most dangerous quarter possible), conspired to hurlher into the very jaws of destruction. It is said, but we know not howtruly, that the mate in command since the captain's death mistookthe Fire Island light for that on the Highlands of Neversink, and sofatally miscalculated his course; but it is hardly probable that anyother than a first-class, fully manned ship could have worked offthat coast under such a gale, blowing him directly toward the roaringbreakers. She struck during the night, and before the next eveningthe Elizabeth was a mass of drifting sticks and planks, while herpassengers and part of her crew were buried in the boiling surges. Alas that our gifted friend, and those nearest to and most loved byher, should have been among them!

We trust a new, compact, and cheap edition or selection, of MargaretFuller's writings will soon be given to the public, prefaced by aMemoir. It were a shame to us if one so radiantly lofty in intellect, so devoted to human liberty and well-being, so ready to dare and toendure for the upraising of her sex and her race, should perish fromamong us, and leave no memento less imperfect and casual than those wenow have. We trust the more immediate relatives of our departed friendwill lose no time in selecting the fittest person to prepare a Memoir, with a selection from her writings, for the press. [A] America hasproduced no woman who in mental endowments and acquirements hassurpassed Margaret Fuller, and it will be a public misfortune if herthoughts are not promptly and acceptably embodied. 

[Footnote A: The reader is aware that such a Memoir has since beenpublished, and that several of her works have been republishedlikewise. I trust soon to publish a volume of Madame Ossoli'sMiscellaneous Writings. --ED. ]

 * * * * *

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI

BY C. P. CRANCH. 

 O still, sweet summer days! O moonlight nights! After so drear a storm how can ye shine? O smiling world of many-hued delights, How canst thou 'round our sad hearts still entwine The accustomed wreaths of pleasure? How, O Day, Wakest thou so full of beauty? Twilight deep, How diest thou so tranquilly away? And how, O Night, bring'st thou the sphere of sleep? For she is gone from us, --gone, lost for ever, -- In the wild billows swallowed up and lost, -- Gone, full of love, life, hope, and high endeavor, Just when we would have welcomed her the most. 

 Was it for this, O woman, true and pure! That life through shade and light had formed thy mind To feel, imagine, reason, and endure, -- To soar for truth, to labor for mankind? Was it for this sad end thou didst bear thy part In deeds and words for struggling Italy, -- Devoting thy large mind and larger heart That Rome in later days might yet be free? And, from that home driven out by tyranny, Didst turn to see thy fatherland once more, Bearing affection's dearest ties with thee; And as the vessel bore thee to our shore, And hope rose to fulfilment, --on the deck, When friends seemed almost beckoning unto thee: O God! the fearful storm, --the splitting wreck, -- The drowning billows of the dreary sea!

 O, many a heart was stricken dumb with grief! We who had known thee here, --had met thee there Where Rome threw golden light on every leaf Life's volume turned in that enchanted air, -- O friend! how we recall the Italian days Amid the Cęsar's ruined palace halls, -- The Coliseum, and the frescoed blaze Of proud St. Peter's dome, --the Sistine walls, -- The lone Campagna and the village green, -- The Vatican, --the music and dim light Of gorgeous temples, --statues, pictures, seen With thee: those sunny days return so bright, Now thou art gone! Thou hast a fairer world Than that bright clime. The dreams that filled thee here Now find divine completion, and, unfurled Thy spirit-wings, find out their own high sphere. 

 Farewell! thought-gifted, noble-hearted one! We, who have known thee, know thou art not lost; The star that set in storms still shines upon The o'ershadowing cloud, and, when we sorrow most, In the blue spaces of God's firmament Beams out with purer light than we have known. Above the tempest and the wild lament Of those who weep the radiance that is flown. 

 * * * * *

THE DEATH OF MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 

BY MARY C. AMES. 

 O Italy! amid thy scenes of blood, She acted long a woman's noble part! Soothing the dying of thy sons, proud Rome! Till thou wert bowed, O city of her heart! When thou hadst fallen, joy no longer flowed In the rich sunlight of thy heaven; And from thy glorious domes and shrines of art, No quickening impulse to her life was given. 

 From the deep shadow of thy cypress hills, From the soft beauty of thy classic plains, The noble-hearted, with, her treasures, turned To the far land where Freedom proudly reigns. After the rocking of long years of storms, Her weary spirit looked and longed for rest; Pictures of home, of loved and kindred forms, Rose warm and life-like in her aching breast. 

 But the wild ocean rolled before her home; And, listening long unto its fearful moan, She thought of myriads who had found their rest Down in its caverns, silent, deep, and lone. Then rose the prayer within her heart of hearts, With the dark phantoms of a coming grief, That "_Nino_, Ossoli, and I may go _Together_;--that the anguish may be brief. "

 The bark spread out her pennons proud and free, The sunbeams frolicked with the wanton waves; Smiled through the long, long days the summer sea, And sung sweet requiems o'er her sunken graves. E'en then the shadow of the fearful King Hung deep and darkening o'er the fated bark; Suffering and death and anguish reigned, ere came Hope's weary dove back to the longing ark. 

 This was the morning to the night of woe; When the grim Ocean, in his fiercest wrath, Held fearful contest with the god of storms, Who lashed the waves with death upon his path. O night of agony! O awful morn, That oped on such a scene thy sullen eyes! The shattered ship, --those wrecked and broken hearts, Who only prayed, "_Together let us die_. "

 Was this thy greeting longed for, Margaret, In the high, noontide of thy lofty pride? The welcome sighed for, in thine hours of grief, When pride had fled and hope in thee had died? Twelve hours' communion with the Terror-King! No wandering hope to give the heart relief! And yet thy prayer was heard, --the cold waves wrapt Those forms "together, " and the woe was "brief. "

 Thus closed thy day in darkness and in tears; Thus waned a life, alas! too full of pain; But O thou noble woman! thy brief life, Though full of sorrows, was not lived in vain. No more a pilgrim o'er a weary waste, With light ineffable thy mind is crowned; Heaven's richest lore is thine own heritage; All height is gained, thy "kingdom" now is found. 

 * * * * *

TO THE MEMORY OF MARGARET FULLER. 

BY E. OAKES SMITH. 

 We hailed thee, Margaret, from the sea, We hailed thee o'er the wave, And little thought, in greeting thee, Thy home would be a grave. 

 We blest thee in thy laurel crown, And in the myrtle's sheen, -- Rejoiced thy noble worth to own, Still joy, our tears between. 

 We hoped that many a happy year Would bless thy coming feet; And thy bright fame grow brighter here, By Fatherland made sweet. 

 Gone, gone! with all thy glorious thought, -- Gone with thy waking life, -- With the green chaplet Fame had wrought, -- The joy of Mother, Wife. 

 Oh! who shall dare thy harp to take, And pour upon the air The clear, calm music, that should wake The heart to love and prayer!

 The lip, all eloquent, is stilled And silent with its trust, -- The heart, with Woman's greatness filled, Must crumble to the dust:

 But from thy _great heart_ we will take New courage for the strife; From petty ills our bondage break, And labor with new life. 

 Wake up, in darkness though it be, To better truth and light; Patient in toil, as we saw thee, In searching for the light;

 And mindless of the scorn it brings, For 't is in desert land That angels come with sheltering wings To lead us by the hand. 

 Courageous one! thou art not lost, Though sleeping in the wave; Upon its chainless billows tost, For thee is fitting grave. 

 * * * * *

SLEEP SWEETLY, GENTLE CHILD. [A]

 [The only child of the Marchioness Ossoli, well known as Margaret Fuller, is buried in the Valley Cemetery, at Manchester, N. H. There is always a vase of flowers placed near the grave, and a marble slab, with a cross and lily sculptured upon it, bears this inscription: "In Memory of Angelo Eugene Philip Ossoli, who was born at Rieti, in Italy, 5th September, 1848, and perished by shipwreck off Fire Island, with both his parents, Giovanni Angelo and Margaret Fuller Ossoli, on the 19th of July, 1850. "]

 Sleep sweetly, gentle child! though to this sleep The cold winds rocked thee, on the ocean's breast, And strange, wild murmurs o'er the dark, blue deep Were the last sounds that lulled thee to thy rest, And while the moaning waves above thee rolled, The hearts that loved thee best grew still and cold. 

 Sleep sweetly, gentle child! though the loved tone That twice twelve months had hushed thee to repose Could give no answer to the tearful moan That faintly from thy sea-moss pillow rose. That night the arms that closely folded thee Were the wet weeds that floated in the sea. 

 Sleep sweetly, gentle child! the cold, blue wave Hath pitied the sad sighs the wild winds bore, And from the wreck it held _one_ treasure gave To the fond watchers weeping on the shore;-- Now the sweet vale shall guard its precious trust, While mourning hearts weep o'er thy silent dust. 

 Sleep sweetly, gentle child! love's tears are shed Upon the garlands of fair Northern flowers That fond hearts strew above thy lowly bed, Through all our summer's glad and pleasant hours: For thy sake, and for hers who sleeps beneath the wave, Kind hands bring flowers to fade upon thy grave. 

 Sleep sweetly, gentle child! the warm wind sighs Amid the dark pines through this quiet dell, And waves the light flower-shade that lies Upon the white-leaved lily's sculptured bell;-- The "Valley's" flowers are fair, the turf is green;-- Sleep sweetly here, wept-for Eugene!

 Sleep sweetly, gentle child! this peaceful rest Hath early given thee to a home above, Safe from all sin and tears, for, ever blest To sing sweet praises of redeeming love. -- The love that took thee to that world of bliss Ere thou hadst learned the sighs and griefs of this. 

JULIET. 

Laurel Brook, N. H. , September, 1851. 

[Footnote A: These lines are beautiful and full of sweet sympathy. Thehome of the mother and brother of Margaret Fuller being now removedfrom Manchester to Boston, the remains of the little child, too dearto remain distant from us, have been removed to Mount Auburn. Thesame marble slab is there with, its inscription, and the lines deserveinsertion here. --ED. ]

 * * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF MARGARET FULLER. 

BY G. P. R. JAMES. 

 High hopes and bright thine early path bedecked, And aspirations beautiful though wild, -- A heart too strong, a powerful will unchecked, A dream that earth-things could be undefiled. 

 But soon, around thee, grew a golden chain, That bound the woman to more human things, And taught with joy--and, it may be, with pain-- That there are limits e'en to Spirit's wings. 

 Husband and child, --the loving and beloved, -- Won, from the vast of thought, a mortal part, The impassioned wife and mother, yielding, proved Mind has itself a master--in the heart. 

 In distant lands enhaloed by, old fame Thou found'st the only chain thy spirit knew, But captive ledst thy captors, from the shame Of ancient freedom, to the pride of new. 

 And loved hearts clung around thee on the deck, Welling with sunny hopes 'neath sunny skies: The wide horizon round thee had no speck, -- E'en Doubt herself could see no cloud arise. 

 Thy loved ones clung around thee, when the sail O'er wide Atlantic billows onward bore Thy freight of joys, and the expanding gale Pressed the glad bark toward thy native shore. 

 The loved ones clung around thee still, when all Was darkness, tempest, terror, and dismay, -- More closely clung around thee, when the pall Of Fate was falling o'er the mortal clay. 

 With them to live, --with them, with them to die, Sublime of human love intense and fine!-- Was thy last prayer unto the Deity; And it was granted thee by Love Divine. 

 In the same billow, --in the same dark grave, -- Mother, and child, and husband, find their rest. The dream is ended; and the solemn wave Gives back the gifted to her country's breast. 

 * * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF MARQUIS OSSOLI AND HIS WIFE, MARGARET FULLER. 

BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 

 Over his millions Death has lawful power, But over thee, brave Ossoli! none, none! After a long struggle, in a fight Worthy of Italy to youth restored, Thou, far from home, art sunk beneath the surge Of the Atlantic; on its shore; in reach Of help; in trust of refuge; sunk with all Precious on earth to thee, --a child, a wife! Proud as thou wert of her, America Is prouder, showing to her sons how high Swells woman's courage in a virtuous breast. 

 She would not leave behind her those she loved: Such solitary safety might become Others, --not her; not her who stood beside The pallet of the wounded, when the worst Of France and Perfidy assailed the walls Of unsuspicious Rome. Rest, glorious soul, Renowned for strength of genius, Margaret! Rest with the twain too dear! My words are few, And shortly none will hear my failing voice, But the same language with more full appeal Shall hail thee. Many are the sons of song Whom thou hast heard upon thy native plains, Worthy to sing of thee; the hour is come; Take we our seats and let the dirge begin. 

 * * * * *

MONUMENT TO THE OSSOLI FAMILY. 

[FROM THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE. ]

The family of Margaret Fuller Ossoli have just erected to her memory, and that of her husband and child, a marble monument in Mount Auburncemetery, in Massachusetts. It is located on Pyrola Path, in abeautiful part of the grounds, and has near it some noble oaks, whilethe hand of affection has planted many a flower. The body of MargaretFuller rests in the ocean, but her memory abides in many hearts. Sheneeds no monumental stone, but human affection loves thus to do honorto the departed. 

The following is the inscription on the monument:--

 Erected In Memory of

 MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, Born in Cambridge, Mass. , May 23, 1810. 

 By birth, a Citizen of New England; by adoption, a Citizen of Rome; by genius, belonging to the World. In youth, an insatiate Student, seeking the highest culture; in riper years, Teacher, Writer, Critic of Literature and Art; in maturer age, Companion and Helper of many earnest Reformers in America and Europe. 

 And

 In Memory of her Husband, GIOVANNI ANGELO, MARQUIS OSSOLI. 

 He gave up rank, station, and home for the Roman Republic, and for his Wife and Child. 

 And

 In Memory of that Child, ANGELO EUGENE PHILIP OSSOLI, Born in Rieti, Italy, Sept. 5, 1848, Whose dust reposes at the foot of this stone. They passed from life together by shipwreck, July 19, 1850. 

 United in life by mutual love, labors, and trials, the merciful Father took them together, and In death they were not divided. 

THE END.