of Mrs. Trollope without her vivacity, the
cockneyism of Dickens without his graphic power and love of the
odd corners of human nature. I admired the English at home in
their island; I admired their honor, truth, practical intelligence,
persistent power. But they do not look well in Italy; they are not the
figures for this landscape. I am indignant at the contempt they have
presumed to express for the faults of our semi-barbarous state. What
is the vulgarity expressed in our tobacco-chewing, and way of eating
eggs, compared to that which elbows the Greek marbles, guide-book in
hand,--chatters and sneers through the Miserere of the Sistine Chapel,
beneath the very glance of Michel Angelo's Sibyls,--praises
St. Peter's as "_nice_"--talks of "_managing_" the Colosseum by
moonlight,--and snatches "_bits_" for a "_sketch_" from the sublime
silence of the Campagna.

Yet I was again reconciled with them, the other day, in visiting
the studio of Macdonald. There I found a complete gallery of the
aristocracy of England; for each lord and lady who visits Rome
considers it a part of the ceremony to sit to him for a bust. And what
a 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; then
they show the habitual coldness of their temperament, the habitual
subservience to frivolous conventionalities. They need some great
occasion, some exciting crisis, in order to make them look as free and
dignified 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 is
highly-spoken of; it is called the Angel of the Resurrection. I was
not so fortunate as to find it in his studio. In that of Wolff I saw a
Diana, ordered by the Emperor of Russia. It is modern and sentimental;
as different from, the antique Diana as the trance of a novel-read
young lady of our day from the thrill with which the ancient shepherds
deprecated the magic pervasions of Hecate, but very beautiful and
exquisitely 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 very
refreshing after the grander attempts of