to the Piazza Montanara, in the neighborhood of the Capitoline Forum, to see the Roman country-people, who commonly assemble in this quarter. Men and boys stand sunning themselves, with their cloaks—sometimes merely a tattered rag, or piece of coarse woolen cloth—thrown over their shoulders in the style of the antique Roman toga. Their bearing is proud, but their appearance half savage. There were but few women this morning, but three, in the Albanian costume, were splendid. It is here that the artists of Rome come to seek for their models.
The Roman women are distinguished, after their first youth is past, by solidity of flesh, and figures in perfect opposition to that of the sylph. Beauty, when it is found, is of a substantial character. The costumes seem to me less elegant and decorative than many of our northern ones. Rags and tatters play too great a part, at least amongst the poor. These rags are nearly always gray or dirty-brown, and this—may the artists forgive me—does not seem to me beautiful. We are here very near Bocca della Verita, in the ancient temple, which was converted into a Christian church. The people on Montanara basked in the sun, smoked, ate fruit and maize cakes, and seemed contented with life.
December 16th.—The Augustine church! Above the entrance stands the inscription common to Italian churches:
“Indulgenzia plenaria quotidiana et perpetua pro vivis et defunctis”
Within the church, a peculiar scene may now for some time have been witnessed. It is not long since
