at we might walk forth
and talk together under the influence of these magnificent objects. I
was thinking of the proclamation of the Constitutional Assembly here,
a measure carried by courageous youth in the face of age, sustained by
the prejudices of many years, the ignorance of the people, and all the
wealth of the country; yet courageous youth faces not only these, but
the most threatening aspect of foreign powers, and dares a future of
blood and exile to achieve privileges which are our American common
birthright. I thought of the great interests which may in our country
be sustained without obstacle by every able man,--interests of
humanity, interests of God.

I thought of the new prospects of wealth opened to our countrymen by
the acquisition of New Mexico and California,--the vast prospects of
our country every way, so that it is itself a vast blessing to be born
an American; and I thought how impossible it is that one like you,
of so strong and generous a nature, should, if he can but patiently
persevere, be defrauded of a rich, manifold, powerful life.

Thursday eve, January 25.

This has been a most beautiful day, and I have taken a long walk out
of town. How much I should like sometimes to walk with you again! I
went to the church of St. Lorenzo, one of the most ancient in Rome,
rich in early mosaics, also with spoils from the temples, marbles,
ancient sarcophagi with fine bassirilievi, and magnificent columns.
There is a little of everything, but the medley is harmonized by the
action of time, and the sensation induced is that of repose. It has
the public cemetery, and there lie the bones of many poor; the rich
and noble lie in lead coffins in the church vaults of Rome, but St.
Lorenzo loved the poor. When his tormentors insisted on knowing where
he had hid his riches,--"There," he said, pointing to the crowd of
wretches who hovered near his bed, compelled to see the tyrants of the
earth hew down the tree that had nourished and sheltered them.

Amid the crowd of inexpressive epitaphs, one touched me, erected by
a son to his father. "He was," says the son, "an angel of prosperity,
seeking our good in distant countries with unremitting toll and pain.
We owe him all. For his death it is my only consolation that in life I
never left his side."

Returning, I passed the Pretorian Camp, the Campus Salisetus, where
vestals that had broken their vows were buried alive in the city
whose founder was born from a