s, and the whole fervor of his soul is expressed
in the eagerness with which he gazes forward, on stepping past the
sleeping Cerberus. Crawford is now engaged on the statue of an Indian
girl, pierced by an arrow, and dying. It is a simple and touching
figure, and will, I think, be one of his best works.

We are often amused with the groups in the square of the Pantheon, which
we can see from our chamber-window. Shoemakers and tinkers carry on
their business along the sunny side, while the venders of oranges and
roasted chesnuts form a circle around the Egyptian obelisk and fountain.
Across the end of an opposite street we get a glimpse of the
vegetable-market, and now and then the shrill voice of a pedlar makes
its nasal solo audible above the confused chorus. As the beggars choose
the Corso, St. Peter's, and the ruins for their principal haunts, we are
now spared the hearing of their lamentations. Every time we go out we
are assailed with them. "_Maladetta sia la vostra testa_!"--"Curses be
upon your head!"--said one whom I passed without notice. The priests
are, however, the greatest beggars. In every church are kept offering
boxes, for the support of the church or some unknown institution; they
even go from house to house, imploring support and assistance in the
name of the Virgin and all the saints, while their bloated, sensual
countenances and capacious frames tell of anything but fasts and
privations. Once, as I was sitting among the ruins, I was suddenly
startled by a loud, rattling sound; turning my head, I saw a figure
clothed in white from head to foot, with only two small holes for the
eyes. He held in his hand a money-box, on which was a figure of the
Virgin, which he held close to my lips, that I might kiss it. This I
declined doing, but dropped a baiocco into his box, when, making the
sign of the cross, he silently disappeared.

Our present lodging (Trattoria del Sole) is a good specimen of an
Italian inn for mechanics and common tradesmen. Passing through the
front room, which is an eating-place for the common people--with a
barrel of wine in the corner, and bladders of lard hanging among orange
boughs in the window--we enter a dark court-yard filled with heavy
carts, and noisy with the neighing of horses and singing of grooms, for
the stables occupy part of the house. An open staircase, running all
around this hollow square, leads to the second, third, and fourth
stories,

On the second story is the d