ay before us, with the
light of the _Porta del Popolo_ at the end. I felt strangely excited as
the old vehicle rumbled through the arch, and we entered a square with
fountains and an obelisk of Egyptian granite in the centre. Delivering
up our passports, we waited until the necessary examinations were made,
and then went forward. Three streets branch out from the square, the
middle one of which, leading directly to the Capitol, is the Corso, the
Roman Broadway. Our vetturino chose that to the left, the Via della
Scrofa, leading off towards the bridge of St. Angelo. I looked out the
windows as we drove along, but saw nothing except butcher-shops,
grocer-stores, etc.--horrible objects for a sentimental traveler!

Being emptied out on the pavement at last, our first care was to find
rooms; after searching through many streets, with a coarse old Italian
who spoke like an angel, we arrived at a square where the music of a
fountain was heard through the dusk and an obelisk cut out some of the
starlight. At the other end I saw a portico through the darkness, and my
heart gave a breathless bound on recognizing the _Pantheon_--the
matchless temple of Ancient Rome! And now while I am writing, I hear the
gush of the fountain--and if I step to the window, I see the time-worn
but still glorious edifice.

On returning for our baggage, we met the funeral procession of the
Princess Altieri. Priests in white and gold carried flaming torches, and
the coffin, covered with a magnificent golden pall, was borne in a
splendid hearse, guarded by four priests. As we were settling our
account with the vetturino, who demanded much more _buona mano_ than we
were willing to give, the young dragoon returned. He was greatly
agitated. "I have been at home!" said he, in a voice trembling with
emotion. I was about to ask him further concerning his family, but he
kissed and embraced us warmly and hurriedly, saying he had only come to
say "addio!" and to leave us. I stop writing to ramble through Rome.
This city of all cities to me--this dream of my boyhood--giant,
god-like, fallen Rome--is around me, and I revel in a glow of
anticipation and exciting thought that seems to change my whole state of
being.

CHAPTER XL.

ROME.

_Dec. 29._--One day's walk through Rome--how shall I describe it? The
Capitol, the Forum, St. Peter's, the Coliseum--what few hours' ramble
ever took in places so hallowed by poetry, history and art? It was a
golden lea