From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

One could preach a sermon over that grave, for in that form which is now but dust, was one of the most vigorous minds of our day, a man of prodigious force, an omnivorous reader, and a writer and lecturer on a great variety of subjects, who in his manifold forms of activity, did as much to influence the minds of his countrymen as any man of his time. He struck fierce blows, right and left, often doing more ill than good by his crude religious opinions, which he put forth as boldly as if they were the accepted faith of all mankind; but in his battle for Liberty rendering services which the American people will not willingly let die.

Mrs. Browning's epitaph is still briefer. There is a longer inscription on a tablet in the front of the house which was her home for so many years, placed there by the municipal government of Florence. There, as one looks up to those Casa Guidi Windows, which she has given as a name to a volume of her poems, he may read that "In this house lived and died Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who by her genius and her poetry made a golden link between England and Italy." But on her tomb, which is of pure white marble, is only

E. B. B. Ob. 1861.

But what need of more words to perpetuate a name that is on the lips of millions; or to speak of one who speaks for herself in the poetry she has made for nations; whose very voice thus lives in the air, like a strain of music, and goes floating down the ages, singing itself to immortality?

CHAPTER XXII.

OLD ROME AND NEW ROME.—RUINS AND RESURRECTION.

Rome, October 8th.

At last we are in Rome! We reached here a week ago, on what was to me a very sad anniversary, as on the first of October of last year I came from the country, bringing one who was never to return. Now, as then, the day was sadly beautiful—rich with the hues of autumn, when nature is gently dying, a day suited to quiet thoughts and tender memories. It was late in the afternoon when we found ourselves racing along the banks of the Tiber—"the yellow Tiber" it was indeed, as its waters were turbid enough—and just as the sun was setting we shot across the Campagna, and when the lamps were lighted were rattling through the streets of the Eternal City.

To a stranger coming here there is a double interest; for there are two cities to be studied—old Rome and new Rome—the Rome of Julius Cæsar, and the Rome of Pius IX. and Victor Emmanuel. In point of historical interest there is no comparison, as the glory of the ancient far surpasses that of the modern city. And it is the former which first engages our attention.