hink it is quite life enough
to win bread for half a dozen people, and treat them decently; others
are lost through indolence and vacillation. Yet some remain constant.

"I have witnessed many a shipwreck, yet still beat noble hearts."

* * * * *

_Rome, January, 1848_.--As one becomes domesticated here, ancient and
modern Rome, at first so jumbled together, begin to separate. You see
where objects and limits anciently were. When this happens, one feels
first truly at ease in Rome. Then the old kings, the consuls, the
tribunes, the emperors, the warriors of eagle sight and remorseless
beak, return for us, and the toga-clad procession finds room to sweep
across the scene; the seven hills tower, the innumerable temples
glitter, and the Via Sacra swarms with triumphal life once more.

* * * * *

_Rome, Jan. 12, 1848._--In Rome, here, the new Council is inaugurated,
and the elections have given tolerable satisfaction. Twenty-four
carriages had been lent by the princes and nobles, at the request of
the city, to convey the councillors. Each deputy was followed by
his target and banner. In the evening, there was a ball given at the
Argentine. Lord Minto was there, Prince Corsini, now senator, the
Torlonias, in uniform of the Civic Guard, Princess Torlonia, in a
sash of their colors given her by the Civic Guard, which she waved in
answer to their greetings. But the beautiful show of the evening was
the _Trasteverini_ dancing the _Saltarello_ in their most beautiful
costume. I saw them thus to much greater advantage than ever before.
Several were nobly handsome, and danced admirably. The _saltarello_
enchants me; in this is really the Italian wine, the Italian sun.

The Pope, in receiving the councillors, made a speech, intimating that
he meant only to improve, not to _reform_ and should keep things safe
locked with the keys of St. Peter.

I was happy the first two months of my stay here, seeing all the great
things at my leisure. But now, after a month of continuous rain, Rome
is no more Rome. The atmosphere is far worse than that of Paris. It
is impossible to walk in the thick mud. The ruins, and other great
objects, always solemn, appear terribly gloomy, steeped in black rain
and cloud; and my apartment, in a street of high houses, is dark all
day. The bad weather may continue all this month and all next. If I
could use the time for work, I should not care