most unpopular
measures, had the imprudence to call the troops of the line to defend
him, instead of the National Guard. On the 14th, the Pope had invested
him with the privileges of a Roman citizen: (he had renounced his
country when an exile, and returned to it as ambassador of Louis
Philippe.) This position he enjoyed but one day. Yesterday, as he
descended from his carriage, to enter the Chamber, the crowd
howled and hissed; then pushed him, and, as he turned his head in
consequence, a sure hand stabbed him in the back. He said no word,
but died almost instantly in the arms of a cardinal. The act was
undoubtedly the result of the combination of many, from the dexterity
with which it was accomplished, and the silence which ensued. Those
who had not abetted beforehand seemed entirely to approve when done.
The troops of the line, on whom he had relied, remained at their
posts, and looked coolly on. In the evening, they walked the streets
with the people, singing, "Happy the hand which rids the world of a
tyrant!" Had Rossi lived to enter the Chamber, he would have seen the
most terrible and imposing mark of denunciation known in the history
of nations,--the whole house, without a single exception, seated on
the benches of opposition. The news of his death was received by the
deputies with the same cold silence as by the people. For me, I never
thought to have heard of a violent death with satisfaction, but this
act affected me as one of terrible justice.

To-day, all the troops and the people united and went to the Quirinal
to demand a change of measures. They found the Swiss Guard drawn out,
and the Pope dared not show himself. They attempted to force the door
of his palace, to enter his presence, and the guard fired. I saw a man
borne by wounded. The drum beat to call out the National Guard. The
carriage of Prince Barberini has returned with its frightened inmates
and liveried retinue, and they have suddenly barred up the court-yard
gate. Antonia, seeing it, observes, "Thank Heaven, we are poor, we
have nothing to fear!" This is the echo of a sentiment which will soon
be universal in Europe.

Never feel any apprehensions for my safety from such causes. There
are those who will protect me, if necessary, and, besides, I am on the
conquering side. These events have, to me, the deepest interest. These
days are what I always longed for,--were I only free from private
care! But, when the best and noblest want bread to gi