e Borsieri. Two
others, Foresti and Albinola, I had often seen in New York, where they
lived for many years, beloved and respected. In all of them, a perfectly
childish delight in living seemed to make amends for the long and dreary
years passed in prison. Every pulse-beat of freedom was a joy to them.
Yet the iron had entered deeply into their souls. Natural leaders and
men of promise, they had been taken out of the world of active life in
the very flower of their youth and strength. The fortress in which they
were confined was gloomy and desolate. For many months no books were
allowed them, and in the end only books of religion, so called. They had
begged for employment, and were given wool to knit stockings, and dirty
linen rags to scrape for lint, with the sarcastic remark that to people
of their benevolent disposition such work as this last should be most
congenial. The time, they said, seemed endless in passing, but little
when past, no events having diversified its dull blankness.

When I listened to the conversation of these men, and saw Italy so bound
hand and foot by Austrian and other tyrants, I felt only the hopeless
chaos of the political outlook. Where should freedom come from? The
logical bond of imprisonment seemed complete. It was sealed with four
impregnable fortresses, and the great spiritual tyranny sat enthroned in
the centre, and had its response in every other despotic centre of the
globe. I almost ask to-day, "By what miracle was the great structure
overthrown?" But the remembrance of this miracle forbids me to despair
of any great deliverance, however desired and delayed. He who maketh the
wrath of man to serve Him can make liberty blossom out of the very rod
that the tyrant wields.

The emotions with which people in general approach the historic sites of
the world have been so often described as to make it needless for me to
dwell upon my own. But I will mention the thrill of wonder which
overcame me as we drove over the Campagna and caught the first glimpse
of St. Peter's dome. Was it possible? Had I lived to come within sight
of the great city, Mistress of the World? Like much else in my
journeying, this appeared to me like something seen in a dream, scarcely
to be apprehended by the bodily senses.

The Rome that I then saw was mediaeval in its aspect. A great gloom and
silence hung over it. Coming to establish ourselves for the winter, we
felt the pressure of many discomforts, especially t