--with the emotions which are swelling the hearts of
men. The morning sun is greeted by the trumpets of the Roman legions
marching out once more, now not to oppress but to defend. The stars
look down on their jubilees over the good news which nightly reaches
them from their brothers of Lombardy. This week has been one of
nobler, sweeter feeling, of a better hope and faith, than Rome in her
greatest days ever knew. How much has happened since I wrote! First,
the victorious resistance of Sicily and the revolution of Naples.
This has led us yet only to half-measures, but even these have been of
great use to the progress of Italy. The Neapolitans will probably have
to get rid at last of the stupid crowned head who is at present their
puppet; but their bearing with him has led to the wiser sovereigns
granting these constitutions, which, if eventually inadequate to the
wants of Italy, will be so useful, are so needed, to educate her to
seek better, completer forms of administration.

In the midst of all this serious work came the play of Carnival, in
which there was much less interest felt than usual, but enough to
dazzle and captivate a stranger. One thing, however, has been omitted
in the description of the Roman Carnival; i.e. that it rains every
day. Almost every day came on violent rain, just as the tide of gay
masks was fairly engaged in the Corso. This would have been well worth
bearing once or twice, for the sake of seeing the admirable good
humor of this people. Those who had laid out all their savings in the
gayest, thinnest dresses, on carriages and chairs for the Corso, found
themselves suddenly drenched, their finery spoiled, and obliged to
ride and sit shivering all the afternoon. But they never murmured,
never scolded, never stopped throwing their flowers. Their strength of
constitution is wonderful. While I, in my shawl and boa, was coughing
at the open window from the moment I inhaled the wet sepulchral air,
the servant-girls of the house had taken off their woollen gowns, and,
arrayed in white muslins and roses, sat in the drenched street
beneath the drenching rain, quite happy, and have suffered nothing in
consequence.

The Romans renounced the _Moccoletti_, ostensibly as an expression of
sympathy for the sufferings of the Milanese, but really because, at
that time, there was great disturbance about the Jesuits, and the
government feared that difficulties would arise in the excitement of
the evening. But,