indliness with which Natures takes an
English ruin to her heart, covering it with ivy, as tenderly as Robin
Redbreast covered the dead babes with forest leaves. She strives to make
it a part of herself, gradually obliterating the handiwork of man, and
supplanting it with her own mosses and trailing verdure, till she has
won the whole structure back. But, in Italy, whenever man has once hewn
a stone, Nature forthwith relinquishes her right to it, and never lays
her finger on it again. Age after age finds it bare and naked, in the
barren sunshine, and leaves it so. Besides this natural disadvantage,
too, each succeeding century, in Rome, has done its best to ruin the
very ruins, so far as their picturesque effect is concerned, by stealing
away the marble and hewn stone, and leaving only yellow bricks, which
never can look venerable.

The party ascended the winding way that leads from the Forum to the
Piazza of the Campidoglio on the summit of the Capitoline Hill. They
stood awhile to contemplate the bronze equestrian statue of Marcus
Aurelius. The moonlight glistened upon traces of the gilding which
had once covered both rider and steed; these were almost gone, but the
aspect of dignity was still perfect, clothing the figure as it were with
an imperial robe of light. It is the most majestic representation of
the kingly character that ever the world has seen. A sight of the old
heathen emperor is enough to create an evanescent sentiment of loyalty
even in a democratic bosom, so august does he look, so fit to rule,
so worthy of man's profoundest homage and obedience, so inevitably
attractive of his love. He stretches forth his hand with an air of grand
beneficence and unlimited authority, as if uttering a decree from which
no appeal was permissible, but in which the obedient subject would
find his highest interests consulted; a command that was in itself a
benediction.

"The sculptor of this statue knew what a king should be," observed
Kenyon, "and knew, likewise, the heart of mankind, and how it craves a
true ruler, under whatever title, as a child its father."

"O, if there were but one such man as this?" exclaimed Miriam. "One such
man in an age, and one in all the world; then how speedily would the
strife, wickedness, and sorrow of us poor creatures be relieved. We
would come to him with our griefs, whatever they might be,--even a poor,
frail woman burdened with her heavy heart,--and lay them at his feet,
and never