subject. I have seen all the pomps and shows of Holy Week in the
church of St. Peter, and found them less imposing than an habitual
acquaintance with the place, with processions of monks and nuns
stealing in now and then, or the swell of vespers from some side
chapel. I have ascended the dome, and seen thence Rome and its
Campagna, its villas with, their cypresses and pines serenely sad as
is nothing else in the world, and the fountains of the Vatican garden
gushing hard by. I have been in the Subterranean to see a poor little
boy 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 on
their tombs, and the old mosaics, and virgins with gilt caps. It is
all rich, and full,--very impressive in its way. St. Peter's must be
to each one a separate poem.

The ceremonies of the Church, have been numerous and splendid during
our stay here; and they borrow unusual interest from the love and
expectation inspired by the present Pontiff. He is a man of noble
and good aspect, who, it is easy to see, has set his heart upon doing
something solid for the benefit of man. But pensively, too, must
one feel how hampered and inadequate are the means at his command
to accomplish these ends. The Italians do not feel it, but deliver
themselves, with all the vivacity of their temperament, to perpetual
hurras, vivas, rockets, and torch-light processions. I often think how
grave and sad must the Pope feel, as he sits alone and hears all this
noise of expectation.

A week or two ago the Cardinal Secretary published a circular inviting
the departments to measures which would give the people a sort of
representative council. Nothing could seem more limited than this
improvement, but it was a great measure for Rome. At night the Corso
in which, we live was illuminated, and many thousands passed through
it in a torch-bearing procession. I saw them first assembled in the
Piazza del Popolo, forming around its fountain a great circle of fire.
Then, as a river of fire, they streamed slowly through the Corso, on
their way to the Quirinal to thank the Pope, upbearing a banner on
which the edict was printed. The stream, of fire advanced slowly, with
a perpetual surge-like sound of voices; the torches flashed on the
animated Italian faces. I have never seen anything finer. Ascending
the Quirinal they made it a mount of light. Bengal fires were thrown
up, which cast their red and whi