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j , OUR EUROPEAN LETTEE. 
Rome, Italy. 
Rome, Italy Slay 9, 1873. 
WHEN I was a child, and full of visions of the 
future, one of which was to visit. Rome, my 
father rather delighted in checking my exu¬ 
berance by repeating an old couplet: 
“ How much a fool who has been sent to Rome, 
Excels the fool who has been kept at borne." 
Which, with "Ribnzi’s Address to the Ro¬ 
mans,” learned In a school reader as many years 
ago, have rung all the changes possible in my 
head, since I have actually been in Rome. I 
may as well write It down at onco and free my 
mind—Borne disappoints me: and St. Peter’s 
that I had kept in reserve for a sublime exalta¬ 
tion, has not exalted me. Ab for pure enjoy¬ 
ment, such as the pictures a city affords, a day 
in Naples is worth a year In Rome, which is my 
judgment after having seen the latter with 
wide-open eyes for fourteen full days. And 
why ? Rome is too civilized. It is modernized 
until it has lost its distinctive character—if it. 
ever had one. Its very ruins are scraped and 
cleaned so that vines and grasses, that only add 
beauty to them, have no foothold. The Tiber, 
which runs through the city, is a muddy, ugly 
stream; the skies are no bluer than our otvn, 
aud Italian scenery—at least from Naples, here 
—is more American in its effect than any I have 
seen this side of the sea—and consequently, 
very beautiful. Nature keeps the world young, 
and Mother Earth, grand old coquette that she 
is, ornaments herself every now springtime with 
robes as green and roses as red aa she did in her 
eighteenth year; and although her bosom is 
honeycombed with arches of olden palaces and 
burdened with columns of temples and walls of j 
theaters, she contrives to look as young as a 
maiden. Her external youth and freshness are 
more than a match for the devices of men who 
rear monuments to mark her years. 
The era of photography has rendered travel¬ 
ing for mere thi/ifis-seelng unnecessary. The 
photograph-gatherer know* everything to be 
soon in Rome. I f he walks the streets he recog¬ 
nizes, like an old friend, the Coliseum, the 
churches, the columns, tin- forums, the foun¬ 
tains and bridges. If bo visits the galleries of 
the palaces he finds familiar acquaintances in 
Antinous, the Dying Gladiator, Canova's Box¬ 
ers, Ariadne, or the wonderful Torso of the 
Vatican. 
The Vatican 
Is the Pope's palace, and very magnificent in¬ 
ternally. It has cost money enough to redoem 
Italy, but will never redeem It. In going there 
one day, I drove past a little printing establish¬ 
ment In sight of the palacg, whore are being 
printed and from which arc being disseminated 
the first, edition of Bibles in Italian ever dis¬ 
tributed in Italy, us the edition of '49 was sup¬ 
pressed. Vtort)a Emantel has made thl 3 pos¬ 
sible, as well as the establishment, of Protestant 
schools. Mrs. Gouxj), an American lady, Mr. 
Van Meter, another American, and Rather Ga- 
vazzi, the eloquent, Italian reformer, have each 
established and find means for the support of 
such schools. 
The Most Beautiful Child 
I have seen for years l saw In the Gavazzi 
school; a girl of fourteen years, perhaps, with 
a face bright as the morning, classic as a statue, 
and aa full of Intelligence and Inspiration as 
the breath of Goo can put In a human face, 
fler beautiful head was in groat contrast to the 
shabby clothes she wore, but her soul seemed 
quite oblivions to her patched frock. She look¬ 
ed the Incarnation of a free and victorious Italy. 
I hope some rich visitor to the school will give 
a helping hand, and lift her into her “ sphere.” 
The Pope. 
At the Vatican, I went through the Library 
one aay, and saw the presents which the Pope 
had received from different quarters—for what, 
the Lord only knows. Pres Ninth is undoubt¬ 
edly a very charming man, but he has abused 
his power and wasted opportunities and privi¬ 
leges, in a way unworthy the commonest of men. 
No man with a great heart or a great mind can 
sit at ease in a palace In either pontifical or 
kingly robes, with beggars for his subjects. I 
do not like the Pope's face. It is self-compla¬ 
cent, and self-complacency drives me frantic. 
It Is the heritage of unbounded self-conceit, j 
and conceit is only endurable when it is allied j 
to virtue. I sat three hours one afternoon In 
St. Peters’, on some wooden steps leading up to 
6ome sort of an altar—for chairs and seats have 
no part in the Church's maguiflcence. I sat on 
the highest steps like a Pharisee, and looked 
about me—not at the architecture and mosaics, 
(for I was tired to death of all that sort of thing,; 
but at the people who came thronging in. Not 
far away was the ugly bronze statue of Jupiter, 
which the people call Saint Peter. It is placed 
ju6t high enough so that the great toe Is lcissa- 
ble, and after I had w’atched old and young, 
men and women, rich and poor, priest and ' 
monk, kiss Jupiter's toe to the number of two i 
or three hundred. I could have cried out from 
despair. They kissed it as reverently and as lov- 
ingly as one would the hand of a dear friend, 
and the only effect produced was that the toe 
was kept polished by an infinitude of kisses. 
The Confessional. 
A,tera while, the confessionals all about in 
the church were opened; there was a priest in 
e ach, and one for each and every general lan- ^ 
« -A -V NS, \ N 
THE LATE JOHN STUART 3VEXE3L. 
guage spoken. The priests wielded a long rod, each in a business-like way that was very amus- 
wlth which they ‘ blessed" the passers-by who lag. One of the priests discovered her trick, 
m front of the confessional. Tno children and refused to lay his rod on her head, sending 
seemed to regard tt aa great fun, for boys would her off. 
kneel in groups of three or four, the priest At Half-past Five Vespers Began, 
wou d hit their heads with his rod, and they and tho choir in one of the chapols-for St Pe- 
Z ml siTk I f n,,V ! ll5ed with laushter - contains many elegant chapels opening out 
m l! f t, f hd ! a d ° Zen yearS went the of th0 great nave of the church-was filled with 
rounds of the confessionals, kneeling before priests and singers in long black gowns and 
Page 40ti ( ) 
short white sacques trimmed with lace. One 
of the men sang precisely like a woman, so that 
the absence of women’s voices was not, missed 
from the music, which was very fine, but only 
listened to by visitors, Priests in different parts 
of the church were holding children’s meetings 
or talking with groups of adults, A great deal 
of worshiping was being done, but it was chiefly 
directed towards the saints and tho magnifi¬ 
cence of the decorations. 
The Church of St. Pnul, 
without die city’s gales, and near the lovely 
Protestant Cemetery where Keats and Sher- 
lky are buried, pleases me, as regards inside 
architecture, better than St. Peter’s; while St. 
John, s (Barllicaof tho Lateran) pleases me quite 
as well, While a dour little country church, 
with sunshine on ils unpointed walls and peo¬ 
ple with hearts full of love to Goo, and no sign 
of statues or saints or painted i'hrists or Vir¬ 
gin Marys, would please me a thousand times 
better. I am rapidly coming to the conclusion 
that the only place to worship God is in tho 
closet, tho field or the forest— that church wor¬ 
ship is false and unworthy of Christians. There 
is such a thing as dying of too much civiliza¬ 
tion, and I bcliovo thero tiro thousands of peo¬ 
ple who really feel that it would be a relief to 
jump back into semi-heathenism, and live in a 
tree. 
The Modern Roman 
is an amiable and as enterprising a sort of fel¬ 
low as he well can be. Aa shopkeeper, lie is the 
most lackadaisical person I know. Nobody 
urge* you to buy, and nobody ace ns to care 
whether you do or not,. The avenues for wrrk 
are limited. Marble cutting, mosaic making, 
cameo roliefs, aud tho manufacture of Roman 
scarfs form the staple employment. Tho Ro¬ 
mans are excellent artists and artisans, aud this 
leads me to speak of sonic American artists in 
Rome, who value Rome for Its "art atmos¬ 
phere, which may bo a very incomprehen¬ 
sible term to many. There is an excellent art 
school bore, but it is only open to men ; and yot 
there are u number of women artists here. 
Harriett Hosmer 
has a beautiful studio, with flowors and birds 
and fountains inside and outside of it, and 
across the street, from it her stables—for she i* 
a famous horsewoman, and keeps fi opi three to 
five horses always, She I* a grave, kindly, large- 
hearted woman, of large Intelligence, free from 
conventionalities and affectations, fond of fun, 
sympathetic, industrious, and understands her 
business. She Is not a handsome woman, but 
is what Is more fascinating, exceedingly inter¬ 
esting, and a charming companion. She is of 
medium size, rather tail than otherwise, blue- 
gray eyes, a strong face, wears her hair short, 
and while dressing in the mode, does so sensi¬ 
bly. She is one of the few women who seem 
never to give attention to dross, having always 
work of too much importance to admit of such 
worry—but looking nice and tidy withal. Both 
as a woman and sculptor, she is a remarkable 
young woman. 
A Distinguished Medallionlst 
is Margaret Poly, a little New England wo¬ 
man, who began her career up in Vermont, in 
cutting figures from chalk. One would think, 
from tho work she has done, that she had put 
half the people In the world in marble medal¬ 
lions. She lias a fine head and face, and is as 
clever and bright as the Vermont girls are so 
famed for being. 
Edmonia Lewis, 
tho little colored girl from.New York State, 
who had an Indian for u mother a nd a negro for 
her father, is w r orking her way bravely, and win¬ 
ning both laurels and money. She has large, 
dark eyes, an Intelligent face, and abundant 
energy. She has been her own instructor and, 
all things considered, does remarkably good 
work. Her statue of “ Ilagur” is very beautiful. 
She came hero when she was seventeen years of 
age, and is now but twenty-four. She has been 
dismayed by no obstacle, and by sheer pluck 
and faith in her destiny, has conquered a place 
in the world that any woman might be proud 
of. She has no relatives but one brother, who 
lives among lire Indians up in Montana, but 
, who, let it be told to his eternal honor, furnish- 
1 od his sister with tire money to enable her to 
become a sculptor. She now has her own house, 
servants, workmen, and money laid by for a 
rainy day. 
Leaving Artists for Monks, 
both dead and alive, leads mo to the drollest 
sight I have seen in Rome. Under the church 
of the Cappucoini is a cemeter} for the friars, 
divided into four rooms, and lighted from grated 
windows. The earth in which they are buried 
wa* brought from Jerusalem, and to be buried 
in this holy soil is the (right of a friar's ambi- 
a » F 1 ® &oll Is limited, and as friars 
will die, the friar who ha* been longest burled 
is exhumed, to make room for his last deceased 
brother- The exhumed friar, who may have 
rested undisturbed from four to six vbars is 
then dressed in his monk robes and laid out, or 
stood up in one corner of the chamber. When 
he has no longer room for that. Ids bones are 
used to decorate the Chamber—ail cf which is 
held to be a great, honor. This cemetery is not 
a very cheerful spectacle, and a* the last ex¬ 
humed friar had not been buried long enough 
tu lose ail hta ilc$h and heard, the si^ht affected 
mv stomach and I rushed out, with a live monk 
after mo. declaring ” There wa* not, the least 
odor, which 1 dldn t deny, but avowed it was 
pBilectly horrid and heathenish. He grinned 
ghastfully, and went back tohla dear! friends. If 
l were going to my live ones, instead of a drive 
°P the Appian Way, a promenade on (he Pin- 
clanillll, or a stroll along the stupid Gorso—the 
finest street In Rome—I should bo happier, far, 
than the poor monks in expectation of ,i “ holy 
burial.” 
ary a. E. Wager, 
