covered with snow; I seemed
to have returned to my own country and climate. Few miles passed,
before the conductor injured his leg under the wheel, and I had the
pain of seeing him suffer all the way, while "Blood of Jesus," "Souls
of Purgatory," was the mildest beginning of an answer to the jeers of
the postilions upon his paleness. We stopped at a miserable
osteria, in whose cellar we found a magnificent remain of Cyclopean
architecture,--as indeed in Italy one is paid at every step, for
discomfort or danger, by some precious subject of thought. We
proceeded very slowly, and reached just at night a solitary little
inn, which marks the site of the ancient home of the Sabine virgins,
snatched away to become the mothers of Rome. We were there saluted
with the news that the Tiber, also, had overflowed its banks, and it
was very doubtful if we could pass. But what else to do? There were no
accommodations in the house for thirty people, or even for three, and
to sleep in the carriages, in that wet air of the marshes, was a more
certain danger than to attempt the passage. So we set forth; the moon,
almost at the full, smiling sadly on the ancient grandeurs, then half
draped in mist, then drawing over her face a thin white veil. As we
approached the Tiber, the towers and domes of Rome could be seen,
like a cloud lying low on the horizon. The road and the meadows, alike
under water, lay between us and it, one sheet of silver. The horses
entered; they behaved nobly; we proceeded, every moment uncertain if
the water would not become deep; but the scene was beautiful, and I
enjoyed it highly. I have never yet felt afraid when really in the
presence of danger, though sometimes in its apprehension.

At last we entered the gate; the diligence stopping to be examined, I
walked to the gate of Villa Ludovisi, and saw its rich shrubberies of
myrtle, and its statues so pale and eloquent in the moonlight.

Is it not cruel that I cannot earn six hundred dollars a year, living
here? I could live on that well, now I know Italy. Where I have been,
this summer, a great basket of grapes sells for one cent!--delicious
salad, enough for three or four persons, one cent,--a pair of
chickens, fifteen cents. Foreigners cannot live so, but I could, now
that I speak the language fluently, and know the price of everything.
Everybody loves, and wants to serve me, and I cannot earn this pitiful
sum to learn and do what I want.

Of course, I wish to see