April 1st.—I will now, with a rapid pen, describe two excursions as cheerful as birds in spring. On the first, we flew by railway—the only one in the Papal states—for two hours across the Campagna to Frascati, and from there walked through oak-woods to Grotto Ferrati, where it was the annual fair. Great crowds of people, mostly from the country, were buying and selling, but doing all quietly and calmly. The Italian does not get drunk at his merry-makings, neither is he noisy, nor yet does he behave himself in an unmannerly way. The Graces stood sponsors to him at his birth, and have given him education. You may pass safely and quietly through the densest throng of people. At the same time that we saw kindly and comfortable men and women, we saw Albana, Castel Gandolfo, the summer residence of the Pope, saw every where beautiful trees, views and scenes fresh with spring. We closed the day at the good public house La Posta, amidst cheerful conversation with the country-people.
The day following, March 26th, we set off early in the most glorious morning, to the tombs of the Horatii and Curatii—the ancient monument of Rome's earliest tragedy. There they still stood, those grass-grown stone pillars, just as they appeared in the picture which I had when a little girl, and which called forth, in my childish fancy, ardent dreams of great deeds and noble sorrows. How beautiful was this morning! How full of a vital strength, with its sharp lights and deep shadows, passing over the living and the dead, its vernally fresh, life-giving air—its old memories, and its present state!——Lord of life and death, how rich are thy treasures!
