He rode into beautiful Genoa over that magnificent Corniche road whose left side is diversified with stretching fields and olive-orchards and soaring cliffs, whose right side the blue ocean fringes. The city has a charm to the imagination of an American from its connection with Columbus, and a charm to the eye from that lovely semicircle of mountains embracing it, and which so slope to the waves of the sea in front and blend with the clouds of the sky in the rear that it is often impossible for the gazer to tell where earth ends and heaven begins. It was Sunday when Forrest entered Genoa. Looking out into the glorious bay, he saw an American ship of war riding proudly at anchor, the beautiful banner of stars and stripes hanging at her peak, every mast and spar and rope mirrored in the glassy flood below. His breast thrilled at the sight. He hired a boatman to row him out. Clambering up the side, he asked permission of the commander to come on deck and to stand underneath the flag. It was granted, and, looking up at the silken folds floating between him and heaven, he breathed deeply in pride and joy. "The ship," he said, "was a fragment of my country floated away here, and in touching it I felt reunited to the whole again."
He made a long tarry in Florence, studying the treasures of art for which that city is so renowned. He became intimate with Horatio Greenough, for whose genius—hardly yet appreciated as it deserves—he felt the warmest admiration. "He favored me," writes Forrest, "with a sight of his yet unfinished model for the statue of Washington, which was ordered by our government. He has represented the Father of his Country in a sitting posture, his left hand grasping the sword intrusted to him by the people for the achievement of their liberties, and his right pointing upward, as if to express reliance on the God of battles and the justice of his cause. With what different emotions did I regard this statue from those created by the marble honors paid to the Cæsars of the olden time! How my heart warmed with patriotic ardor and my eyes moistened as I looked on the reverend image of the great sage and hero! As an American I felt allied to him,—as an American I felt, too, with a consciousness that diffused a warm and grateful flush upon my cheek, that I was an heir to that sacred legacy of freedom which he and his compatriots bequeathed to their country."
After visiting Rome, Naples, Venice, Verona, and other places of the greatest interest in Italy, Forrest proceeded to Spain, where he spent several delightful weeks. He made Seville his chief headquarters, remembering the old Spanish proverb he had often heard, "Who sees not Seville misses a marvel." One day, while riding on horseback in the suburbs,—it being in the harvest-season,—he passed a vineyard in which the peasants were at work. He saw one man standing with upturned breast and outstretched arms to receive a bunch of grapes which another man was cutting from a vine loaded with clusters so enormous that a single one must have weighed forty or fifty pounds. At this sight he reined in his horse, and his head sank on his bosom. The years rolled back, and he was a boy again. Once more it was a Sunday afternoon in summer, and through the open window of a house in Philadelphia the sunshine was streaming across the floor where a young lad, with a Bible in his hands, was laughing at the picture of two men carrying a bunch of the grapes of Eshcol slung on a pole between them. Again the hand of the mother was on the shoulder of the boy, and her dark eyes fixed on his, and in his soul he heard, as distinctly as though spoken audibly to his outward ear, the words, "Edwin, never laugh at the fancied ignorance and absurdity of another, when perhaps the ignorance and absurdity are all your own." The tears ran down his cheeks as, starting up his horse, he said to himself, "Ah, mother, mother! dear good soul, how wise and kind you were! What a fool I was!"
From Spain Forrest returned for a flying visit to Paris, where he wrote the following letter to his mother, which may be taken as a specimen of the large number he sent to her during his absence:
"Paris, July 3d, 1835.
"My dear Mother,—Your letter of the 27th of May has this moment reached me. How happy has the perusal of it made me! You write that you have been sick, but that now you are well. How glad I am to hear that you are restored! It is the dearest wish of my heart that health and happiness may always be preserved to you,—to you and to my dear sisters. Your welfare makes existence doubly sweet to me. I bear a 'charmed life' so long as you live and smile. All that I am I owe to you. Your necessities prompted my ambition; your affection led me on to triumph,—the harvest is your own, and my choicest wish is that you may long live to enjoy it. I was in Naples the 9th of March last, the anniversary of my birthday, and you were not forgotten. I drank a cup of wine to you, and my heart grew proud while it acknowledged you the source of its creation.
"It gives me great pleasure to hear that James Sheridan Knowles called to see you, and I regret that your indisposition prevented you from seeing him. I am told he is a sincere and warm-hearted man; and when such estimable qualities are joined to the rare talents which he possesses, the individual who combines them is as 'one man picked out of ten thousand.'
"Mr. Wemyss, in sending to you the season-tickets (though you may never use them), has acted like himself, and I most gratefully acknowledge his politeness and courtesy. You say you are anxiously counting the months and days until my return. In two months more we shall have been parted for a year,—a whole year. That is a long time in the calendar when hearts that love become the reckoners of the hours. But the day draws on when we are to meet again; and after the first moments of our happy greetings, when your blessing has confirmed my return, and the emotions of the first hours shall be subdued into the serene content that must surely follow, then will we regard our present separation as a short dream of the past, and wonder that we thought we were divided so long.
"I will forward to you by the ship which will carry this letter a small box containing the following articles, viz., a necklace made from the lava of Vesuvius, beautifully carved and set in gold, together with a pair of ear-rings, for sister Henrietta; a cameo of the three Graces and a pair of lava ear-rings for Eleanora; a cameo of the Apollo Belvedere and a pair of lava ear-rings for Caroline. The two cameos Caroline and Eleanora will have set in gold, to wear as breast-pins, and charge the expense thereof to my account.
"Give my best respects to Goodman, and say how much I thank him for his friendly attentions. I suppose Col. Wetherill is grubbing away at his farm: or has he got tired of green fields and running brooks? If you see him, say he is most gratefully remembered by me. I am glad John Wall occasionally calls upon you. I like him much. And now, to conclude, allow me to say to you, my dear mother, to be of good cheer, for my wanderings will soon be over, and I shall again be restored to you in unabated health and strength. And meanwhile, be assured that your son,