ime in Rome, and knew the state of feeling in the population, shuddered
to think of what would certainly happen should the French be withdrawn.
I have been told by those who visited Rome more recently, that the
Romans now do not ask for so much as two hours. "Give us but half an
hour," say they, "and we undertake that the Papacy shall never again
trouble the world." No true Protestant can wish, or even hope, to put
down the system in this way; nevertheless it is a fact, that the Romans
have been goaded to this pitch of exasperation, and the slightest change
in the political relations of Europe might precipitate on Rome and the
Papal States an avalanche of vengeance. The November of 1851 was a time
of almost unendurable apprehension to the priests. With reference to
France, then on the eve of the _coup d'etat_, though not known to be so
save in Rome,--where I am satisfied it was well known,--the priests, I
was told by those who had access to know, said, "We tremble, we tremble,
for we know not how we shall finish!" They were said to have their
pantaloons, et cetera, all ready, to escape in a laic dress. Assuredly
the curse has taken effect upon the occupants of the Vatican not less
than on the inhabitants of the Ghetto. "Thy life shall hang in doubt
before thee, and thou shalt fear day and night, and shalt have none
assurance of thy life."

Among other things that did not realize my expectations in Italy was the
weather. During my stay in Rome there were dull and dispiriting days,
with the Alban hills white to their bottom. Others were clear, with the
piercingly cold Tramontana sweeping the streets; but more frequently
the sirocco was blowing, accompanied with deluges of rain, and flashes
of lightning that made the night luminous as the day, and peals that
rocked the city on its foundations. One Sabbath evening we had a slight
shock of earthquake; and I began to think that I had come to see the
volcanic covering of the Campagna crack, and the old hulk which has been
stranded on it so long sink into the abyss. My homeward journey was
accomplished so far in the most dismal weather I have ever seen. I
started from Rome on a Monday afternoon, in a Veturino carriage, with
two Roman gentlemen as my companions. It was the Civita Vecchia road,
for my purpose was to go by sea to France. We reached the half-way house
some hours after dark; and, having supped, we were required to conform
to the rule of the house, which was to retire