ound it
thronged, while a preacher, panting, sweating, leaning half out of
the pulpit, was exhorting his hearers to "imitate Christ." With
unspeakable disgust I gazed on this false shepherd of those who had
just so failed in their duty to a poor stray lamb, Their church is so
rich in ornaments, the seven baiocchi were hardly needed to burnish
it. Their altar-piece is a very imposing composition, by an artist
of Rome, still in the prime of his powers. Capalti. It represents the
Circumcision, with the cross and six waiting angels in the background;
Joseph, who holds the child, the priest, and all the figures in the
foreground, seem intent upon the barbarous rite, except Mary the
mother; her mind seems to rush forward into the future, and understand
the destiny of her child; she sees the cross,--she sees the angels,
too.

Now I have mentioned a picture, let me say a word or two about Art and
artists, by way of parenthesis in this letter so much occupied, with
political affairs. We laugh a little here at some words that come from
your city on the subject of Art.

We hear that the landscapes painted here show a want of familiarity
with Nature; artists need to return to America and see her again. But,
friends, Nature wears a different face in Italy from what she does in
America. Do you not want to see her Italian face? it is very glorious!
We thought it was the aim of Art to reproduce all forms of Nature, and
that you would not be sorry to have transcripts of what you have not
always round you. American Art is not necessarily a reproduction of
American Nature.

Hicks has made a charming picture of familiar life, which those who
cannot believe in Italian daylight would not tolerate. I am not sure
that all eyes are made in the same manner, for I have known those who
declare they see nothing remarkable in these skies, these hues; and
always complain when they are reproduced in picture. I have yet seen
no picture by Cropsey on an Italian subject, but his sketches from
Scotch scenes are most poetical and just presentations of those lakes,
those mountains, with their mourning veils. He is an artist of great
promise. Cranch has made a picture for Mr. Ogden Haggerty of a fine
mountain-hold of old Colonna story. I wish he would write a ballad
about it too; there is plenty of material.

But to return to the Jesuits. One swallow does not make a summer, nor
am I--who have seen so much hard-heartedness and barbarous greed of
gain in