s
forced themselves, one after another, into the cold water; it was dark
too. Had I been there, I had fared ill. A pair of strong men were ill
after it, though all escaped with life.

For several days there was no going to Rome; but at last we set forth
in two great diligences, with all the horses of the route. For many
miles the mountains and ravines were covered with snow; I seemed to
have returned to my own country and climate. Few miles were 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!" and
"Souls in 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 relic of Cyclopean
architecture,--as indeed in Italy one is paid at every step for
discomfort and 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 half draped
in mist, and anon 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, Jay 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, so pale and eloquent in the moonlight....

My dear friend, Madame Arconati, has shown me generous love; a
Contadina, whom I have known this summer, hardly less. Every Sunday
she came in her holiday dress, a beautiful corset of red s