aders, of all preachers of liberty, past and living, it is not
too much to say that Arnold of Brescia was the truest, the bravest and
the simplest.

* * * * *

To them all, the Capitol has been the central object of dreams, and upon
its walls the story of their failure has often been told in grotesque
figures of themselves. When Rienzi was first driven out, his effigy was
painted, hanged by the heels upon one of the towers, and many another
'enemy of the state' was pictured there--Giuliano Cesarini, for one, and
the great Sforza, himself, with a scornful and insulting epigraph; as
Andrea del Castagno, justly surnamed the 'Assassin,' painted upon the
walls of the Signoria in Florence the likeness of all those who had
joined in the great conspiracy of the Pazzi, hung up by the feet, as may
be seen to this day.

It has ever been a place of glory, a place of death and a place of
shame, but since the great modern changes it is meant to be only the
seat of honour, and upon the slope of the Capitol the Italians, in the
first flush of victorious unity, have begun to raise a great monument to
their greatest idol, King Victor Emmanuel. If it is not the best work of
art of the sort in existence it will probably enjoy the distinction of
being the largest, and it is by no means the worst, for the central
statue of the 'Honest King' has been modelled with marvellous skill and
strength by Chiaradia, whose name is worthy to be remembered; yet the
vastness of the architectural theatre provided for its display betrays
again the giantism of the Latin race, and when in a future century the
broad flood of patriotism shall have subsided within the straight river
bed of sober history, men will wonder why Victor Emmanuel, honest and
brave though he was, received the greater share of praise, and Cavour
and Garibaldi the less, seeing that he got Italy by following the advice
of the one, if not by obeying his dictation, and by accepting the
kingdom which the other had destined for a republic, but was forced to
yield to the monarchy by the superior genius of the statesman.

That day is not far distant. After a period of great and disastrous
activity, the sleepy indifference of 1830 is again settling upon Rome,
the race for imaginary wealth is over, time is a drug in the market,
money is scarce, dwellings are plentiful, the streets are quiet by day
and night, and only those who still have something to lose or who