--THE CHURCH: ITS POSITION AND AIMS.--THE
POPE'S FLIGHT, &C.--SOCIAL LIFE.--DON TIRLONE.--THE NEW YEAR.

Rome, December 2, 1848.

Not till I saw the snow on the mountains grow rosy in the autumn
sunset did I turn my steps again toward Rome. I was very ready to
return. After three or four years of constant excitement, this six
months of seclusion had been welcome; but now I felt the need of
meeting other eyes beside those, so bright and so shallow, of the
Italian peasant. Indeed, I left what was most precious, but which
I could not take with me;[A] still it was a compensation that I was
again to see Rome,--Rome, that almost killed me with her cold breath
of last winter, yet still with that cold breath whispered a tale of
import so divine. Rome so beautiful, so great! her presence stupefies,
and one has to withdraw to prize the treasures she has given. City
of the soul! yes, it is _that_; the very dust magnetizes you, and
thousand spells have been chaining you in every careless, every
murmuring moment. Yes! Rome, however seen, thou must be still adored;
and every hour of absence or presence must deepen love with one who
has known what it is to repose in thy arms.

[Footnote A: Her child, who was born in Rieti, September 5, 1848, and
was necessarily left in that town during the difficulties and siege of
Rome.--ED.]

Repose! for whatever be the revolutions, tumults, panics, hopes, of
the present day, still the temper of life here is repose. The great
past enfolds us, and the emotions of the moment cannot here greatly
disturb that impression. From the wild shout and throng of the
streets the setting sun recalls us as it rests on a hundred domes and
temples,--rests on the Campagna, whose grass is rooted in departed
human greatness. Burial-place so full of spirit that death itself
seems no longer cold! O let me rest here, too! Hest here seems
possible; meseems myriad lives still linger here, awaiting some one
great summons.

The rivers had burst their bounds, and beneath the moon the fields
round Rome lay one sheet of silver. Entering the gate while the
baggage was under examination, I walked to the entrance of a villa.
Far stretched its overarching shrubberies, its deep green bowers; two
statues, with foot advanced and uplifted finger, seemed to greet me;
it was near the scene of great revels, great splendors in the old
time; there lay the gardens of Sallust, where were combined palace,
theatre, library, bath, and vi