Around us walk, or sit to rest, the Roman nurses in full costume; the dark hair ornamented with garlands, red ribbons, silver flowers, or golden ears of wheat; strings of pearls round their necks, and the neckerchief pinned down low behind showing the vigorous form of the neck and its healthy brown coloring; the children clothed in white, sleep on the nurses' arms, or make their essays at walking between their hands, whilst the older children, poetically beautiful and well dressed,—blooming as the sons and daughters of Albion—run along bowling their hoops, beaming with innocent life-enjoyment; here promenade proud, silk-attired ladies, swinging like ostriches, with the gentlemen who belong to them; their cardinals—princes of the church—in scarlet stockings and violet silk-lined cloaks, accompanied by a black-clad priest, and two or three servants in large hats and long-liveried coats; their bare-footed and bare-headed Capuchin monks, who wander along comfortably two and two, and betray the fact, by their corpulence and rosy complexions, that any one can lead a very jolly life as a Capuchin. Here and there also, you see a quiet thinker, sitting or walking, with his book in his hand, as solitary and undisturbed in the silent laurel groves, as in his own study. Everywhere white marble or wooden benches are to be found.
The peaceful park of the pedestrians is encircled by the grand drive, and here, between three and five o'clock in the afternoon, circulates, in splendid carriages and on horseback, the elegant world of Rome in gala-attire. It is a brilliant spectacle! But beyond this, is something greater and more brilliant still, the
