0^ OLIVER OPTIC'S ARMY and NAVY STORIES. A Library for YnuiiK and Old, in six volumeii. Itliiio. IlluHtratcd. Per vol., $1.60. Til© Hilllor Hoy, or Jack Somers in ll>e Navy. Tlio Yaiilte© IM[lt' an Army Oti-cer. Fisrhtliii of a Stall " Tke writings f'uliaily titled to now |)ul)liHlu>(l. about tlit'Mi wlii< erH. 'riio Ihmu'I tain Ironi readni zi'it and lit'L', am ol vi-ry useful i ble." - TukUo t OLIVER OPTIC'S RIVERDALE STORIES. Twelve volumes. ProfnsiUy illuBtrateu:|a.so per Sold I ^W Rememl contains inoi than any oth zlne publtshe Specimen copies s ^ cation. §^ LEE Sl SHEI Library of the Uiiiversitv of Toronto r^^i*-«»r«*.H Tloimcl, or Voung fc Tlilstle, or Ireland and Scotland. T Young Ameriea in s. telle S, or Young d and Belgium. ►ttagfe, or Young and Switzerland. Millie, or Young most instructive hooks iithor. and while niiiin- h of exeitcnient and iid- nferest of the youthful •lit amount of inforum- he history, natural tea- iJH fur-otf land, and the and people which they shers, Boston. -t^i -^ OLIVER OPTIC'S LAKE SHORE SERIES. Six Vols., Illust. Per vol., I1.25. Throus;li by Daylight ; Or, 'I'he Youn^ Engineer (»f the Lal:e SliDie Railroad. Lightning Express ; Or, 'I'lie Kival Academies. On Time ; Or, Tlie Young Captain of the Ucayga Steamer. Switch Off; < )r, I'iie War of the Students. Brake Up; Or, The Young Peacemakers. Bear and Forl)ejir ; (Jr, J lie Voung Skipper of Lake Ucayga. Oliver Optii; owes his populnrity to a |)l('iiHniit Rt.vU', mill Id II roaily svrn|iittliy with the (Ircanis, hopes, iispiriitioiis, iiiui fanoie.s ciftlie youiiK people tor whom he writes, lie wri((^a like u wise, over- grown hoy, iiiul his hool^ V-<>— ^ „^^?fW^> fC- -.•W^^^'^Wif ' »>**.aiii miai iiiMFiwpi^i ;\ Cit^' '^- # 4 L k.> Z rn *-i. i ■vj The Young Dodgk Club. THE SEVEN HILLS. BT • PROF. JAMES DE MILLE, Aurnou OK "the b. o. w. c," -the hoys of ouan,, prk srnoot," LOST IN THE TOO,- "fFRK IN THF. WOOLS,' '• I'ICKEI> VV ADRIFT,' "THE TRF.ASirUK OK TIIK 8KA8,' " AMONG THE BBlOANDb," KTO. ILLV8TRATED. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. N^KW- YORK: LKE, SIIEPAKD AND DILLINGHAM. 1873. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872; "^*' By lee and SHEFAllD, / ^ In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. -,i"-_! ■ ■ ■ .-■-. :«••-■-■ ''\' :]■'. ■■■■■; — ■■■ '■» -iMT'.i ■' .•;>,::., •^lU'iiji J ■ •»"■'■ " ■:^_./-,'-/= i':--v- ;- r.-s/ ;? iT - ;^;^: 'i/j '^H^*' --'- :;t:vfW'iC> " '" -V' - '•■.-■■ - • -'■ ' '!•- -. • ■'-■.•-' g«y- •■.-■ Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotj-pe Foundry, Td Spring Lane. CON^TEN^TS, ^:^7>intrf^r CHAPTER I. .;iW, •^ PAGE Rome. — Abroad to *see the City. — The Monuments of the Past. — Busy Life in the crowded Streets. — The Castle and the Bridge. — The yellow Tiber. — The vast and wondrous Dome. — First Impressions. — Ascent to the upper Regions. — A strange Encounter. — Da- vid comes to Grief — The lost Companions. — The Village in the Air.— Jack and the Bean-stalk. . . n CHAPTER II. : A singular Promenade.— Wonderful Scenes. — Bewil- derment of David. — A sudden Interruption of his- Meditations. — Runaway Donkeys on the Roof of a Church. — The Pursuit. — The cast-iron Gendarme. — The Boys under Arrest. — Despair of David. — Flippancy of Bob.— What shall we do.? — Tremen- dous Oration of two Priests. — Puzzle of the Auditors to whom it was addressed 24 3 4 CONTENTS. ^ CHAPTER III. Another tremendous Oration of the Priest, followed by T an Oration atill more tremendous from Bob. — The Priests bewildered. — Happy Thought of David. — Flight. — Pursuit. — A headlonio; Descent. — The Ger- man. — The Dutchman. — The Spaniard. — The Eng- lishman. — The Irishman. — The Yankee. — Where's David ? — Debates. — Conjectures. — Final Resolve. — They once niore make the Ascent. . . . -37 CHAPTER IV. David a Prisoner. — In the Hands of the Philistines. — A new Comer. — Padre O'Toule. — The little Cham- ber. — An Inquisition. — The Rogues, the Spalpeens, and the Omadhawns. — The Boys all under Inquisi- tion. — Further Journeys. — The Dome. — The Lan- tern. — The Ball. — Boundless View. — The Exile and his Confidences. — The Farewell 51 r !-^,M':rv; CHAPTER V. iU'ty Terror of Uncle Moses. — Remonstrance. — Ancient Rome. — The Capitoline Hill. — The Tower. — The Seven Hills. — The Tarpeian Rock — The Roman Forum, — The Arch of Titus. — The ancient Pave- ment. — The Palace of the Caesars. — Enthusiasm of David and Clive. — Tremendous Outburst from Bob. 64 CONTENTg. 5 CHAPTER VI. The Palace of the Caesars. — The Mightiest of Ruiiir., — The Coh'seum. — Arches on A'-ches. — Lob and Frank attempt to explore. — David and Clive investi- gate. — Uncle Moses meditates and calculates. — Sud- den and startling Interruption of Meditations and Cal- culations. — A wild Alarm. — Terrific Peril of Bob. — Away in Pursuit. . . 75 ^^ * -"; v' " CHAPTER VII. '^^'^''i P>ank attempts to explore. — A Mountain of Ruins. — The paved Way. — The Relic. — The fallen Arches. — The Chasm. — Alarm of Frank. — His Way cut off. — A Retreat. — The Effort to save Bob. — A toilsome Ascent. — A severe Struggle. — The Chasms in the Way. — Sudden Interruption. — Amazing Discovery. — A Question and a Rebuke .88 ^- ' " ' CHAPTER VIII. — The Ruins of Rome. — The Arch of Constantine. — The Baths of Titus. — The Circus Maximus. — Where Hannibal's Camp stood. — Where Numa had Inter- views with Egeria. — The stern round Tower of other Days. — The ancient Cathedral. — The subterranean . World. ^ Its Origin. — Its Extent. — Its Meaning. .101 h- • CHAPTER IX. '^' The ancient Cathedral. — The Guide. —The Stairway. — The Descent. — A chill Blast of Air. — The City $ CONTENTS. ot the Dead. — The underground World. — The count- less Graves. — The lr!b3'rinlhine Passages. — The great black Cross. — A tortuous Path. — The early f Christians. — Danger lurking on every Side. — Keep close together. — The blocked-up Passages. — The warning Stones. — The Chapel under Ground. . .112 _^. i^'.-M.-::'- ''"C CHAPTER X. o'V-.;j-a hb Ex^si Walking in a Circle. — The awful Memorial. — The Sto- ry of Ansclmo. — The Catacombs. — The Lamp. — The lost Clew. — The Valley of the Shadow of Death. — Lost in a Labyrinth. — The Search for the Clew. — In the Dark. — An eternal Separation. — Despairing Efforts. — Through the Paths, — The vain Search. — ^ The Loss of Hope. — The Terror of the Catacombs. 124 CHAPTER XL Superstitious Fears. — Another Round. — The hasty Tramp. — Alarm. — Awful Discovery. — Lost in the Catacombs, — The hurried Search. — Frank alone. — A The anxious Lookout. — Where is he ? — Ls there any Hope? — Through the Passages once more. — The Warning from Ansclmo's Fate. — How it all ended. . 137 , ,'r,n ■'/■ ■ ' - CHAPTER XIL — ^ - — ^ -- A Story by Uncle Moses. — The Exordium, — The patri- otic Pedler, — The haunted House. — A lonely Vigil. 'A — A terrific Apparition. — Terrific Disclosures. — An CONTENTS. 7 awful Interview. — The Bones of the Dead. — What is to be done? — An indignant Ghost. — Numerous Morals in a tremendous Story 151 •>■ ■ ■ ■, ....-..,. t>:r.4.>';v; CHAPTER XIII. .-, -.V ' The Heart of Rome. — A weary Way. — The Network of Streets. — The long Street and open Square. — Pi- azza del Popolo and Pincian Hill. — The Egyptian Obelisks. — How came they here? — The Italian En- gineer and the English Sailor. — The giant Fountain. — The Treasures of the Tiber 168 "' ' ""'!'* " CHAPTER XIV. " ' ' ' ■'. ' The Churches of Rome. — A great Crowd kissing the Pope's Toe. — Uncle Moses curious. — The Line of Guards, — Great Eagerness. — Pertinacity of Uncle Moses. — Embarrassing and awkward Position of the Swiss Halberdiers — Tremendous Sensation. . . 179 . orfi 4' :v^- CHAPTER XV. '"^i-V; Arrest of Uncle Moses. — The Gendarmes again. — The Boys surround their hapless Friend. — Affecting Scene. — Mournful Interview and pathetic Farewell. — Uncle ' Moses is dragged off to the Dungeons of the Inquisi- tion. — The Boys fly for Assistance. — No Hope. , 191 --- CHAPIER XVI. New Plans to rescue the Captive. — The friendly Waiter. — The grumbling Englishman. — The Man of Hon- 8 * CONTENTS. • or, and the first Lawyer in Europe. — An interesting Interview. — A slight Taste of Roman Law. — Terror of the Clients. — No Hope for the Prisoner, , , 203 . CHAPTER XVIL • ; , ■,, A new Plan. — A Friend in Need. — Hope arises, but ^ is followed by Despondency. — The Agony of Hope ^ deferred. — Back to their Lodgings, — Uncle Moses. — Immense Sensation. — Joyful Reunion. — The Sin- gular Report of Uncle Moses. — Unusual Prison Fare. — Ludlow to the Rescue. « , , , , 216 ■/!■,!,'■:/;;■ ■'-■-■ •' ■■:: -' V '>:.'. V '— . .,,,. ■- ,,,,' CHAPTER XVIII. ,, ., , ,,;;. Celebration of the Captive's Delivery. — Arrival of Lud- - low. — Congratulations. — Padre O'Toule is dumb- - founded. — The Roman Season. — The Approach '- of Lent — Farewell to Gayety. — The Glories, and Wonders, and Festivities, and Extravagances of the great Roman CarnivaL 229 ,'■..;. ,,,.J.-,'^. CHAPTER XIX. ■■^',r^hi:::-,j,:,r^f{t The Wonders of the Carnival. — The noisy, uproarious, nonsensical, multitudinous Crowd. — A whole City of 3 Boys. — The Battle, of the Confette. — Street Fight. - — All the Corso in Arms. — The Smoke of the Battle. — Uncle Moses retires from the ScQne of Conflict. — The modern Saturnalia . 241 CONTENTS. 9 CHAPTER XX. " The Combat deepens. — On, ye Brave ! — Bob attacks a French Officer. — The French Officer retorts. — Frank to the Rescue. — Tremendous single Combat. — A Ring formed. — An Homeric Fight. — The sympathiz- ing Spectators. — The Soldier draws his Sword. — Conclusion of the Fight 253 ''«!^ -''^ CHAPTER XXI. v^f >; n-. Out of Ammunition. — A fresh Supply. — The Boys in- trench themselves. — Genera' Assault from all Sides. — The Assault sustained nobly. — A perpendicular Fire. — A tremendous Surprise. — A sudden Change. — The Dragoon Charge. — The Race-horses. — Dark- ness. — Universal Illumination. — A new Struggle. — Senza Moccolo. — Senza Moccolo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o. 265 sJf io ....iv CHAPTER XXII. ^ ^^^ The Wonders of the Vatican Palace. — The Galleries of Art. — The Apollo Belvedere. — The Laocoon. — The Lapidarian Gallery. — The immortal Paintings.— The Transfiguration. — Bewildering Array of Works of Art.— Interminable Galleries 277 CHAPTER XXIII. The Wonders of the Capitoline Hill. — The Dying Gladiator. — The colossal Foot. — The Statue of Mar- 10 .^ai.iic ^^v. CONTENTS. cus Aurellus. — The Palaces of Rome and their Stat- ues. — The Villas of Rome and their Gardens. — Too much Splendor and Magnificence 28S .RL... CHAPTER XXIV. .., HT The Lenten Season. — The manifold Throng of Visit- ors and Pilgrims. — The threefold Charm of Rome. — The End of Lent. — Holy Week. — A vast Crowd. — The Pope's Blessing. — The Illumination of St. Peter's. — Innumerable Lights 299 ■a' ' CHAPTER XXV. A Discussion. — Holy Week versus the Glorious Fourth. — St. Peter's and Boston State House. — Patriotism. — Sudden Interruption. — Painful Discovery. — Most embarrassing Situation. — Perplexity of the Boys. — Despair of Uncle Moses 308 CHAPTER XXVL 1 ,^>ufw An early Wakening. — The Praetorian Barracks. — The friendly Cicerone. — The Chamber full of Relics. — Wonderful .Souvenirs of the Past. — An extensive Purchase. — A Discovery. — Grand Explanation. — Farewell to the Seven Hills 320 THE "YOUNG DODGE CLUB" SERIES. THE SEVEN HILLS. '':M^o-mtur CHAPTER L Rome. — Abroad to see the City.— The Monuments of the Past. — Busy Life in the crowded Streets. — The Castle and the Bridge. — The yellow Tiber. — The vast and won- drous Dome. — First Impressions. — Ascent to the upper Regions. — A strange Encounter. — David comes to Grief. — The lost Companions. — The Village in the Air. — Jack and the Bean-stalk. FIRST visit to Rome is an event in the life fevv^ of every one ; and great was the enthusiasm which the Eternal City produced in the minds of the four boys whose wonderful history is here set forth. In their revered relative and guardian, Uncle Moses, there was, however, less excitement; for age had tempered the ardor of his feelings, and the journey from Naples had been a fatiguing one. It will not, therefore, seem sur- prising that on the followiug morning, when the boys were eager to go forth. Uncle Moses chose to remain in his lodgings, and seek the rest which he needed. 11 12 THE SEVEN HILLS. Rome was, of course, utterly unknown to them ; but they did not for a moment think of taking a guide. It was early when tliey set forth, and all they had in the shape of a guide was Murray's im- mortal red hand-book. So, strolling about, they soon found themselves in a long street, of noble appearance, bordered with stately churches and houses of superior preten- sions. Along this they walked for some time, until they suddenly found themselves in front of a tall column, whose venerable air showed it to be a relic of the past. Around its sides were sculptured figures, representing scenes of battle and of tri- umph. A statue was on the top. " ' i - " I wonder what this is," said Clive. " It looks like Trajan's Column," said David, re- garding it with a profound air. ^ ' " But Trajan's Column is put down on the map in another direction altogether," said Clive. " At any rate, that isn't Trajan on the top," said' Frank. iv^ t^ lu i; " It looks like the statue of some Pop^'-" said Bob. " I have it," said David. " It's St. Peter. This is the Column of Antonine. See here ! Here's all about it ; " and he pointed to a full and circum- stantial description in " Murray." Strolling on a little farther, they came to a majestic edifice, with marks of antiquity visible on every stone. It was a vast circular building, with ABnOAD TO SEE THE CITY. 13 a portico in front, and surmounted by a dome. This iliey learned from " Murray " was the Pan- theon. On entering, tliey found the simple majosty of its interior more impressive than anything they had over seen. There were no windows, but in the centre of the dome above there was a circular opening, through which the light canio down. Tliey then wandered on farther, and soon found themselves threading a maze of dingy streets, which were lined with gloomy houses. Mean- looking shops appeared, some for the sale of pro- visions, others for the sale of wine. Throngs of people, chiefly of the lower orders, surrounded them — men, women, and children, with priests, and soldiers, and peasants, and shepherds, and wine carts, and sheep, and goats, and droves of cattle. The streets were narrow, without sidewalks, and with the gutter in the middle. The crowd was busy, and bustling, and full of vivacity, and they gave to the place an air of animation which the boys had not expected to find at Rome. At last they found themselves approaching a vast circular edifice, built of enormous blocks of stone, and sur- mounted by modern fortifications, while crowning the whole work was the colossal statue of an angel. It scarcely needed a reference to the guide-book to show them what this was. The statue told them that it could be no other than the Castle of St. Angelo. But all interest in this was lost in another and grander object which soon rose to view. 14 THE SEVEN HILLS. "Can that be it!" exclaimed Clive. " Tliat dome, with the smaller ones beside it ! But this must be the Vatican Hill, and this must be the Bridge of St. Angelo, and this river — it must be the Tiber 1 " Yes, it was the Tiber ; and soon they were standing on the bridge, and were looking down into the tawny waters as they rolled beneath. " It isn't as largo as I expected," sai^ Frank. " Why, you miglit have known th ' It isn't a large river," said David. " Well, so I might, perhaps ; but then, you know, one is apt to think a river that has such a great name may also be great in size. Of course it isn't a very rational way of judging; but still, somehow or other, wo do often think so." " I wonder where the bridge stood where Rora- tins fought," said Clive. '• That's the Sublician Bridge," said David. " Ac- cording to the map, it is up that way, and out of sight from here. It's around that bend." Leaving this, they resumed their journey. The domes arose before them. Could these domes really belong to "the greatest of cathedrals, the wonder of the world ? It hardly seemed possible, yet they thought it must be so. They expected to see something larger. "This, at any rate, ought to be big," said Frank; " and if it isn't, I'll lose all faith in wonders of the world." BT. Peter's cathedral. 16 « 0, weVo too far off yot," said Clive. At length thoy camo to an open place, and there, full before them, rose the Cathedral of St. Peter's. Tiiey all stopped, and regarded it in silence. Be- fore them spread a magnificent piazza. Prom the groat cathedral two galleries advanced, and from the ends of these sprang two glorious colonnades, which, taking a wide sweep, encircled the whole piazza, and finally approached to within five hun- dred feet of one another. In the midst of the piazza rose a lofty obelisk of red granite, on each side of which was a fountain, the waters of which went shooting far upwind, and then descended in showers of glittering spray. .Beyond all this, which was merely the outer court and place of approach, rose the gigantic temple itself, with its sublime dome. Yet the first impression produced upon the mind of tho boys was a feeling of disappointment. The col- onnade was magnificent; the piazza, noble beyond expressiion ; but the cathedral itself did not seem as it should have seemed — the crown and glory of all. It seemed, in fact, less magnificent than its gateway and vestibule. It looked small, and its giant dome seemed to have shrunk down. The boys said nothing, but traversed the piazza, and at length entered. Removing the heavy cur- tain of the doorway, they passed inside. There was a general blaze of splendor which dazzled theii.' eyes — many-colored marbles in the pave- 16 THE SEVEN HILLS. ment, walls of polished stones, roof of shining, gold- en hue ; yet there was not that overpowering vast- ness wliich they had confidently anticipated. And therefore the disappointment which the firstglimpse had caused continued even after they had seen the interior. Now, the reason of this may easily be given. It lies in the exquisite symmetry of St. Peter's, and the careful proportion of all its parts. For this reason, at the first glance, it seemed to the boys not much larger than any other church. But this first impression passed away. For, as tliey moved from the door, as they advanced along the nave, as they went from point to point, its size grew upon them every moment. As they walked forward, the vast interior seemed continually to retreat ; and on approaching statues which represented cherubs, and at first had seemed no larger than in- fants, they found them to be of gigantic dimensions. Everything seemed to increase and to become thus magnified ; and so the edifice rose constantly all around them to grander proportions, until at last they stood under the great dome, and looked up into its stupendous vault. There, at last, their highest expectation WvS realized, and the full idea of St. Peter's came over them — St. Peter's, with all its grandeur, glory, and immensity. " Thou movest, but increasing with the advance, Like climbing 6ome great Alp that still doth rise, ST. PETER'S. 17 Deceived by its gigantic elegance, — Vastness wliich grows, but g^ows to harmonize, All musical in its immensities, — Eich marbles, richer paintings, shrines where flame The lamps of gold, — and haughty dome, which vies In air witli earth's chief structures, though their frame Kests on the firm-sot ground, and this the clouds must claim." At length they had gazed their fill^ and had, for the present, at least, become satiated with the mag- nificence below ; so they resolved to ascend to the dome, and penetrate to the ball, and even the cross, if possible. Upon inquiry from a person who had an English look, and turned out to be an English- man, or rather a Scotchman, they found the door- way, \vhich was on the side of the cathedral, not far from the entrance ; and through this they all passed. They found here, to their surprise, not steps, as they had expected, but an inclined plane, ^ of easy grade, paved with brick, and ascending spirally. It was wide enough to admit of several people passing abreast, and from no one thing did they gain so lively anci impressive an idea of tho immensity of the great cathedral as from this path by which the ascent was made to its roof. It filled them also with very lively expectations of the sights above ; for what must be the wonders of those upper regions, which were approached by sucli a mode as this? The ascent was thus gradual, and easy, and pleas- ant. The boys were all in the highest possible 2 18 THE SEVEN HILLS. Spirits. The various mingled sensations of awe, astonishment, adaiiration, reverence, and solemni- ty, which had recently filled them, had passed away, and a reaction had set in. The animal spirits of boyhood became manifest. So they laughed, and joked, and shouted, and played, and raced, and chased -one another, sometimes up and sometimes down, making the place resound with their up- roarious mirth. But suddenly all this came to an end ; for, on passing round one of the turns in the spiral way, they found themselves face to face with half a dozen donkeys. - For a moment they were all completely thunder- struck. They would have expected quite as readi- ly to see a mail coach and four horses, or an Ital- ial diligence with six horses, in this place, as these animals. The thing was a prodigy. As for the donkeys, they also were startled at the encounter, or, perhaps, at something in the manner of the boys ; and so they, too, stood still and waited. The pause was at length ended by Bob. '' Hurrah, boys ! " he cried ; " let's have a ride up." And before the others could offer a word of re- monstrance, or say anything at all, he was on the back of the nearest donkey. The patient ani- mal did not start, however, or exhibit any mani- festations of surprise or displeasure. He stood quite stijl, and the others did the same. '•' Come on, boys," said Bob, cheerily. " What's the use of walking when we can have a ride up? " DAVID'S FALL. 19 Frank was the first to obey this invitation. He sprang forward, seized another donkey, and in a few minutes was mounted on the httle animal's back. CHve then clambered on another. Last of all, David tried it ; but he was, unfortunately, not so nimble as the others, and, as he put his leg up, the donkey began to move backward, and David slipped off and rolled under his feet. Upon this the donkey seemed surprised, as well he might bo, and backed still farther. Up jumped David, and seized him again. The donkey stood still for a moment, and' David once more commenced the climbing process. The donkey started back ; again David slipped and fell. This time, however, he recovered himself without losing his hold of the donkey ; and, being out of breath from his long walk up, and violent play, and struggle with the donkey, he stood still for a few moments, panting and staring at the little jackass, while the little jackass calmly stared at him. " Come, Dave, don't be all day about it," said Frank. " Give a sudden jump, and there you are." " 0, wait a minute ; I'll be all right. You fel- lows go on ; I'll follow at once." " But we don't want to leave you." " 0, don't mind me ; I'll be along at once." "Here, Dave," said Clive, who was nearest to . him ; " take my hand." David reached over to take the outstretched hand r^ Clive, when suddenly the donkey, startled 20 THE SEVEN HILLS. at tlic gesture, drew back rather abruptly. David slid aside, and at ibis the patient animal seemed to lose all further power of self-control. With an indignant toss of his head he kickeci up his heels, and down went David again on the bricks. But this alarmed the donkey still more, and he seemed frightened out of what wits ho had. With a jump he started off up the incline. Away he went, with his tail in the air. Away, too, went the other don- keys, with their tails also in the air, as fast as they could, considering the loads on their backs and the up-hill work that was before thera. And there was that unfortunate David left behind, lying- on his back, alone in this solitary place. What could ho do ? He did what he could. He picked himself np, and brushed the dust from his clothes. Then he shook himself Then he listened very atten- tively, and heard the sound of retreating footfalls dying away far np the incline. He started off at once to finish the journey on foot. He felt rather sore, and also very much vexed. In the midst of all this he also felt a little anxiety about the boys who had thus been carried away so suddenly, so strangely, and in this utterly un- known place. Those donkeys seemed now like a dream. They seemed, like fabulous animals, to have dropped down from the skies for the purpose of luring his friends to destruction. Whither were they beiug carried ? Co aid they stop the runaway animals ? Was it not in the highest degree danger- ROOF OF ST. PETER'S. 21 ons to be run away with on donkey-back on the roof of a cathedral ? What was the roof like ? Was it a steep slope, or was it only a gradual in- cline ? He iiad a vague idea that it was an arch corresponding with the vault of the interior. Ilis only hope was that, on reaching the top, the don- keys would not be able to go any liirther. But if they should be carried farther by their excitement, and run up the roof, what thei^ That he could not answer ; and out of all these terrible questions there grew before the mind of David the dark prospect of some terrible calamity. At l;ist, after a long tramp, which seemed longer still from his anxiety of mind, and several bruises about his body, the result of his struggle with the donkey, David reached the roof of St. Peter's, and looked around. His first emotion was one of amazement — so great that all his anxiety and all his pain were quit-e forgotten. The roof of St. Peter's I He had seen plenty of roofs before, and he had been on a few. His idea of the roof of St. Peter's was something like those which had come within t .the limit of his owii experience. It must slope, he thought, in some way. He tiiought that it might be pitched, but that most probably it was arched to correspond with the vault of the inte- nor. The idea was only a general one, and his mind did not rest on any details. His chief anxie- 22 THE SEVEN HILLS. ty about the boys arose from a fear that the don- keys might get upon the slope, slide over it, and be precipitated, together with their riders, upon the pavement far below. With this in his mind he had reached the sum- mit: and what was it that he saw? • He didn't see any roof at all. «£.w ..i ->.. On the contra^, he saw what seemed to him — a village. . W It was a strange and an unequalled sight. The village — if that name may be used — was a mix- ture of grandeur and humility, wherein the lowliest cottages nestled under the shadow of the mightiest structures that the genius of man had ever con- ceived, and the hand of man had ever reared. What may be called the " streets " of this " village " were paved with smooth stones of enormous size. Donkeys were wandering about. So great was his amazement that for a moment he forgot all about his friends, and he recalled in- voluntarily the immortal legend of Jack and the Bean-stalk; for Jack had climbed," and climbed, and climbed, and finally, on reaching the top of the said immortaHbean-stalk, he had found himself in a new world. So David. Had not he been climb- ing, and climbing, and still climbing? and was not this a new world that he had reached ? It was a new world, — this world with its grandeur and stately magnificence ; this world with its lofty domes towering far on high; this world with its THE VILLAGE IN THE AIR. 23 population of giant statues rising before liim wher- ever he turned his eyes. At length his thoughts reverted to the hoys. They were safe, at any rate. His fears had been unfounded. There was no possibility of their roll- ing, or shding, or tumbling off, or of going off any- where in any conceivable way. This was a place where they might ride donkey-back for a lifetime without the possibility of dangar. So ho started forward with the intention of exploring still further the wonders of this strange upper world. .1 24: THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER II. A singular Promenade. — Wonderful Scenes. — Bewilder- incnt of David. — A sudden Interruption of his Medita- tions. — Runaway Donkeys on the Roof of a Church. — The Pursuit. — The cast-iron Gendarme. — The Boys under Arrest. — Despair of David. — Flippancy of Bob. , — What shall we do. — Tremendous Oration of two Priests. — Puzzle of the Auditors to whom it was ad- dressed. AVID walked forward with observant eyes, and those observant eyes were rubbed over and over again in perplexity and wonder, before he could brinr;^ himself to believe that their ^/idence was worthy of trust. For what he saw before him seemed to be actually a row of cottages, or sometliing so mucl like it that there was no joke about it. Opposite to this row he saw a colonnade, above which colossal t^latues rose majestically in the air. Most of the cottage doors were open. In some he saw women spin- ning; children played about the doors; babies were sleeping in their mothers' amis ; dogs were lolling in the shade, and looking lazily an4 sleep- ily at him as he passed, as is the fashion with A SINGULAR PROMENADE. 25 Italian tlog.^, and with our own dogs too, in fact — at least in tho dog days. Near him wero two donkeys with panniers, which wero tied to a pillar. He walked slowly along, and saw next several temples, with arched roofs, which presented great beauty of appearance, behind which was visible tho colonnade, with its statues. Several men came out of a house near by, and, after looking at him hastily, yet searchingly, they walked off, at a rapid pace, in an opposite direction. Three priests came out of another house, and walked ofl' after tho men aforesaid. Then came an old man, with a big basket. And then, — Several dogs. A dozen children at play. A number cf goats. More donkeys. A flock of pigeons. Some hens. A man with a wheelbarrow. A French officer. Some ladies and gentlemen. Several priests. More goats. More donkeys. More ladies and gentlemen, A donkey with a load. 26 THE SEVEN HILLS. A peasant driving him. A small boy. A cat. A little dog chasing. Anotliordog assisting. All these passed, and David began to liiink that the immortal Bean-stalk of lairy lore was nothing when compared to the ascending incline of St. Peter's. What had Jack seen, in his never-to-be- forgotten wanderings, that could compare with this ? For there, full before him, arose a spectacle which cannot be equalled anywhere else on earth. He had come to the middle of this village in the air, — to what may be called the grand square. Here there arose three mighty edifices. One was close by him, on his left. It was surmounted by a dome, and looked like a temple, or some sanctuary for worship. Some distance away arose another, the third of these three great edifices, which was the counterpart of the first. Both of these were, individually, , of noble and stately appearance ; yet they were dwarfed, eclipsed, and thrown altogether out of the sphere of examination by a giant struc- ture that stood between them, and, towering far on high, dominated over all surrounding things. Its proportions were vast. David stood and looked at it. He had seen many large buildings, and he tried to compare this with some among thei", but found none that could fairly be put in WONDERFUL SCENES. 27 comparison. As to dimensions, this edifice seemed to cover as much ground as the largest building which he had seen in America. It was a giant rotunda, crowned with a dome. Looking up, he saw that if Bunker Hill Monument were placed by its side on this spot, it would fail to reach to the top. He thought that if Trinity Church, Now York, were placed here, it would not cover the surface that was enclosed by these circular walls, and could not recall any church in America, which ho had seen, over which this might not be placed like an ex- tinguisher. There it rose — the giant creatic-n of the giant spirit of Michael Angelo — the " vast and wondrous dome " of St. Peter's, a wonder alike of artistic conception and of mechanical engineering. Nor was it possible for David, in his admiration of ita gigantic size, to lose sight of its majesty of ex- pression, its harmony of proportion, its exquisite symmetry, and the beauty of all its details ; for all these things were keenly noted and fully ap- preciated by him, as he gazed at the stupendous work. But all around him was a wonder-world, and so he went on to see what else might be before him. lie walked on over the way which ho had been going, and at length reached the end. Here a colonnade ran along. A fountain played not far away, throwing out waters that sparkled and glit- tered in the sun, and this fountain seemed to him 28 THE SEVEN HILLS. not tlio least extraordinary among all that ho had thus far observed in this place. Hero he stood and looked forth. It was a magnificent prospect that met his eyes. Far beneath lay tho city. Immediately under him was the Vatican Hill, and on one side was the im- menso extent of the Vatican Palace, where quad- rangle lay joined to quadrangle, square to square, gallery to gallery, in an apparently interminiible series. On another side was a mass of squalid-look- ing houses, dingy and black, enclosed by the walls of the city. Beyond this lay tho waste and desolate Campagna, with its lonely monuments o^' a hoar an- tiquity, and endless lines of lofty arches supporting the ancient aqueducts. Among all these David regarded the city walls with the deepest interest. Were these, he wondered, part of the original walls, repaired by Aurelian, by Belisarius, by Leo IV., and by others in later ages ? or were they the walls reared by Leo IV., as a bulwark against the roving Saracens, when he enclosed the suburb beyond the Tiber, and formed the " Leonine city" ? But- suddenly all these questions, thoughts, feel- ings, emotions, sentiments, and conjectures were rudely interrupted and knocked abruptly out of bis astonished head. There arose behind him a tremendous clatter, accompanied with a wild outcry of voices familiar to his ears. He turned with a start. An astounding sight met his eyes. • BEWILDERMENT OF DAVID. 29 In ordor to fully appreciate David's situation and sensation, wo must remember the state of mind in wliich this new occurrence found him. For, during );is excitement at his novel position and extraordi- nary surroundinj;-s, he had forgotten about the boys. Ti»e wonders, the contrasts of splendor and mean- ness, of grandeur and lowhness, and ♦he diversilied scenes tljat opened up in every direction, had given full occupation to his mind, ^jsides, his stroll from the top of the inclined plane to the colonnade at the end of the roof had only taken up five or six minutes. lie had scarcely stopped at any one point more than a few seconds. At this moment, then, the distraction of his thoughts consequent upon the scenes about him had scarcely lessened, when, in an instant, that distraction was dispelled, and he was roused to himself and to a sense of the existence of his friends. It was certainly a wonderful sight, and to him one wiiicli was unparalleled in its suddeness and in^ its harrowing effects. For this is what he saw: — First, Frank, riding on a donkey, kicking, pound- ing, shouting, holding on to the animal's ear with one hand, and with the other dealing heavy blows with his fist. Second, Clive, holding on to both ears of his donkey with both hands, and kicking furiously with his heels. Third, Bob, who, not having any whip, or any 30 THE SEVEN HILLS. spur, had taken olF his hat, and was whacking the donkey about the face — efforts which, instead of making the beast go faster, only seemed to confuse him and retard his pace. Fourth, a papal gendarme. Fifth, two priests. Sixth, five peasants. Seventh, a French soldier. Eighth, a peasant. Ninth, a woman. Tenth, another French soldier. Eleventh, twelve small boys. Twelfth, a goat. Thirteenth, an old man. Fourteenth, a dog. Fifteenth, another dog. Sixteenth, another dog. Seventeenth, another dog. Eighteenth, a peasant. Nineteenth, a ismall boy. Twentieth, his mother. And all this varied crowd was in hot pursuit of Frank, Clive, and Bob — the entire population per- haps of this village in the air. Away they went. Away went the three boys. Away went the pur- sueri?. They dashed past David pell-mell, and just as they passed him, the papal gendarme seized Bob's donkey by the tail. Bob beat and kicked the donkey more furiously than ever. The animal lost the patience which ordinarily characterizes the A STARTLING SIGHT. 31 race to which he belongs, and set off on a faster race, dragging his captor after liim ; and thus, and there, and then, with wild shouts, both from pur- suers and pursued, the whole party swept past, and, disappearing around a corner, moved away, pell- mell, to the other end of the roof. For a few momenta David stood as though rooted to the spot, fairly paralyzed by amazement and horror. Then he rushed off in pursuit. He followed along the way which they had taken, and for the whole length of the roof saw nothing of them. At length he reaohed the front of the edifice, and turned a corner. Here a startling sight met his eyes. The boys had dismounted. The papal gendarme had Frank in his grasp 1 One priest had possession of Clive 1 Another priest had possession of Rob 1 Peasant Number 1 had Frank's donkey 1 Peasart Number 2 had Clive's donkey I Peasant Number 3 had Bob's donkey I And around them there was a crowd, consisting of the remaining peasants, the men, the women, the goat, the dogs, and the small boy. All were talking — that is, of course, all except the lower animals — and gesticulating most vehe- mently, as is the Italian fashion. But David, of course, could not understand a word that they said. The scene, however, was an eloquent one ; 32 TLiD SEVEN HILLS. it told its own meaning, which meaning David could understand onl}'- too easily, and the thought gave a pang to his heart. The hoys luere under arrest I For a few moments David stood utterly aghast. Then he hurried up. The two priests were talking at the boys in vehement tones ; but as they spoke in Italian, their words were of course unini-^lligible. Frank was doing his best, by means of gestures, to convey some idc: to them; but they either did not notice his gestures, or else could not comprehend them. Clive and Bob looked on with rather blank faces, wishing that they could speak Italian, and vowing from henceforth to make the acquisition of this language the chief purpose of their lives. Now, though the boys did not understand what the priests said, that is no reason why the boy who reads those wonderful adventures should not know it ; and therefore I proceed to give a translation of the same. This, then, is what one of the priests said, and what the other said was like it : — " O, sacrilegious ones ! Who are ye who thus come to desecrate tliis sanctuary by racing on donkeys over the roof that covers the hallowed dust of the Prince of the Apostles? Do ye not well know that ye thereby doom yourselves to the male- dictions of all the faithful, the anathema of the church, and the terrors of the civil arm? 0, the shamclessness of the age, when tender boys like * THE priekt's oration. 33 these are brought up thus to be familiar with sac- rilege, impiety, and wanton desecration of holy places ! Was it not enough that ye dared to ap- propriate the ecclesiastical donkeys, but must ye add fresh horrors to your shameless and almost nameless offence by mounting them? Must ya even go farther than this, and dare to run a race around the holy dome ? And now what words can express your guilt, or what punishment can be too heavy? Protestants, and heretics, and infidels ye must be ; English, too, no doubt, all of ye. For ye English, wherever ye go, heap scorn, contumely, and insult upon Christians ; and ye — spawn of in- iquity that ye are 1 — out-English them all. Never imagine that ye will escape without giving com- pensation ! But what compensation, what atone- ment, is possible ? or what penalty can be imagined that shall be commensurate with so dire an offence ? Oj opprobrious ones ! be thankful that the laws are more merciful now than in former ages, and that even sacrilege does not receive so heavy a punish- ment as of old." All this the priests spoke in sonorous Italian, rolling out tL3 words in full, round orotund tones, and looking at their prisoners with dark eyes of gloom. Not one word of this was understood, but the general meaning was suggested by the tone, expression, and gestures of the storming orator. The priests were both short men, stout, fat, middle- aged, in long black gowns and broad-brimmed hats. 34 THE SEVEN HILLS. Meanwhile David's feelings had been swelling within his breast into a fever of anxiety. While the harangue was going on, he could perceive its meaning to be a general denunciation of the boys, and furious threats of some mysterious vengeance. Wluit could be done ? Nothing ! And what, he won- dered, would be the character of the vengeance ? As ho asked himself this question, all his soul shrank away within him. All the recollection of his youthful Sunday school reading came back be- fore him with extraordinary vividness. He recalled the history of the crusade against the Albigenses. He brought up before his mind's eye the memorable events and impressive pictures, with which he had become familiar long ago, in Foxe's Book of Mar- tyrs, and other works of a similar kind. One scene, in particular, w^as recalled. It was where an Eng- lishman was burned for not taking off his hat at the sight of the procession of the host. Finally, his thoughts gathered around the pleasing subject of the Auto da Fe and the Inquisition. He had understood that the Inquisition still existed in Kome, — perhaps, he thought, they still used their dungeons, — perhaps these very men were In- quisitors ! And what then ? 0, if he could only ^peak Italian ! 0, if he could only find an English- man, or an American ! 0, if he could only get word to Uncle Moses ! Such were the anxious thoughts and fears that distracted the soul of David. After a time the priests seemed to grow weary A COLLOQUY. 35 of their denunciations ; or perhaps they saw the uselessness of talking to those who could not under- stand a word they said. So they motioned to three of the other peasants to guard the boys. This the latter did, by grasping them by their coat collars. The two priests and the gendarme then walked apart, and conversed for some time with great earnestness and gravity. The gendarme was a stiff-looking personage, who looked as though he was clothed in sheet-iron. David now walked up to his friends, and asked them how it all had happened. " Why," said Frank, " it wasn't our fault, I'm sure." " How did it happen ? " " I don't know. The miserable donkeys ran away. That's all." " What made them ? " "I don't know." " You beat them, I suppose." '' No, I didn't. Did I, Clive ? Did I, Bob ? " "No," said Clive; "he didn't, and I didn't, either." " Nor I," said Bob. " In fact, it's against my principles to beai. a donkey. Don't you remember how often I've sung to you that little hymn of Dr. Watts ? — • 0, if I had a donkey, And he wouldn't go, Do you think I'd wallop him? No — no — no.' " 36 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Bob," said David, reproachfully, " is this a time for nonsense ? " " Well, I don't know," said Bob. " There seems to be a good deal of nonsense going on around us. But see here, Dave; you're not a prisoner. Can't you go off after Uncle Moses ? " David shook his head, mournfully. " By the time I got back here with him," said he, " you'd all be taken away ; and then what good could he do? He can't speak Italian." " I know ; but then I thought that his venerable appearance might somehow strike terror into these Italians. However, it's just as well." " Just as well ? " said David. " No ; something must be done. 0, how I wish I could find some one who could explain things ! " " What's the use ? " " Why, you'll be taken to prison." "Well, and wouldn't that be jolly?" said Bob, cheerily. " I'd like to know how many fellows of our age have seen the inside of a Roman prison." David groaned, and was silent. ANOTHER ORATION. 37 . CHAPTER III. Another tremendous Oration of the Priest, followed by an Oration still more tretnendous fro7n Bob. — The Priests bewildered. — Happy Thought of David. — Flight. — Pur- suit. — A headlong Descent. — The German. — The Dutch- man. — The Spaniard. — TJie Englishman. — The Irish- man. — Tiie Yankee. — Where'' s David? — Debates. — Conjectures. — Final Resolve. — They once ?nore make the Ascent. T length the priests ended their conversa- tion, and once more came up to the boys. One of them now made an harangue, as be- fore. Its general tone and manner were severe, but less passionate than the first. This is what he said, done, as before, into Eng- lish. •'English young gentlemen, whoever you are, you have committed what, in our eye, is a very serious offence and crime, namely, sacrilege, by racing donkeys round and round over the roof of this holy Basilica of St. Peter's. You must not expect that you will get off without punishment. Yet you are young, and we are willin;?;' to believe that you did not really intend to commit so enor- 38 THE SEVEN HILLS. mous an offence. Wo cannot, in fact, bring our- Bclves to bolieve that young gentlemen of your appearance, and your evident station in life, would deliberately and intentionally perpetrate a deed so foul, so atrocious, and so blasphemous. You have probably your parents or guardians somewhere near, or at least not far off in the city. We will be merciful. We will allow you to send your friend to take word to your parents or guardians, and when they come here we will see what may be done. But, of course, for the present you must bo retained in confinement. One of you, therefore, may go, and he must come back aa soon as pos- sible." The boys listened in silence, but of course did not understand a word ; a fact which it was strange that the priests had not thought of. The priest, having ceased, looked inquiringly at chem, expect- ing some sort of an answer. • Bob looked very gravely at his friends, and then said, in a quiet, thoughtful tone, — " True ; yes ; in fact, I always thought so ; and what be says is quite unanswerable. Yet it seems to me that we ought to make him some reply, for the ' honor of the flag,' you know, and all that sort of thing ; because, it should never be said of any American that when the time came for him to make a speech he was basely mum." ^ Then turning to the priests. Bob took off his hat, and made a respectful bow. bob's speech. 89 " Ladies and gentlemen," said ho, " unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, you'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on a stage like this, and if I chance to fall below Demostliencs or Cicero, — which I may add is highly probable, — don't view me with a cricket's eye, but be good enough to pass my few imperfections by. And though I am but small and young, of judgment weak, and feeble tongue, yet, ladies and gentle- men, I, in company with my esteemed young friends here, am a native of the land of the free and the Iiome of the brave. You, my lords, have honored us with an address which is full of perspicuity, purity, prosperity, arid precision. I feel that I cannot do justice to the elegance of diction which characterized your remarkable address. I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation in mis- fortune and disgrace. It is not a time for adula- tion ; the smoothness of flattery cannot avail us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now time to ad- dress the throne in the language of truth, and dis- play in glowing colors the ruin that is brought to our doors. No man more highly esteems and honors the British troops than I do. I know their virtues and their valor ; I know that they can accomplish anything but impossibilities, and I know that the conquest of British America is an impossibility. My only answer to the oppressor and the tyrant is, that our bright home is in the setting sun. If I were an Italian, as I am an American, while a 40 THE SEVEN HILLS. foreign party was trying to come it over me with hia lingo, I would never give up the ship, never, never, never ! " Wliile this astonishing address was being deliv- ered, the boys at first stood utterly confounded ; and then, as Bob calmly went on, laying an exaggerated emphasis on those scraps of old hackneyed school declamations which he so absurdly confounded to- gether, even the gravity of their situation could not quell the impulse to laughter. Their faces grew distorted with the effort lo ke^p down their mirth, and they bit their lips till the blood came. The priests looked on in utter amazement. It was their turn now to be bewildered at the sound of an unintelligible speech. They listened intently, however, as though by listening to gain some idea; and, finally, as Bob ceased, and with a low bow replaced his hat on his head, they looked at one another with puzzled faces. Then one of them beckoned the other, and they once more went apart, followed by the gendarme, and engaged in another long conversation. " Boys," said David, hurriedly, " I've got a plan for you." " Trot it out, then," said Frank. " Have you got your purses ? " " Of course," said Frank. " I've got loose change," said Clive. "I've a few dollars," said Bob. " Well, each of you hand some silver to the If FLIGHT OF THE BOYS. 41 fellow that's holding you. They'll all understand that. They'll let you go. Tlien lot's all run for it. Be quick, so as to get off while the priests are talking." This pn^posal came like a ray of light into the dungeon of their captivity. In a few moments each of them had slyly shown a handful of silver coin to his jailer, and exchanged with him a glance of intelligence. That display of silver coin acted like a charm. The rigid grasps relaxed, and the horny fists of the three peasants closed like three vices around the money. In another instant the boys were off. Tlie three peasants, who had pocketed the silver, did not make any very great haste to pursue them, though they pretended to be very much excited and confused. But among the others a great riot arose. The women gave a loud outcry, and all the small boys gave chase. The priests and the gendarme looked around, uttered exclamations of wrath, and followed as fast as they could. The peasants, who had the money, made a great show of following. The two French soldiers, who had viewed the whole scene with great composure, now stood laughing at the new turn which affairs had taken ; so that the only actual pursuers of the fugitives were, — 1st. Thirteen small boys. 2d. Tlie mother of boy No. 13. 3d. Two small dogs. 4th. One priest. 42 THE SEVEN HILL8. 5th. Another priest. 6th. A gendarme. 7th. The three peasants who had pocketed the money, and did not seem to be at all in a hurry. Now, it has already been said that both of the priests were short, and stout, and fat; so, as a matter of course, their progress was not remarkable for speed. As for the gendarme, when he attempted to run, the idea of sheot iron clothing seemed to be more applicable to him than ever. And so, on the whole, the boys had a very good chance. So away they went. They gained on their pursuers. They reached the place of descent. Down they dashed. But alas for human hopes I Just as David, who happened to bo last, was entering, his foot struck against a projecting stone. He fell violently, and lay spiawling. Before he could pick himself up, seven out of the thirteen small boys were around him ; and before he could knock them all down or burst away from them, his coat collar was grabbed by priest Number One. Meanwhile the runaways plunged into the in- cline, and down they went ; and down, and down, and down the long winding way. Frank, who was first, heard the footsteps of those who were behind him, exaggerated and prolonged by the echoes, and thought, naturally enough, that it was the footsteps of pursuers that made so great a sound. The other boys followed Frank, simply EXCLAMATIONS. 43 because ho was loading. Thoy all thought that David was with them. Bob, who was last, thought that David was ahead of him ; and Frank, who was first, thought that ho was behind him. And so down thoy went, at a pace that was simply tremendous. Suddenly, in making one of their never-ending turns, they ran full agiiinst a man who was coming up. This man was hurled violently against the wall, and shouted out after them, — " Confound you, you youiig imps 1 what do you mean by that, for instance ? " He was an Englishman. They next dashed against a man who" evaded them with difficulty. " Sac-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-e ! " That was his excla- mation. He was a Frenchman. But still they went thundering down, till in the whole spiral way there arose a din that went echo- ing far down and far above. Another man, — " Donner and blitz I " He was a German. Another man, — " Dunder and blitzen I " He was a Dutchman. Another man, — " Bismillah 1 " He was a Turk. Another man, — 44 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Caramba ! " He was a Spaniard. Another man, — " Santissima Madre I " He was an Italian. ' Another man. He was dressed like a priest. His exclamation was an astonishing one. It was, — " Thunder and turf I ye thafes av the wurruld ye's ! '' Evidently an Irishman. But the next exclamation was still more ex- traordinary. The man who uttered it was tall and thin. He v/ore a tail coat, black satin waistcoat, black brcadcloth trousers, and fuzzy white beaver hat. Against this man each of the boys ran with all his force, and each successive blow was worse than the preceding. Stagg'ering up from the last blow, the man stared dowr^ the incline at the vacancy into which they had vanished, and ex- claimed, — " J-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-rew-salem ! " And he was a Yankee. The boys heard the cry, and at this they l.;lt a wonderful degree of reassurance. They felt as though they were at home again. Their pace slackened involuntarily, and now, though they met many more people, yet they went by them carefully, without jostling them, or startUng them in any way. VISITORS TO ST. PETER'S. 45 Now, several reasons may be given why so many people were going up to the roof of St. Peter's. In the first place it was the season when Rome is fuller than at any other time. The Carnival was at hand, after which would come Lent, ending with Holy Week and the magnificent illumination of St. Peter's. This, then, was the season when Rome offered its greatest attractions, and when strangers flocked in from all lands ; when the Eternal City made itself all ready for them, and cleaned its dirty streets, and donned its finest attire, and assumed its brightest aspect, and gave its warmest welcome. In the second place, this was just the time of day when these visitors came in the greatest throngs to St. Peter's, to see the vast cathedral, to ascend to its roof, to mount to the dome, and pene- trate through the cupola to the ball. At length they reached the end of their journey, and stood at the bottom of the descent in the assured consciousness that they were not pursued. Here they stood to assemble their scattered forces. What, however, was their amazement when they found that David was missing I At first they thought that he had delayed on his way down, and with this thought they waited for him some time. But as they waited and he came not, the gloomy fear finally came over all of them that he was in the hands of the Philistines. " Why," said Frank, " I was sure that he was following us." 46 THE SEVEN HILLS. " And I," said Bob, " was sure that he was ahead." " Where was he when we started ? " asked Frank. " He was behind us," said Clive. " Then he must Lave been caught, up there." " I'm afraid he must." '' Poor Dave ! " " And he~ was the very one that did nothing at all." " No; he had no donkey." " We were the only ones to blame." " Yes ; they've nothing against him, at any rate.'* '^ And what is more, he saved us, for this flight of ours was his idea." " Yes ; and he's got into a scrape for our sakes." " We won't stand that," said Frank, " and leave Dave — this way." '• Never," said Bob. " Wait," said Clive. " Perhaps Dave has relied on this. You see they can't touch him. They've nothing against him. He didn't do anything. He may be taking his time, and coming down leisurely to cover our retreat. For really there's no reason why Jie should run the way we did at the risk of his neck. So let's wait here a little longer. I dare say he'll be here soon. He's all right. They've no earthly reason to touch him." " Why, of course not," said Frank. " They wouldn't think of touching him. O^ yes ; he's all right. Well, boys, we'd better wait here. He'll DEBATES. it be along. There's no harm waiting. If he don't turn np, we'll all go back, or I'll go back, and you can go and tall Uncle Moses." " 0, yes,'' said Bob, " of course ; we'll go away — won't we ? — and leave you and Dave in limbo. 0, certainly ; by all means." " Weil, why not ? It's better — isn't it ? — to let Uncle Moses know. We'll get an interpreter, too. In fact, one of us ought to go. Will you, Clive ? " " No," said Clive ; *' I'll stay here." • "You, Bob?" " No," said Bob. " What bosh ! " " Well," said Frank, « I won't." " Very well then," said Clive, " let's wait for Dave." •'-■'''- r - -■- "All right." * - - So they stood and listened, and listened and stood, and the time passed, but still there were no signs of David. At length they began to grow impatient, then anxious. Finally they found that they could stand the anxiety no longer. " I can't stand this," said Frank. " What's the use of waiting here ? " " Something must have happened to Dave," said Clive. " Yes," said Bob j " he's in the hands of the Philistines." "He must be," said Frank; "or else he'd have been down before this." " What I wonder at," said Clive, " is, that no one has come down after us." 48 THE SEVEN HILLS. " 0, they thought, no doubt, that we had run off homo." " But they could see that we did not leave the cathedral. If we had, they'd have seen us cross- ing the piazza." " 0, no, they couldn't ; they might suppose that we ran through the colonnades." ^•' That's true ; for that's the very thing we would have done." " I don't see the use of waiting here any longer," said Frank. " Nor I," said Clive. " I don't, I'm sure," said Bob. " Well, then, we've got to go back for Dave," said Frank. " There's nothing else to do," said Clive. " We can give ourselves up again; and then, perhaps they'll let him go." "Poor Dave," said Bob. "He must, think it queer that. we've left him so long; but we couldn't help it ; for we'd have gone back, but we thought he wasn't in any danger, and that he'd be down." " 0, don't you fret," said Clive. " Never fear ; Dave knows us. He knows we won't leave him." " Well, there's one thing," said Frank, " we'll find some people up there now who can speak English." "I don't see what good that'll do," said Bob. " We can speak English very well ourselves." CONJECTURES. 49 " 0, 1 mean, of course, that they can speak Italian, too." " But perhaps thoy can't," said Bob ; " so what then?" " Didn't you notice that Irishman ? " said Chve. " Of cc'irse we did ; and the Yankee, too, with his J-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-rew-salem ! That word came hko balm to my wounded heart, Clive." " 0, but didn't you notice that the Irishman was dressed as a priest ? " "Well, what of that? He's none the less an Irishman. For my part, I don't believe any Irish- man can speaii Italian." " But this man was dressed like an Italian priest," said Clive. " I noticed that very plainly." " So he was," said Frank. " H'm," said Bob ; " that's something. Perhaps he does know Italian. He may be a regular Roman priest, brought here in childhood, and educated by the Pope himself. Hurrah ! My heart always warms to an Irishman. It warrums, so it does. But how delicious his Italian must be if he spakes it wid that illigant brogue av his ! Sure an it's the foinest brogue intoirely that ivir I sot ois on, so it wor." " But I'm afraid," said Frank, " that the Irish priest, even if he does speak Italian, won't be of much use. He can't feel very friendly towards us. Didn't we almost knock him down ? " " Pooh I what of that ? " said Bob. " An Irishman 4 *60 THE SEVEN HILLS. would be the last man in the world to take offence at that. Don't you remimber the owld song, sure ? — * He spakes to his frind, and for love knocks him down.' Never you fear. The last thing he would think of would be to take offence. I dare say he's laugh- ing over it now." " Well, after all," said Frank, " it don't make any difference ; there's no use for us to wait here any longer. We must go up at on(;e. So come along." " All right," said Bob and Clive. So the three boys began to ascend once more to the roof. As they went up they expected every moment to meet David coming down. They cherished the hope that his perfect innocence, and the fact that he had nothing whatever to do with their adventure, might induce the authorities of the upper regions to release him at once. But they pursued many and many a round of their weary way, and still there were no signs of him. At last they began to grow despondent, and to fear that David li id fallen a victim to the anger of the authorities, which they themselves had kindled. They hardly knew what to do, but determined at all events to save him. And in this frame of mind, and with this resolve, they went up. DAVID A PRISONER. 51 CHAPTER lY. David a Prisoner. — In the Hands of the Philistines. — A new Corner. — Padre O' Toule. — The little Chamber. — An Inquisition. — The Rogues^ the Spalpeens^ and the Oinadhawns. — The Boys all under Inquisition. — F^ir- ther Journeys. — The Dome. — The Lantern. — The Ball. — Boundless View. — The Exile and his Confidences. — The Farewell. MEANWHILE David had been seized by the priests, the gendarme, and the small boys. An excited crowd surrounded him, of whom the priests were the chief speakers. And it was, — Who was he? What was he? What did he want? What did he mean? Was he one of that party of young English miscreants who had come here to desecrate, to dishonor, to insult, to revile ? He was. For had he not connived at the escape of his friends ? To all of which David listened with the calmness of conscious innocence, but understood not one single word. He had no desire to imitate Bob's example, and answer their sonorous and unintelligi- ble Italian with sonorous and unintelligible Eng- lish. He simply preserved his calm demeanor, 52 THE SEVEN HILLS. and remained silent while the priests talked to him. But for the priests the question was a perplexing one. Even with the other boys who had been the real offenders, they had scarcely known what to do, and had not altogether made up their minds about the case. But as for this boy, they knew that he was perfectly innocent. His only offence, as far as they could see, was, that he had run off after the others. Still it was evident that he belonged to the offending party, and they felt that something ought to be done to avenge the insult that had been offered. So they talked apart for some time, and the more they talked, the more they felt the need of an interpreter. While they talked, the gendarme held David. Meanwhile a number of persons ascended. They were all visitors, and passed onward to the great dome. At last a person came up who was dressed in the garb of a priest. The moment that this man made his appearance. Priest Number One said to Priest Number Two, — " How fortunate I here is Padre O'Toule. He can speak to the boy." So they called to the newly-arrived priest. He turned about and came towards them. He Was a man of middle age and middle size. He had short, curly hair, a round, red face, w dh much good humor in its expression, and a pair of eyes THE LITTLE CHAMBER. 53 in his head which looked out upon the world with a great deal of spriglitliness and acuteness. The priests said to this Padre O'Toule all that they wished, whereupon the latter looked at David very curiously. Then the whole party went away to another place on the farther side of the roof, so as to be out of the way of the concourse of visitors. Here the priests talked long and solemnly to Padre O'Toule, with very serious faces on their part, but with a face on Padre O'Toule's part which grew very red and very queer. In fact. Padre O'Toule seemed to David to be affected by some internal convulsion ; and he also used his handkerchief frequently, to cover his mouth and nostrils as though he was affected by the air. At last he said to the priests in Italian, " Leave the boy with me. PIl talk with him. I'll be re- sponsible." Then turning away, he came to David, and taking him by the arm he led him off to the rear of the edifice. Here there was a small cham- ber close by the main cupola, and Padre O'Toule took David in. The ethers quietly dispersed. As soon as he had brought David inside. Padre O'Toule flung himself down on a rude bench, and then proceeded to burst forth into peals of laugh- ter, so wild, so vehement, and so irrepressible, that David began to fancy that he was in the power of a madman. What, then, must have been his wonder, when Padre O'Toule, suddenly mastering his laugh- ter, looked up with eyes streaming with tears, and burst forth into the following : — 54 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Och, be the powers, thin ! but it's a qnaro bird, so yo are, an it's a f'oino geeme ye've bon a y)layin. To have a donkey race, an on the top av St. Peter's ! Ha, ha, ha ! Och, ye rogue, but ye'll be the death of* me intoirely, so ye will. Ha, ha, ha, lia, ha ! But what is it all, sure? Tell me all about it, jool." At the sound of these words, spoken in tin's familiar Irish brogue, the last vestige of David's anxiety passed away. To him an Irishman seemed like a fellow-countryman and a brother. Had he been an English priest, he would have seemed, indeed, like a messenger of peace to the lonely boy ; but an Irishman, with his honest, jovial, fan- loving, irrepressible Irish heart bursting forth in every look and accent, this was the most fortunate thing that could occur. There was also an infec- tion about this man's laughter that communicated itself to David, and before he knew it, he caught himself laughing over the absurdity of the whole affair. So he began by assuring the worthy priest that he and his friends had not the remotest idea of doing anything wrong, but that they met some donkeys as they were on their way up, and thought that they would have a ride to the top, so as to save the trouble of walking. " An sure an it was a very sinsible ida, so it was," said Padre O'Toule ; " very sinsible an imi- nintly shuitable. Wasn't I wishin me own self, as AN INQUISITION. 65 I came up, that I could havo a donkey that 'ud give me a lift. But go on, jool." So David proceeded to mention the success of the boys in mounting, and his own scrimmage with the donkey that wouldn't let him mount. This was greeted with fresh laughter by Padre O'Toule. " Faith, thin," said he, " an, be the powers, that same donkey showed himself to be a baste of shuparior discerrunmint, an ayvinced shuitable sintimints on sich raysintmint av injury. For it's as clare as mud that ye had no business in life wid him, ye thafe av the wurruld; but go on, darlint." " Well, then, you know, somehow the other don- keys started off'," said David, " and I was left alone. I thought the boys had gone off" themselves, but I rather think now that the donkeys had run away with them." " Ach, be off* now out o' that wid yer nonsinse. Run away wid thim, is it? An thim same goin up to the roof? Niver a bit av it ! They dhrove off" thimselves, so they did. But go on. So ye wint up afther thim, ye said." " Yes," said David, " I went up as fast as I could, for I couldn't help feeling a little anxious about them, for I didn't know anything about the roof. I thought it was an arched roof or a sloping one, and felt afraid they might fall off*." " Afeard they'd rowl off*, is it ? Be jabers it's a quare ida ye had av the roof thin, so it is." 66 THE SEVEN HILLfl. " Wlion I got to tlio top and looked around, I couldn't 800 them anywhere." " Ye thoujjjht thin surely they'd come to harnim, I'll be bound; but where were they?" " Somewiiero about on the other side. Thev ft' told mo afterwards that when they got to the top, the donkeys all ran away." " Niver a bit av it. They started off thimselves, the young rogues, so they did. I'd have done it meself, so I wud. 'Tisn't ivery one that has tlie cliance av doin that same " " Well," continued David, " I walked about for two or three minutes, when suddenly I heard a tremendous row, and the boys came dashing past on their donkeys, and a crowd after them." Here David gave an eloquent, vivid, and highly animated description of that memorable scene, enlarging particularly on the gendarme vA\o had seizecl the tail of Bob's donkey. To all this Padre O'Toule listened with undisguised delight, making him give a particular description of the gendarme. " Sure it's me that knows that same gendarme. And wouldn't I like to have seen him howldin on I 0, but it's tearin mad he must have been wid ye's." David then spoke about his following after them, and described the scene that last presented itself* before his astonished gaze. He then gave a vivid account of Bob's plan, and a verbatim report of his speech. END OP THE INQUISITION. 57 * " The young rogno I " exclaimed Padre O'Toulo. " The tlmf'o av the wurruld ! The owdacioua young spalpeen! To make a spache at tliim I Ila, ha, ha! Och, but it's mesolf that 'ud have given any- thing to be there." Finally David described the escape. This was the climax. Padre O'Toule again burst forth, and laughed so furiously and so long, that David began to fear for the consequences. " 0, dear ! 0, dear ! 0, dear ! " ho roared at last. " Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! By tlie pipers of war ! but it's rogues they are intirely, so they are. And thim same ; ha, ha, ha ! now I remember. Thim same ; ha, ha, ha ! yis, it was thim same, so it was ; all three av thim came tearin down from the roof, and nairly dashed me brains out by buttin against me ; all av thim as I wor comin up. It's me that saw thim. Meself did. Sure an didn't I know they'd been up to mischief. I did that same. Me- self did. Och, but it's meself that'll niver get over this as sure's me name's Michael O'Toule. But where are they now ? What in the wide wurruld's become av thim thin? Sure they wouldn't be the boys to run away an lave you here in the hands av the inimy, at all at all." "0, they'll be back," said David, confidently; for he had not the slightest idea that it was possible for his friends to desert him. « Back is it ? " said Padre O'Toule. " Yes," said David. " I suppose they thought 58 THE SEVEN HILLS. I was following close behind, as I was when I started. I don't think any of tliem saw me fall. Bob was just ahead of me, and he couldn't have seen me at all, for he didn't look round once. I dare say by this time they've missed me, and are perhaps waiting for me somewhere.'* " Bedad, thin," said Padre O'Toule, " by this time they'll be afther findin out that yer not followin thim. We'd betther be aff wid ourselves to hunt thim up. They're hereabouts somewhere. Come along thin, jool, an let's hunt up thim young omadliawns." With these words Padre O'Toule rose from his seat. He stood for a few moments before David, regarding him with a benevolent and affectionate smile, while his face was still flushed and purple from the effects of his late uproarious laughter. "Be the powers," said he, laying his hand in an affectionate sort of way on David's shoulder — "be the powers, but it does me heart good, so it does, to get howld av the likes av you, and to hear a good story, and have a good laugh in me native language. It's sore an sick at heart that I am sometimes, with livin here where I'm cut oflf from me own blood. Ye've done me good, 80 ye have, by the sight of yer honest, fresh boy's face ; so come^ along, and let's hunt them young spalpeens." With these words he went out, followed by David, who was full of thankfulness to the honest DAVID UNEASY. 59 priest, and of confident hope that his protection would be sufficient to clear the boys, as well as himself, from all unpleasant consequences. Follow- ing the priest thus, he went towards the rear end of the church, where they turned, and finally reached the place from which the descent was to be made. Many new arrivals had taken place since David had come, and people were coming and going between this place and the entrance to the dome. David could not help looking about with a slight feeling of uneasiness, for fear that his old enemies, or some of them at least, might appear. The priests and the gendarme, in particular, were the ones he dreaded. But these did not appear any- where. In handing him over to Padre O'Toule, they seemed to have considered themselves free from any further responsibility. David also, at the same time, could not help wondering what had become of the boys ; whether they could be in hhe cathedral below, or outside on the piazza ; and for a moment an uneasy ^'^ar took possession of him, that the priests and gendarme had left the roof to pursue them, and miglit possibly have captured them, and be even at this moment in possession of them. These thoughts all passed through his mind in a few moments, and in this frame, and with these con- jectures and fears, he advanced with Padre O'Toule to the place of descent. 60 THE SEVEN HILLS. At that moment they heard the sound of foot- steps ascending, and approaching them. The next instant David uttered a cry of joy. For there, full before tliem, they all stood, all three — Frank, Clive, and Bob. ' ' - The faces of these boys flushed with joy ; but the delight which they felt at seeing David was at first somewhat overclouded by the fear that he was a prisoner, and then uncertainty as to their own prospects. Moreover they had come up for the purpose of surrendering themselves to the enemy. That enemy seemed to stand before them in the person of this priest. They looked at liim ) and at one look every fear and every feeling of uneasiness died away within their anxious breasts. For on that rosy face, with its sparkling eyes that beamed upon them with a curiously quizzical ex- pression, they saw the best proof in the world that this strange priest was no enemy, — no stern jailer, no inexorable inquisitor. Had any further proof been needed, they would have had it in the first words that Padre O'Toule addressed to them. "Aha," he cried, "ye young omadhawns ! so ye're the vagabonds that wint and flistened a gendarme to the ind av a donkey's tail, an pulled him round the roof av St. Pether's ; and ye're the young spalpeens that wint an powered ridi- cule en thim howly fathers that made ye's prison- ers ; and ye're the young rogues that wint an dhruv yerselves at me, head first, whin I was EXAMINATION OP THE BOYS. 61 laborin up the ascint here, an nearly dhruv me all the way back agin. Come along, ye haythins, till I have a luk at ye's ! " The utter amazement of the boys at these words, like that of David, was indescribable, and could only be equalled by tht^ir delight. They followed him as he led the way back to the little den to which he had taken David, hearing on the way, from him and from David, enougli to reassure them completely. On reaching his den. Padre O'Toule sat down on the judgment seat, and entered upon a long and most searching examina- tion oi their case. Which examination consisted in making each boy tell the whole story over again. In asking each one what he himself did, saicl, and thought, particularly. In asking how each of the priests looked. In inquiring with the greatest minuteness how tlie gendarme looked when hanging on to the donkey's tail. v, , And in making Bob rehearse the whole of his famous speech to the priests. • After each of which points in his examination he would burst forth into peals of laughter, long, loud, boisterous, and illimitable. After this he took them all up to see the dome and ball of St. Peter's. On entering the dome, they came first to a gallery on the inside, w^ *ch ran completely round. Looking down, they saw 62 THE SEVEN HILLS. revealed more impressively than ever the stupen- dous proportions of the greatest of cathedrals. Between them and the opposite walls of the dome lay an abyss which made them dizzy to contemplate. Ascending still farther, the boys found the way leading up between two domes, on one of which they walked, while the outer dome rose over them. Such a discovery as this added to the wonder of this mighty work. On reaching the top, they found a circular opening, through which they looked down. The sensation was terrific. The abyss that yawned beneath made their blood tingle and their brains turn giddy. From this they went up to loftier heights, until at last their journey was terminated by the ball. . • : ' '> ^ On crawling inside of this, they were struck dumb by its size. From below it looked no larger than the ball on any ordinary church under the cross or weathercock ; but on reaching it they found it nine feet in diameter, and capable of con- taining a crowd of people. Through slits in the sides they looked forth and saw a magnificent prospect, including the city i^ielf, the towns and villages far away, the waste Campagna, the purple Apennines, and the blue \yaters of the Mediterranean. On descending. Padre O'Toule took them back to his little chamber, and chatted with them for some time in a confidential and affectionate manner. THE priest's kindness. 63 He told them that he had a brother in New York, Phelim O'Toule by name, of which said Phelem he gave them the address, together with the infor- mation that he kept a corner grocery there. And he asked them if there was any probability that any one of them would ever see the said Phelim ; and they all promi ^d to hunt him up when they got back. Whereupon Padre O'Toule told them to tell " Phaylim " where they had seen him, and when, and how ; and to inform the said Phaylim that his brother Mickey was sore and sick at heart for a sight of him, and sent him his heart's best love and blessing. And the boys were touched by this instance of affectionate craving for tiiose sweet ties of kindred which had been lost in exile, and they all promised to find Phelim if he was alive, and tell him all this. So Padre O'Toule thanked them, and blessed them, and led them all the way down the incline, at the foot of which he bade them good by. When he shook hands with them, they saw that his eyes were moist with tears. And now the boys hurried off, and they all trotted back to their lodgings as fast as their legs would carry them. 64 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER V. Terror of Uncle Moses. — Revionstrance. — Ancient Rome, — The Capitoline Hill, — The Tower. — The Seven Hills. — The Tarpeian Rock. — The Roman Forum. — The Arch of Titus. — The ancient Pavement. — The Palace of the CcEsars. — Enthusiasm of David and Clive. — Tremen- dous Outburst from Bob. N their return home, they found Uncle Moses in a state of great agitation. As they told him the story of their adventures, he exhibited the greatest possible horror, and final- ly declared that he would never let them go out of his sight again. " Why," he exclaimed, " it's truly dreadful to think of To ride on donkeys over the roof of a church ! Why, boys, you're crazy. What a prov- idence it was that you didn't all tumble over, and break your necks ! And only think of me, — here all the time, as meek and unsuspectin as a lamb. Ef I'd a ony knowed, ef I'd a ony conceived what you were a doin on, gracious ony knows what would a become of me. And then again, them Roman priests. P'aps they're Inquisitors. P'aps they'd a put you in them dungeons that we've read UNCLE MOSES' ANXIETY. 65 of. Wal, I alius thought you were kind o' skittish creeturs, but I never expected sich shines as this X from you, not in all my born days. Why, it beats all that ever I heard in my life. It's truly a mussy that you found that Irish priest. I don't think Irish priests are as dreadful as I-talian. They've never had the Inquisition in Ireland, at least as far as I knows on ; but if it hadn't been for him, you'd not been here, mind, I tell, you. 0, it's a great thing for a man to speak English, even if it's Irish." So Uncle Moses announced his solemn intention after tliis to keep the boys under his own eye, and not to let them go rambling about by themselves, where they were exposed to such frightful dangers as those at wliich he had hinted. And accordingly, on the following day, when they proposed to ex- plore the ruins of the ancient city, he accompanied them. Such a tour was a sore trial to poor Uncle Moses, who took about as much interest in the ruins of the past as he might take in the Chinese lan- guage ; but his anxiety about the boys superseded every other feeling, and so he sacrificed himself for their sakes. They first went to the tower of the Capitol. It * is very high, and being perched upon the top of the Capitoline Hill, it commands an immense ex- tent of view. k Hero they ascended with their " Murray " and a map oi Rome, and proceeded to study, most care- 5 r G6 THE SEVEN HILLS. fully, the prospect wliicli was spread out before and beueatli tlioiii. Great was the excitement, particularly o^ the part of David and Clive, as, one by one, they were able to pick out some j)lace, or some object, the name of which had become familiar to their ears by their reading and study at school. On one side was the modern city of Rome, with its domes, its steeples, its columns, and its obelisks, all rising above the bouse-tops, like another city in the air. On the other lay the sad and melancholy ruins of the capital of the ancient world. All around rose those eminences whicu lurm the seven hills of Rome. On one of them — the Capitoline — they themselves were standing. Their first object was to find out the seven hills, and for this purpose they eagerly studied the map. " There," cried David, after a long study of the map, and a long survey of a certain rising ground ; " there is the Palatine. That must be it, — over there, opposite." " I see the Aventine," cried Frank ; " it's just over there, nearer the Tiber. It must be it." " And I see the Quirinal," said Clive. " Look, Dave. It's just over there, where those buildings are, that look like palaces." " Yes," said David ; " and if that is the Quirinal, that other, over there, must be the Caelian." " And if that other one," said Frank, " isn't the Viminal, then I'll eat my grandmother." " 0, bother your hills," said Bob ; " what I want THE TARPEIAN ROCK. 67 to see is the real genuine, original Tarpoian Rock ; the place where they used to pitch over their traitors." " Well," said David, " it's close by here, some- where ; but it's hidden by houses. From what ^lurray says, it ought to be over there;" and he pointed in a certain direction. " But wait till we go down, and we'll pay it a visit. It'll be the first thing that we will go to see." After finding out as many objects and places as they were able to identify with the help of the map, they went down again ; and, as Bob had suggested the Tarpeian rock, they went there without delay, and found it without any difficulty. A general expectation of some tremendous abyss, into which they were to look with fearful eyes from the sum- mit of a lofty precipice, was followed by the utmost disappointment at the sight of the actual place itself. For the top of the lofty precipice had been greatly cut away, and its bottom, in the course of centuries, or, as may fairly be said, of thousands of years, had greatly filled up, so that the height was incon- siderable. Bob offered to jump down himself lor a dollar and thirty-seven and a half cents, and Frank was about urging, or, rauher, daring him to do so, when Uncle Moses, in great excitement, in- terfered, and solemnly extorted a promise from Bob that he would not do it. It is not at all likely, however, that Bob would have jumped from the Tarpeian rock, even if Frank had dared him till •08 THE SEVEN HILLS. doomadiiy ; for, as the hciglit ia still at least seventy Ibet, his bravado would scarcely have attempted that. After leaving this place, they descended tlio Capitoline Hill on their way to the Roman Forum. Once this place presented a scene of the greatest possible magnificence. At one end arose the Capi- toline, crowned with marble temples. Opposite this arose another hill, — the Palatine, — whereon stood the vast Palace of the Caisars — the Golden House of Nero ; and the intervening space was covered with temples and columns. But now only a few relics, feeble types of all this former splen- dor, were visible. A few columns of temples, the names of which are disputed, still stand erect and isolated, surrounded by others which, ages ago, fell prostrate. The ancient pavement itself was covered, to the depth of over sixteen feet, with the crumbled ruins of fallen edifices. The Pi'ace of the Ctcsars Iv^s long since returned to dust; all its stones have dissolved ] and so complete is the ruin, that the whole hill is now composed solely of the dis- integrated fragments of that once stupendous pile. "The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride ; Slie saw her glories, star by star, expire, And up the steep barbarian nionarchs ride Where the car climbed the Capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a trace. Chaos of ruins ! Who shall pierce the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar liglit, Or say, Here was, or is, where all is doubly night? THE FORUM. 69 Such wore the thoughts of David and of Ch've, whoso well-worn copies of Byron's "Childe Harold" gave a new tneaning and a fresh interest to all these monuments of a lost antiquity, around which they now found themselves wandering. The thought that they were now in the place which had once been the very heart of ancient Home, filled them with en- thusiasm. They were in the Roman Forum I "The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood, — Here a proud people's passions were exhaled. From tlie first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer failed. • • • • • Where is the goal of triumph, the high place, ' Where Kome enibruced her heroes? where the steep Tarpeian, fittest goal for Treason's race, — The promontory where the traitor's leap Cured all ambition? Did the conquerors heap Tlieir spoils here ? Ay, — and on yon field below, A thousand years of hostile factions sleep. The i orum ! where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes, burns with Cicero." Such were the words with which David sought to express the feelings of his soul. In such a place it was no wonder that he should be wrought up to a higher enthusiasm than common. And, indeed, in this Forum, in spite of the ruin and desolation around them, all the boys felt most strongly the position in which they were, and realized to its fullest extent the sense of the presence of the past It was Bob, however, who first gave ex- pression to this feeling. He had been silent for 70 THE SEVEN HILLS. a long time. David and Clivo had been loud, and proinse, and eloquent in the expression of their feelings. And at length he burst forth too. "Well, it's queer, too — all this. Somehow it's as odd as though I had come to the actual castle where the sleeping princess was confined ; or the ruins of the palace of Beauty and the Beast. It's like seeing a plank from the ship of Sinbad the Sailor; or one of the hairs from the tail of Puss in Boots; or the real, original, authentic Simon Pure, lionest nigger, glass slipper that was worn by Cin- derella at the immortal ball ; or the bone that was found in the dilapidated cupboard by the original Mother Hubbard ; or the actual and veritable shoe that the old woman lived in, who had so many children that she didn't know what to do ; or the bowl of the three wise men of Gotham ; or the iden- tical wheelbarrow that the bachelor, who lived by himself, wheeled his wife home in from London ; or even the identical fiddle that was played by the immortal and never-to-be-forgotten Cat, to the ven- erable air of rTey-diddl(r, diddle." " 0, Bob," cried David, " what in the world is the meaning of such a perfect torrent of nonsense?" « Well," said Bob, " I can't help it. Haven't I been reading, and studying, and thinking about these things all my life — Romulus and Aladdin; Numa and Haroun Al Raschid ; Rome and Bagdad ; the Wolf and the White Cat ; Tarquin and Cama- ralzaman ; Coriolauus and Robinson Crusoe ; the bob's rigmarole. 71 Gracclii and Goody Two Shoes; Dontatiia and Don Quixote; Miitiiis Scevola and I^aron Miin- cliauson ; ll(*g:nlus and Uinaldo Hinaldini ; Scipio and iSinbad ; Fabius and the Forty Thieves; Tar- quin and the King of the Cannibal Ishmds — all of them — and a tliousand more; even inchiding Han- nibal, and Cincinnatus, and Manlius, and Julius CiXisar — every rnotlicr'a son of them, including the mother of the Gracchi, have been jumbled up in my confused brain in company. And now you bring mo to the Capitol and the Palatine. You go to work and hnd out all the other hillt^. You fetch me here to where the Romans seized the Sabino women. I am supposed to see around mo the places that are associated with the memories of Brutus and Lucretia; of Appius Claudius and Vir- ginia. That Capitol, I suppose, is the ])lace where Manlius saved Rome, and whore Camilla found the Gauls. This, I dare say, is the identical spot in the Forum where the Romans calmly went on with the sale of real estate when Hannibal was at their gates. 0, yes ; of course. And now, pray, why mayn't I expect to visit Banbury Cross next — the place I used to trot to when I was a tender infant on my nurse's knee? Why mayn't I see the origi- nal Busy Bee, that improves the shining hour, and gathers houey all the day from every opening flower? or the dogs that delight to bark and bite? or *Lo,' the poor Indian? or 'Gayly' the cele- brated Troubadour ? Is there anything now, I ask 72 THE SEVEN HILLS. you, to prevent me from finding out who killed Cock Robin? or from visiting tlie house that Jack built? Havn't the Museums somewhere a pickle- jar, containing the thigh-bone of the Giant who 'smelled the blood of an Englishman'? But the best of it all is, that there really is, somewhere about here, the real, original, veritable Pope of Eome, whom I was brought up tc consider a kind of ' Old Bogie.' Where is he ? Trot him out." Bob ended, and looked away with a disconsolate expression. Frank laughed. Clive shrugged his shoulders — a little trick that he had learned at Naples ; while David assumed an expression of isimple horror — horror, in fact, that was beyond the power of words to express. Uncle Moses, however, regarded Bob for a moment with an ex- pression of strong disapproval. " You should not talk so, Robert," said be, "'n a tone of rebuke. " You shouldn't revile them that's dead and gone. The ancient Romans never did you any harm. Ancient Rome was a very superior place. Many of the ancient Romans were uncom- mon smart men. I take quite an interest in the ancient Romans — I do, railly. Some of them I railly admire. Not that I think much of Nero, or any of them cusses ; but, at any rate, Hannibal was a smart chap, and so was Demosthenes, and, and — Nebuchadnezzar. However, 1 -'jn't know much about them ; but, at any rate, I won't stand still, and hear them poked fun at, behind their backs. So you jest mind how you're a goin on." THE ARCH OF TITUS. 73 Bub looked down at this rebuke with a meek emile, and didn't say anything for some time. They all then resumed their walk, while David and Clive, pondering over the map, made out place after place. These two went into raptures over every- thing, while Uncle Moses, and Frani', and Bob listened in silence. At last they came to a ven- erable arch. " It's the Arch of Titus ! " said Clive. " And, see," said David, " here's the real, ancient pavement of the road — the same as the pavement of the Appian Way, wL ch we s?w at Cuma3." " See," cried Clive, " these sculptured ornaments of the Jewish temple. How often I have seen pictures of this ! " " But look," said David, " at the pavement. How many conquerors have trodden this ! Flow many triumphs have gone over this up to the '~^api- toline Hill! : _, , ,, . . * Blest, and thrice blest, the Romr'n Who sees Rome's brightest day; Who sees the long, victorious pomp Wind down tlie Sacred Way, J And tlirougli the bellowing Forum, And round the Suppliant's Grove, Up to the everlasti'.g gates Of Cspitclint Jove ! ' "What a place this i? ! " he continued. " Is there any place on earth equal to it ? All the past gathers around us here, from Romulus the founder, 74 THE SEVEN HILLS. to that other Romulus — Augustulus, the last of the degenerate emperors ; I may say, even to llienzi — the ' last of Romans.' Wliat scenes has this»place witnessed I " '" '' ' At this Bob burst forth. ' ' '' ' •'-';, " Yes," he cried, with irrepressible absurdity, and in a wild, melo-dramatic manner, — "yes ; me- thinks I see them all, my friends, in my mind's eye, Horatio. This is the place where Abraham led in triumph the captive kings ; where Moses defeated the Amalekites; where the children of Israel spoiled the jd]gyptians ; and the walls of Jericho fell down flat ! Here, my friends, Nebu- chadnezzar raised his great golden image, and Siiadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walked through the fiery furnace. Here Lycurgus and Solon com- posed their laws, and Pisistratus edited the Iliad and the Odyssey. Here, too, Alexander wept, be- cause there were no more worlds to conquer — " " I suppose you think that wit," interrupted Clive, with a sneer. " Don't you know what the fellow is called who can ridicule a sacred place?" " He's trying to be sarcastic, now," said David. "He thinks this sort of thing is wit." " Come, boys," said Frank. " That's not fair. You've had your blow, and Bob ought to have his." :,.,:.,^ -::;, „.,-,; ;, - "I scorn your profane interruptions to my .nthusiasm," cried Bob, in no way disconcerted. "Didn't you yourselves bring before me all these TREMENDOUS OUTBURST FROM BOB. 75 hallowed associations ? So yon jnst hold yonr jawa, both of yon. I'm looking at Hannibal now. IIo's hurling his spear at the ancient Romans, who are calmly selling at auction the ground on which his camp is pitched. I'm looking at Caractacus, Boadicea, and Cassivelaunus, as they stand liere, exclaiming, ' How is it possible for people pos- sessing so much magnificence at home to envy us our very ordinary thatched cottages in the old country?' Horace and Virgil are singing them- selves hoarse. Livy is walking about, with his memorandum-book, arm in arm with Numa and Pompey. Here comes Cicero, Avitli his speech against Catiline, followed by the ancient Romans, with dictionaries, to make him out ; and some of tlie rascals have Bohn's translations under their arms. But who is this? Who in the world is this? Why, really! Why, good gracious! If it isn't his own very self! Onr own old friend — Balbus ! Balbus oadificat murum ! Yes, Balbus is building a wall ! and all around us we see the very walls that Balbus used to build in the days when we were studying those confounded Arnold's Latin Exercises." Here Bob stopped obruptly ; but David and Clive, too much disgusted at his levity to listen to him, had already gone out of hearing. 76 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER VI. The Palace of the Casars. — The Miij^htiest of Rtiins. — The Coli'icuvi. — Arches on Arches. — Bob and Frank attempt to explore. — David and Clive investigate. — Uncle Moses meditates and calcjtlates. — Suddeti and startling Interriiption of Meditations and Calcnlations. — A wild Alarm. — Terrijic Peril of Bob. — Away in Pursuit. tT was bv the Arch of Titus that Bob had dis- gusted David and Clive by his ill-timed levi- ty. Not far away from this arch was a place, which, to these two, offered attractions quite equal to any which any other place in Rome pos- sessed, and it was towards this that they directed their steps when they turned away from Bob's light and trifling chatter. This place was the Palace of the Gtesars ; or, rather, the ruins thereof, the entrance to which is near the Arch of Titus. Of the once magnificent and perhaps unequalled structure known in histo- ry by tl.. Sv uuding name, nothing is now left save a mountain of rubbish, and vast sub-structures but recently laid open to the light of day. The Pala- tine Mount was once all cut away to afford a place PALACE OF THE CEiURS. 77 for it. Afterwards, during the ages, the mighty edi- fice crumbled into dust, and out of its ruins there arose another Palatine Mount — that one which now rises before the astonished gaze of the visitor to Rome. This new Palatine Monnt is formed thus IVom the ruins of the Palace of the Ctesars, xnd its very soil is made up out of the disintegrated atoms of that which once arose in this plaee in the form of stately column, fretted roof, or towering dome. The ruin is complete. In all the world Uiing can be seen more complete in its desolati n, more amazing in its utter decay. The Palace of the Ciesars, the Golden House of Nero, the wonder of the Roman world, is now a mountain of rubbish, where weeds grow, and wild grasses, and trees ; and ivy clings to the crumbling fragments of wall, that still arise to view. To the spade of the exca- vator is alone due the knowledge of its true char- acter, and, had it not been for this, it might have been doubted that such a ruin had ever been wrought. Cypress, and ivy, weed, and wall-floAvcr grown, Matted and massed together ; hillocks, heaped On what were chambers, are crushed, columns strewn In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescoes steeped In subterranean damps, where the owl peeped, Deeming it midnight; temples, baths, or halls. Pronounce who can ; for all that learning reaped From her research hath been that tliese are walls. Behold the imperial mount! 'tis thus the mighty falls! 78 THE SEVEN HILLS. But this did not long attract their attention, for soon they were called away by another object so vast, so strange, so impressive, that it altogether eclipsed everything which they had thus far seen. It was a ruin of vast dimensions. Its shape seemed circular as they approached it. On one side it was a dilapidated pile of stones, while on another side it presented the appearance of rows of arches in perfect preservation, rising one above another to the height of four stories, the summit being as liigli above the pavement as the top of an ordinary church steeple. No need was there for them .o look into their guide-book now, or to examine their man. They knew at once, at the first glance, wliat this mighty mass must be. From descriptions in books of travels, from pictures, from photograplis, they were thorouglily familiar with the unequalled ruin, and, though there were certain differences now in its actual appearance from that form wiiich they held in their memories, yet the gigantic structure, as a whole, could not possibly be mis- taken for anything else in all the world ; and so, as they hurried towards it in silence and in deep thought, they all knew well that this could be no other thing than the Coliseum. ^r^ v' --- , Every one is familiar with the name and the na- ture of this great structure. It was built during the reigns of the emperors Vespasian and Titus, and was designed to be an amphitheatre which should correspond in immensity and in splendor THE COLISEUM. 79 with the greatness of the capital of the world. When at length it was finished and opened to the Roman public, the spectacles began, and no less than twenty thousand gladiators were killed in a few days, during the opening entertainments. Otiier cities in the Roman empire could boast of amphitheatres of vast dimensions — so vast, in- deed, that their ruins, even at the present day, fill the mind of the spectator with wonder. But the Coliseum far surpassed them all, and never has any edifice been reared since then which has pos- sessed at once such capacity and such endur- ing solidity. It was seven hundred feet long, and live hundred feet wide. Its outer walls were one hundred and fifty feet in height, and it could ac- commodate one hundred thousand spectators. la the arena the professional gladiators struggled with one another, and with wild beasts. Some- times, also, water was let in, and galleys filled with gladiators represented to the spectators sea fights ; not sham fights, but real fights, where the waters were died red with human blood, and the bodies of the slain floated about, a ghastly sight, in the presence of the bloodthirsty Romans. But it was not only gladiators who fought here and died, — others of nobler character here laid down their lives. • Here the Christian martyr was called on to witness for Christ ; here the venerable disciple of Jesus fell before the fury of wild beasts or the stroke of the gladiator's sword ; or, worse than all, died amid 80 THE SEVEN HILLS. the lingering agonies of burning at the stake. Tlio sand of the arena was dyed witli the blood of the pure and the holy, — not of men only, but of weak women and tender children. Wherefore this Col- iseum may now be looked upon as a holy place ; and now, in the midst of this arena there arises a cross in the place where once flowed the blood of the servants of the cross; and he who treads this ground may know and feel that he is in a place where the very dust is hallowed. Strange indeed is the history of the Coliseum, Here it was that the monk Telemachus, indignant at the maintenance of bloody gladiatorial games at a time when Christianity had become the religion of the empire, rushed into the arena, flung himself between tlie swords of the combatants, and, dying there, wrought out by this glorious act of self- sacrifice the doom of these bloody shows. Here it was that pilgrims came, looking upon this mighty edifice as the best material representative of that Rome which had boen called the Eternel City. Among these pilgrims were Anglo Saxons from the far-distant isle of Angleland, whose impressions may be known from the memorable words, — "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; And when Rome falls, the world ! " During the middle ages the Coliseum underwent strange vicissitudes. Rome was a lawless city THE COLISEUM. 81 then, given up to disorder and perpetual internal warfare. Tlie Coliseum was turned into a castle, and an imprognaMe one it must have been. So, in tlie course of ages, war and time did much to wear it a>vay, and lay it low. After all, however, these agents did not do so much as the hand of man in more peaceful ages. One of the popes turned it into a powder factory, or, rather, tried to, and in the attempt an explosion took place, which was terribly destructive. Afterwards, when later ages came, it was used as a stone quarry. The Roman nobles grew more refined, and sought to rear splendid palaces. Here they saw material all ready for tiieir work ; and so it was that many of the most magnificent edifices of the modern city were constructed out of the stones of the Coliseum. The walls of Rome were also repaired with the stones that lay here so conveniently ; for these im- mense blocks, out of which the Coliseum had been constructed, afforded a material which was most inviting for such a purpose. When first built, all the vast blocks of stone had been fastened to- gether with bronze clamps. In the course of ages every one of these was detached and taken away, with the exception of two, which are now shown to the visitor as curiosities. At length, however, a more enlightened ago came. Interest was awakened in all the monu- ments of the past, and it was determined to put a stop to further encroachments on the ancient edi- 6 82 THE SEVEN HILLS. fices. One of tlio popes made a law prohibiting any fuitlier injury being done ; and to enforce this law, the Coliseum was consecrated, twelve small chapels and a cross being put up within that arena wherein so many Christians had in former ages shed their blood, and laid down their lives for Christ. Others did still more. Pope Pius VII. did most of all, and finding that one part of it was threatening to fall, he reared against it an immense buttress, which is very conspicuous in all the pic- tures which are made of the great ruin. Thus it now appears, a vast ruin, yet on one sido still showing the external wall, that wall which was saved from further loss by the buttress of Pope Pius VII. From that side wheie the wall is most perfect one gains the best idea of the appearance of the Coliseum in its palmy days. " Arches on arches, as it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands ; . . . . And here the buzz of eager nations ran In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause, As man was slaughtered by his fellow-man ; And wherefore slaughtered ? wherefore, but because Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws. • • • • • A ruin, yet what ruin ! From its mass Walls, palaces, half cities ha'e been reared. Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. Hath it indeed been plundered? or been cleared? THE COLISEUM. 88 Alas ! developed, opens the decay ! Wlien the colossal fabric's form is ncnred, It will not hear tlie brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away." Through one of the many arches of tlio lower story they entered the Coliseum, and soon came to the arena. Here they saw the full extent of the desolation which ages have inflicted. Much re- mained, but more had been taken away. Yet, on looking around, they could see the outline of the migiity fabric, and the ruins, which once were seats filled with thronging myriads, rising in a aeries of crumbling walls to the outer edge. Over these grew wild grasses and wild (lowers of many dillerent kinds, and the vast amphitheatre, which once rang with the shout of the multitude, now stood before them, silent and sombre. But all around them spread the wide arena, the circuit of which was still bounded by the very walls which once restrained the leap of the tiger, or were dyed red with the life-blood of the Christian martyr. Nor were there wanting further memo- rials of the latter ; for there, in the very cenlre of this arena, arose a lofty cross, symbolizing the tri- umph of that religion which once had furnished so many martyrs to the rnthlessness of persecution. It was with varied feelings that they entered this place. Bob i^'c once went off by himself. Frank also went off. Clive and David remained with one another, while Uncle Moses, who was 84 THE SEVEN HILLS. somewhat fatigued, walked up to the cross, and seated himself on the stone at its base. Here he rested and meditated profoundly, with his eyes roving over the wide circuit of the ruin. David and Clive together walked slowly about. They had much to examine, much to talk about. 'J'hey went about the whole circuit of the arena, peering into every opening, entering into every archway, examining, investigating, wondering, and conjecturing. Those, they thought, were the vomi- toria, the places through which the mighty multi- tude had entry and exit. Those, they thought, might be the vivaria, tho place where the wild beasts w^ere kept which were destined for the arena. Other places, tliey conjectured, might h.tve been the rooms of the gladiators, and others, iigain, the cells where the Christians were kept until tlie time should come for them to face the wild beasts. They engaged in several earnest discussions. One was about certain marks in the archway, which David thought were intended for iron gratings, while Clive contended that they had something to do with flooding the arena. Out of this there arose a new argument on the subject of this flood- ing of the arena, in which each of them showed all the knowledge that he had ever gained, together with an immense amount of conjecture. Then fol- lowed further arguments about the various kinds of gladiatorial fights, and the probable number of those who were killed each day, followed by a fresh THE COLISEUM. 85 argument as to whether the Christians actually fought, or allowed themselves to be slain without resistance. At length they worked their way back to where Uncle Muses was seated. He was still in the posi- tion in which they had left him, that is to say, seated upon the stone at the foot of the cross, with his eyes roving in a meditative way upon the wide circuit of ruins. " Boys," said he, as they came up, " do ye know I ben a thinkin that thar's ben a dreadful waste of stone in this here buildin? It was a kin o' show- place, I know, a sort of theayter, an all that, ony there was actool fights with wild beasts an with gelladytoors. But ony look an see ! What on airth was the use of all this here stone ? Why couldn't they hev done with wood ? or, for that matter, with canvas, like our circuses to hum ? Why, I've seen circuses whar they show shows that's as good, every mite, as anythin they ever got up here. An why they should go to work an put up a stone edifice like this hero beats me ! It doos, indeed ! " " Well," said David, '' for that matter, it was a canvas tent, after all. What you see was only in- tended to support the seats. Wooden seats could hardly have supported a hundred thousand men. But it was really a tent, for overhead they stretched an immense awning on cables, and that awning was far bigger than any ten of the biggest circuses that you ever saw." 86 THE SEVEN HILLS. '' Good thunder ! " cried Uncle Moses. " Dew- tell ! for I want to know." David was just about to proceed, and give Uncle Moses a full, complete, and exhaustive account of the ancient Roman amphitheatre, when he was sud- denly interrupted. " The interruption came in the shape of a loud cry, which was almost like a scream, and staVtled these three, who were in the centre of the arena, to such an extent that they all looked hurriedly about in every possible direction to see what the cause might be. For some tirne they saw nothing; but at length they distinguished a figure about half way up the incline made by the ruins of the amphitheatre, and the figure they knew to be Frank. He was ges- ticulating w^ildly and uttering shouts, which, in their surprise and excitement, they scarcely un- derstood. But the cries and the gestures made them turn their eyes farther up the incline in the direction in which Frank seemed to be looking or pointing. Scarcely had they done this than they saw a sight which filled them with horror, and made their blood run cold in their veins; for there, upon the topmost elevation, upon the very summit of the incline, upon the edge of the outer wall itself, they saw another figure, which they knew to be Bob. He stood there with his arms in the air, swaying backward and forward, and trying to IK' TERRIFIC PERIL OP BOB. 87 balance himself. It was from liim that the cry seemed to have come which had so startled them ; for, as they looked, another cry came, and yet an- other. They stood rooted to the spot. They gazed spell bound, paralyzed, througli utter horror. The awful danger of Bob, their own distance, their per- fect helplessness, all conspired to fill them with anguish, and to stupefy them with dread of som^ terrible calamity. And so they stood, and stared ; and Bob, on his giddy' elevation, swayed backward and forward, and swung his hands wildly, and tried to save himself. Long indeed it seemed to them, but after all it was but for a few moments. A few moments only it lasted, and then all was over! For Bob, suddenly turning, with a quick movement^ bowed his head, and then — vanished from their view ! Uncle Moses gave a groan of anguish, and David and Clive stared at one another with white faces. 88 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER VII. Frank attempts to explore. — A Moujitain of Ruins. — T/ie paved IVay. — T/ie Relic. — The fallen Arches. — The Chasm. — Alarm of Frank. — His Way citt off. — A Re- treat. — TJie Effort to save Dob. — A toilsome Ascent. — A Severe Strngf:;le. — The Chasms in the Way. — Sudden Interruption. — Amazing Discovery. — A Question and a Rebuke. N entering the Coliseum, Bob had gone otF by himself, as has already been said. The enthusiasm of David and Clive had not been altogether congenial to his mind, and he had re- sponded to their somewhat stilted declamation by a little mock enthusiasm of his own. Of this, how- ever, he had grown weary ; and, on approaching the Coliseum, he had advanced before the others, 80 that he entered it first, and walked at once across the arena, without stopping to see what they would do. Walking thus straight forward, he crossed the arena, and reached the opposite side. Here the Avail of the enclosure was all broken down, and before him rose the ruined incline where once had been the seats of the spectators. Over these ri *ns there seemed an easy way of climbing to the top, and FEELING OF FRANK. 89 Bob, whose climbing instinct was strong, at onco resolved to ascend as far as he could. Frank, on his part, had not felt much greater in- terest than Bob in the classical raptures of David and Clive, and, like Bob, preferiod aTi active search after personal adventures. On enteri.^g- the arena, therefore, he too moved away apart from the others. From this, it must not, for one moment, be supposed that Frank was indifferent to the effect of the stu- pendous ruin before him. ' Indifferent he was not; but the feeling which he had was quite difTcront from those which David and Clive were so voluble in expressing. His feeling was more earnest, more natural, and altogether less sentimental, less arti- ficial. Frank was not a bookish boy, nor was he much of a student; but he was a boy of fine, fresh, ardent temperament, with a soul that was fully alive to the claims of all that is solemn or ven- erable. It was in this light that ho viewed the Coliseum. It seemed to him the most solemn, the most melancholy, the most pathetic, and at the same time the most awe-inspiring scene upon which his eyes had ever rested. He stood midway be- tween the indifference of Bob and the exaggerated sentimentalism of David and Clive ; but the feel- ings which animated him were at least as sincere, and perhaps somewhat more so, than those of the two latter, while his aversion to anytliing which seemed to him to savor of affectation was at least as great as that which Bob had so openly shown. 93 THE SEVEN HILLS. For this reason Frank cliose neither to accom- pany Bob, nor, on the other hand, to remain with David and Clivc. The one was altogetlier too in- di'ierent, tlie others were too demonstrative. And so ho wandered away by himself, to look with his own eyes npon this mightiest of ruins, to traverse its gigantic fragments alone, and feel, in solitude and apart from the others, the emotions which might be produced within him by this unequalled spectacle. And i50 it happened that while Bob went straight across the arena to the side immediately opposite the point of entrance, Frank made a divergence to the right, and reached the wall of enclosure at a place which was a hundred yards or so distant from the place where Bob began to ascend. On reach- ing this place, he stood for a while, and looked up. There, just before him, arose the wide extent of ruins where once myriads had found seats. The ages had done their work. Time, with his remorse- Jess hand, had been busy ; and busier still had been the destroyii^g hand of man. It looked like the ijide of a mountain, so confused and so irregular was the rocky slope over which his eyes wandered ; but there was this difference, that whereas on the Bide of a mountain the stones are all rough and irregular, here they were all, even where broken, marked by the hand of man ; all bore the signs of human workmanship, and still showed some traces of what they once might have been, while amid the TFIK ANCIENT PASSAGE-WAY. 91 mass of indistinguishublo rubbish there appeared, at regular intervals, certain lines of" stone wall, which marked the general divisions in the rows of seats, ard the passages by which each division had once been approached. The place which Frank had reached was termi- nated by a atone wall, which still rose to the height of about five feet. Like Bob he felt a strong desire to ascend to the ruined seats, and see what might there present itself. To reach them was not so easy ; but Frank was agile, and he easily scaled the low, ruined wall, and began the ascent. As he advanced, he noticed the marks that Btill remained, showing the ancient divisions of the seats. There were heaps of rubbisii where these seats had once been ; but after passing over a space which might once have contained about ten or twelve rows of seats, he reached a pavement, which indicated the ancient passage-way by which these seats had been approached. This passage-way ran all round the amphitheatre, and separated the first tiers of seats, which were nearest the arena, from those which came immediately next to them. The passage- wpy was about six feet wide, and the pave- ment at'this place was still good. It was made of bricks, which were very small, each one being about six inches long, three inches wide, and three quar. ters of an inch in thickness. These were set on . edge, in a zigzag fashion, in much the same way that some of our sidewalk brick paN . nents are now 92 TUE SEVEN UILLS. laid. These bricka wore of a yellyvvisli cluy, oonio- thing like our modern fire-brick ; and Prank, tlioiigii by no means so ardent a relic-liunter as David or Clive, could not resist the temptation of picking up one, wiiich he saw lying loose, and putting it in his pocket. As he wandered along, ho was surprised at tiio number and variety of wild grasses and wild flow- ers which he encountered. The different kinds of vegetation which met his view amazed him, as in- deed it has amazed every observer. It has been calculated that there are growing on the Coliseum no less than four hundred different plants. Frank pulled many of these which were most attractive, and put them in his pocket, as souvenirs of this visit. Absorbed in these innocent occupations, Frank continued his ascent, slowly and leisurely, until at length he came to a place where no farther progress was possible. It looked like a passage-way that had fallen in; for, though this was the place where such a passage-way might be expected, there was nothing of the kind, but only an abyss, some fifty feet deep, the bottom of which was filled with stones lid rubbish. It was only six feet wide, but the opposite side was higher than the side on which he was, and to jump across it was not possible. It seemed to Frank that the passage-way, which had been supported by arches, had fallen in, leaving this abyss in the way of explorers. About fifty feet to the right it seemed uninjured, and there- ALARM OP FRANK. 93 foro ho tlionglit t]ii\t the ascont might yot bo con- tinued ; but tor tlio present lie chose to ataiul liere, and take a full and general flurvey of the scene. Standing there, he looked all around. The im- mense circuit now appeared before his eyes. There were the stones which once had appeared in regu- liir lines of seats, but now they rose before him like a wide-spread scene of utter ruin. In the centre of the ncene was the arena, from whose midst arose the cross before mentioned. At the foot of this he saw Uncle Moses -seated, while not far away were David and Clive. Turning his eyes in another direction, his attention was arrested by a solitary figure, which he at once recognized as Bob. Far up, in fact, at what seemed the very outermost edge, Bob was standing. His back was turned towards Frank, and he seemed to be looking down. There was something in his attitude which startled Frank most unpleasantly, nnd tilled him with terror. For Bob's arms were swaying upward and down- ward, and his form was swaying backward and forward, as though he was trying to balance him- self on that giddy height upon which he had rashly ventured. Frank's eyes were riveted upon that spot where Bob stood, in a position so fearful, and in an atti- tude so dangerous. A thrill of horror shot through him. He could not move, he could not speak. He could only stand still and look. How had Bob ventured there ? What sort of a place was it on 94 THE SEVEN HILLS. which ho was tluis standing? Why did ho not conio l)ack ? Wliy did lio wtand there thus quiver- ing? and trembling? Wliy did ho not come buck? These were Frank's thoughts, and they brought anguish to liis soul. Perhaps Bob had ventured there, and couUl not get back. Perhaps behind him tliere yawned an abyss like that which ho himself ] wd encountered. But before him there must yawn another abyss even worse, — an abyss of one hundred and fifty feet, — which measures the distance from tlie pave- ment below to the top of that outer wall on the edge of which Bob seemed to be standing. There was horror, there was agony in the thought. For a few moments Frank stood paralyzed and dumb ; then he broke the spell that had been cast upon him, and gave a long, loud cry — a cry which was more like a yell, or a shriek, than anything else. Then other cries burst from him, which this time were audible words. " Bob ! 0, Bob ! Lie down ! Lie down ! Hold on ! Bob ! 0, Bob 1 Wait ! Pm oming ! Lie down I Wait I Wait ! I'm coming ! " And these wero the cries which so startled those below in the arena, and made them look up. But at that very instant, while Frank was yet calling, and while those in the arena were yet look- ing up, Bob swayed backwards and . forwards, and swung his arms wildly, and seemed to be trying to save himself. But if such was his endeavor, that FllANK TO THE RESCUE. 95 eiKloiivoi* was in vfiin ; for Biiddcnly turning witli a quick movement, Iio bowed Iiis hciid, and then vanished iVoni tlio view of those who wore loo'-'ug at iiim with such agony of fear. For a moment Frank stood still, and then ruslied olVwihlly. In his haste and his anguish of n)ind, he remembered the place where the patliway was not yet broken down; and hero he hurried, ao as to cross over the chasm, feeling certain that tiiis would bri!)g hiin to liob quicker than any other way. In a few moments he reached this place, and found the archway uninjured, as he had supposed. Crossing over here, he came to the ruins of that tier of seats which rose above. Over these ruins he hurried, making as straight a coursr3 as possible, for Bob. It was a rough and a dangerous place, i Several times he was driven back by great open- ings in the way, which showed yav/ning chasms, produced by fallen arches; but in spite of all tin's [he hurried onward, with the one idea in his mind, jithcr to save Bob before it might be too late, or 5lse to know the worst as soon as possible. The issurance which he had that in any event some [read calamity had taken place, only served to lasten his movements, and to quicken his energies; jnd so it was that in a wonderfully short space of |me he had traversed at least three quarters of the )ace that separated him from Bob. But now, when he had traversed all this, and lat too at no slight risk, he suddenly found all 9G THE SEVEN TITLLS. farther progress in this direction absolutely shut off and barred by an insuperable obstacle. For he had reached one of those passage-ways which ran round the entire circuit of the amphitheatre near the top. It was not the highest one of all, but it was next to it. Now, at the place where he had come, all this had fallen in ; and here, instead of a passage- way, there yawned an abyss, so deep that the sight made him giddy, so wide that to overleap it was utterly impossible. At first he was in no way dis- mayed, but made the best of his way along the edge, hoping to find some place where he might cross. In this hope he went on for about a hun- dred yards, when all hope was suddenly taken from him. For there he came to anotlier chasm, which was as wide and as deep as this one, and from which he could only recoil in dismay. This chasm was formed by the ruin of another passage-way — away which once had led up the incline from the lower seats to the higher, and which had, no doubt, originally been formed by means of steps ; but t]iQ steps were obliterated, all had gone, and in place of the ancient stairway a chasm yawned, and there was no resource but to go back, and find some way by which it could be crossed. So Frank retreated, and descended, once more going down to the arena. There was no crossing- place to be seen, and he was forced to descend ail the way, even to the arena itself. But before he reached that place, he was joined by David and THE EFFORT TO SAVE BOB. 97 Clive, who, full of fear, had started off to save Bob, and in order to do this, had set out with the inten- tion of following Frank. They thus met halfway, Frank descending, they ascending. A few hurried words explained all, and they all descended to the arena together. Here Frank made a hasty survey and a rapid calculation. He marked the spot where Bob had vanished, and calculated, or tried to calculate, the point from which he had started in order to reach this place. He remembered the direction which Bob had tal<^n, and the distance which separated the point from which he had begun the ascent from \^ own starting-place. Towards this he hurried, followed by David and Clive. Uncle Moses also followed. They all went in silence. The anxiety of all was too deep to allow of a word being uttered. All had the same fear — a fear, indeed, so strong, that it amounted to a conviction that Bob was lost, and did not permit expression. Thus they went, in silence and in fear. Frank reached the place first, and hurried up over the ruins in as straight a line as possible. Clivo fol- lowed after him. Behind him came David ; while Uncle Moses toiled onward and upward, slowly and painfull}'^, the last of all, but not the least anxious of all, or the least despairing. At length, after they had traversed about half the way, they came to an abyss like those which had already interfered with Frank's progress. H<3, ^ 7 98 THE SEVEN HILLS. being first, first reached this. He turned, and hastily telling Clive, who was nearest, to go olf towards the right in search of a way, he himself went over towards the left. After running along for about fifty yards, he came to a broken arch, which spanned the chasm, and afforded sufficient foothold. Over this he hurried, and directed liis course towards the place of Bob's disappearance. But Clive, though at first somewhat behind him, had found a place by which to cross the chasm sooner than Frank, and was now ahead, hurrying upward. David and Frank" wore now about on a line,' while Uncle Moses was far behind all of them. Onward they hastened, and still onward — on- ward and upward. Another chasm was met with, but this was surmounted, like the last one, by both parties taking different ways. The result of this divergence put Frank once more ahead of Clive and David. But in a race like this there was too much grief and anxiety for any one to be conscious of any feeling of triumph, and Frank, though ahead of the others, was scarcely conscious of it, as he had scarce been conscious of being behind them. And now Frank was within a short distance of the top, — the outer wall was close by ; about fifty yards to the right, Clive and David were hastening upward ; a few steps more would bring them all there — to the very spot where Bob had dis- appeared ; when suddenly there came a cry — an astounding, an amazing cry ! AMAZING DI&COVERY. 99 " Hi — hi yah I Hallo, there. What's up'? Hallo ! " It was Bob's own voice 1 In an instant all three stopped short, as though they had been shot. They turned and stared wildly in the direction where the voice had sounded. And there, unharmed, unchanged, as lively, as active, as cool, and as natural as ever, they beheld no less a person than Bob himself. He was ad- vancing towards them from the left. Astonishment was in his face, and he was evidently surprised at the sight which had met his eyes — the sight of Frank, Clive, and David rushing up the incline, with Uncle Moses toihng far in the rear. In a few moments Bob reached his friends, who surrounded him, and overwhelmed him with ques- tions and with reproaches. The reproaches Bob disclaimed, the questions he answered most fully and most satisfactorily. After hearing everything that they had to say, he quietly led them up about a dozen paces farther. Here they saw what seemed like a fallen passage- way ; but the chasm which was made showed no such depth as was presented by the others that they hetd encountered. This upper passage-way, which at this place had fallen in, was about twenty feet in width; but it seemed as though there were other vaulted passage-ways beneath, for when this had fallen there was no abyss disclosed. The lower 1 100 THE S37Ex^ HILLS. arclics had sustained the fallen mass, and the depth was but trifling, being only a few feet. " The fact is/' said Bob, " Frank got frightened. He always seems to think that I am a baby, you know He gave a yell, as he says, and that's what started you. But, in reality, there was no danger, or anything like it. I came up and got to this place. I balanced myself for a few moments, so as to jump down in a good place. I swung my arms, I dare say, rather vigorously, but without the slightest idea of any danger for myself, or of any trouble for you fellows. I merely wanted to jump down. And I did jump down — just there — and a vejy moderate jump it was. Well, after I jumped down, I went along over all that rubbish for ever so far, trying to find some way to the outside wall ; but I couldn't find any, and so I came back up the inside wall, and found you all like a parcel of luna- tics. And there's poor Uncle Moses, toiling along up here over those stones. It's natural enough for him to worry about me, for he's got into the habit of it ; but as for you, boys, don't you think you've been and gone and made fools of yourselves ? Eather." To this the boys had nothing to say ; and as silence gives consent, it may be supposed that they all agreed with the idea expressed in B b's question. VISIT TO THE RUINS. 101 CHAPTER VIII. The Ruins of Rome.— The Arch of Co}ista?ttine.— The Baths of Titus. — The Circus Maximus. — Where Han- nibaVs Camp stood. — Where Numa had Interviews 'u/ith Egeria. — The stern round Toxver of other Days. — The ancient Cathedral. — The subterranean World. — Its Origin. — Its Extent. — Its Meaning. M^^HE adventure at the Coliseum thus fortu- fnately terminated in, nothing worse than a ^ painful fright. Uncle Moses looked very much as if he would like to make a speech to Bob on the spot ; but as Bob had clearly done no wrong and suffered no harm, he did not know very well how to begin. The speech, therefore, was not forthcoming. The greater part of the day was yet before them, and it was now proposed to make a general examination of the ruins of Rome, and end the day with a visit to the Catacombs — a.' place in which they all felt the deepest possible interest, as being at once the sacred resting-place of the ancient Christian dead, and also in itself full of wonders, and surrounded with associations of a strange and 102 THE SEVEN HILLS. awful cliaracter. "With this intention, therefore, they left the Coliseum, and proceeded on tlieirway. They had not gone far before tliey came to a lofty, triumphal arch, which spanned the road. By the inscription upon it, as well as by their map, they knew that this was the Arch of Constantino. Around this were many objects of interest. In one direction were tlie ruins of the Baths of Titus; in another those of Caracalla, which, next to the Col- iseum, form the most imposing and extensive ruins in Rome. These last surpassed all others of the same kind in magnificence ; and the splendor of Roman palaces and Roman churches is largely due to the precious marbles taken from this place. In another direction they fonnd the Circus Maximus, or, rather, the place where it once stood. It was one of the largest edifices in ancient Rome. Be- gun during the reign of the Roman kings, it in- creased in size and splendor during the republic and empire, and received additions as late as the time of Constantino, when it was capable of hold- ing four hundred thousand people. Of this great edifice scarce a vestige now remains. Near it can be seen one of the oldest, if not the very oldest, of Roman monunients, the Cloaca Maxima. This was the principal sewer of the city, and was con- structed during the time of the Roman kings. Originally it was about twelve feet wide and twenty-four feet high. In the days of Pliny it had partly filled up ; but he speaks of it as the TOMB OP THE SCIPIOS. 103 greatest antiquity in the city, and as aflbrding room for a cart loaded with hay to traverse it. Since then it has gradually been choking up until tlie present time, when it is not more than six feet high. But of all the antiquities of Rome none are surrounded with greater interest than this, since it carries the mind of the beholder back to the far- thest past ; while the vast size of the stones c^ut . of which it is constructed conveys a profound im- pression of the grandeur of the city even in those early ages. Their way led them through the i^ppian Gate. Here they saw the Arch of Drusus, the first tri- umphal arch erected at Rome. Near it was a more interesting monument, the Tomb of the Scipios. It was like other tombs, the walls being honey- combed with niches for the reception of urns with the ashes of the dead. All these, however, are gone. When the tomb was discovered, a sarcopha- gus, or stone coffin, was found, which was removed to the Vatican Museum ; and so " The Scipios' tomb contains nc ashes now. . The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers." Along this way they walked, and found them- selves on an ancient pavement, Nvhich they soon learned to be no other than the famous Appian Way. The pavement consisted of great blocks of dark-colored stone, of irregular shape, but very 104 THE SEVEN HILLS. neatly fitted together. It was built 313 before Christ, by Appius Claudius Crassus, and was after- wards extended to Brundusium. It was the most celebrated of all the Roman roads, and is men- tioned by Horace in a well-known satire, and by the writer of the Acts of the Apostles. As they went on they saw on either side Roman tojiibs, and the sight reminded them very strongly of the street of tombs at Pompeii. These had the same general character as the Pompeian tombs, but they were very much larger. After about a mile they came to a little temple, upon which they looked with deep interest, for it stood on the spot where Hannibal's camp is said to have been pitched, on the occasion when lie inarched to Rome, and menaced an attack, which threat tlie Romans met by calmly selling at auc- tion the very field which he was occupying. Near this is what is called the Grotto of Egeria. It is a beautiful place on the side of a hill, and perpetuates the well-known tradition of KingNuma holding consultations with the Goddess Egeria. There are on the walls six empty niches, in which statues once stood, and at the farthest end there is a recumbent statue, much mutilated, close by which the water of some neighboring spring pours, with a gentle, bubbling murmuring sound, into the grotto, and flows on through its entire length out into the open field. Here they all sat down and rested, taking occasion also to eat some luncheon, which TOMB OF THE SCIPIOS. 106 they had been wis© enough to bring with them. The phico seemed to them to be the most beautiful wliich they had Ibnnd in It'ily; and no remon- strance was made when Clive quoted Byron in his usual enthusiastic style : — v\ *' The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With tliine El ysian water-drops ; the face Of tliy cave-guarded sprint?, with years unwrinkled, *'t' lleHects tlie meek-eyed genius of the place, Whose green, wild margin now no more efTace Art's works ; nor must the delicate \,'atcrs sleep Prisoned in marble, bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap The rill runs o'er, and round fern flowers and ivy creep." Leaving this beautiful spot, they went on, and soon came to a gigantic tomb, wliich in size and massiveness might compare with the Pyramids of Egypt. It was one of the most perfect antiquities which they had found thus far. Their guide-book informed them that it was tlie Tomb of Ciecilia Metel- la, the wife of one of the wealthiest men in Rome. It is seventy-five feet in diameter, and about as much in height. It is circular in shape, and is al- most solid, for it only contains one small chamber in the middle, about fifteen feet in diameter, which is approached by a narrow passp.ge-way. In this small room a sarcophagus was found, which was taken away and deposited elsewhere. Tliis great tomb was destined to have a career like tl.at of the Coliseum, only less ruinous. Dnr- 106 THE SEVEN HILLS. ing the stormy mirldle ages it was transformed into a castle, and endured sieges without number. At the present day the battlements on the summit form not the least conspicuous feature about it. "Thorc is a stern round tower of other days, rirm as a fortress with its fence of stone, Such as an army's bafllcd strengtii dehiys, Standing with half its battlements alone, •'; * And with two thousand years of ivy grown; Tlie garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves over all by Time o'erthrown. What was this tower of strength? Witiiin its cave "What treasure lay so locked, so hid? A woman's grave. *' Perchance she died in youth ; it may be, bowed "With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb That weighed upon her gentle dust; a cloud Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom In her dark eye prophetic of the doom Heaven gives its favorites — early death ; yet shed A sunset charm around her, and illume With hectic light the Hesperus of the dead. Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. " Perchance she died in age, 'surviving all, Charms, kindred, chii,. en, with the silver gray On her long tresses, which might yet recall, It may be, still a something of the day When they were braided, and her proud array And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed By Rome. But whither would conjecture stray? This much alone we know — Metella died The wealthiest Roman's wife. Behold his love, or pride 1 " There are many magnificent tombs in Rome, and four are of giant size. The largest of all is the Bi> SILICA OF ST. SEBASTIAN. 107 Mausoleum of Hadrian, which is now tho Castlo of St. Angelo. Tho next in size is tho i*.!Liuaoleum of Augustus, which in tho middle ages was a cas- tle, but of late has been used as a circus. This tomb of Ciucilia Motella is third in size. All three of these are alike, being circular in shape, and con- structed out of enormous blocks of stono, being also ahnoat solid, with a small chamber in tho cen- tre. The fourth of these great tombs is that of Cuius Cestius. It is shaped like a pyramid after the Egyptian fashion, and is the only structure of that kind in the city. It is covered with polished marble that once was white, but now is blackened with age. Turning away from the tomb of Ca3cilia Metella, the party resumed their progress, and not very long after arrived at an ancient cathedral, called the BasiHca of St. Sebastian. It was originally a Roman law court, but was one of those edifices which were handed over to the Christians in the days of the Emperor Constantino, or not long after. It is supposed to possess the bones of St. Sebastian ; and, in addition to this, the priests of this church claim to possess the real bones of St. Peter and St. Paul; but, as these are claimed elsewhere, and as the mighty Cathedral of St. Peter is supposed to be erected over the tomb of the great apostle, and as that of St. Paul's, in Rome, is also supposed to be erected over the tomb of the apostle of that name, the claims of the priests of the Cathedral of 108 THE SEVEN HILLS. St. Sebastian need not receive any very particular attention. But the Cathedral of St. Sebastian owes its chief fiimo and its greatest attraction to the fact that underneath it are found, not the doubtful relics of a single martyr, but rather the certain relics of countless Christian dead, among which may be found the dust of thousands of those who laid down their lives lor Christ in the days of pagan persecution. Here, in a word, is the entrance to the far-famed Catacombs of Rome. The origin of the lloman catacombs is a disputed point ; but it is now commonly supposed that they were formed for the purpose of tho burial of the dead, and in tho course of ages grew to their pres- ent dimensions. It is also believed !>y many that they were formed chiefly, if not altogether, for the reception of the Christian dead. It was supposed at one time that they were originally excavated for the purpose of obtaining the peculiar sand known as Roman cement ; but this theory is now given up on account of the simple fact th.at no such sand exists here, or could ever have been obtained here. It is found in a different soil altogether. For these excavations are made in a soft sandstone that un- lies the city, a material that has notliing to do with Roman cement ; and the only wonder is, that the idea was ever started, or that, having been started, it should have prevailed so long without having been disproved. TIIK CATACOMBS. 109 Tlioro is also another mistakon idoa wliirli was formorly associated witli tlio Roman Catacombs, and still prevails to a certain extent. It is, tliat they foriu one connected array of labyrinthine passages; and as such passages are found in many different places, it has been stated, and believed, that they cover an area of about twenty square miles under ground, and pass under tlio Tiber, and extend oven as far away as the shore of the Mediterranean. This extravagant idea, however, has been destroyed by recent observations, which havo established the fact that the Roman Catacombs do not form one great whole, but consist, rather, of detached and isolated groups of passages. One of these isohited groups is found in the Catacombs under the Cathe- dral of St. Sebastian, known as the Catacombs of St. Callistus. The entrance to these Catacombs is made from this cathedral ; but their extent is far beyond the bounds of this edifice. The Catacombs of St. Callistus have been thoroughly explored, and an end has been found to them ; so that ''^-^ theory of labyrinthine passages, of almost illimitable ex- tent, has l^eon given up. If groups of Cataco nba exist elsewhere, it is now known that they have no connection with the Catacombs of St. Callistus, or with one another. Regarding the Catacombs even from this limited point of view, however, and even when wo know that one group has been thoroughly explored, they 110 THE SEVEN HILL3. Btill remain snfficiently bewildering. The passages are so numerous, so irregular, and so complicated, that the stranger cannot avt^id experiencing a feel- ing of uneasiness while traversing them. Besides, i fearful accidents have happened here, and tales are told of rash explorers who have lost their way, and! wandered off in darkness, and in horror, and in starvation, to meet the doom of a lingering and agonizing death. The Catacombs of St. Callistus are those which have been most explored, and are best known to the world. Here the archseologist and the Chris- tian have penetrated, and have borne away the hallowed relics of Christian dead. There is a place in Rome, the Lapidarian Gallery, in the Vati- can Palace, where these Christian relics have been transferred and treasured up with pious care ; and here the traveller, as he passes along the great ex- tent of that gallery, may see the walls for a thou- sand feet covered over with the slabs that once shut in the Christian tombs. Upon these are the inscriptions exhibiting the expression of that Christian faith and hope beyond the grave, which, in the darkness of Roman paganism, glowed with BO viivine a lustre, and shed abroad the light of immortal life. Nowhere in all the world is there a more sublime monument to the sainted dead than this collection of Christian epitaphs ; and nowhere can one behold such irresistible evidences of the CHRISTIAN EPITAPHS. Ill Igl •lity power of Christianity to renovate aiid re- Mierate the soul even of the most debased, to irity the impure, to open the blind eyes, and to ad men out of the lowest depths of heathenism, d point them the way to the heaven of )avens. J1 I ." 112 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER IX. The ancient Cathedral. — The Guide. — The Stairway. — The Descent. — A chill Blast of Air. — The City of the Dead. — The underground World. — The countless Graves. — The labyrinthine Passages. — The great black Cross. — A tortuoiis Path. — The early Christians. — Danger lurking on every Side. — Keep close together. — The blocked-up Passages. — The warning Stones. — The Chapel under Ground. ^y|^^HE Cathedral of St. Sebastian possessed all Jv(? that magnificence which distinguishes the 4»^ churches of Rorae. A pavement of polished marble was under their feet ; overhead was a roof of open panel-work, where the panels were painted so as to represent Scripture scenes, and the cross- beams were covered with gilding. The walls were overlaid with verd antique, lapis lazuli, and other precious marbles. The higli altar was ablaze with gold and precious stones. The shrine of the saint was a masterpiece of art. Noble paint- ings appeared over the altars in the side chapels, Avhile on every side they beheld the sculptured forms of apostles, saints, and martyrs, as they looked down upon them from their marble nic'^ s. THE GUIDE. 113 After they bad walked about the cathedral and surveyed everything, they were accosted by a priest, who asked them, in somewhat broken Eng- lish, if they would like to visit the Catacombs, informing them, at the same time, that he was one of the guides, and would be happy to show them the place. Of course they all answered in the affirmative; whereupon the priest asked them to wait for a few moments, and retired. After about five minutes he returned with half a dozen long tapers, about a foot long, and half an inch thick. These, he informed them, were used to light the way through the dark passages. Motioning, then, for them to follow, he led the way to a door on the side of the church. On passing through this they saw a stairway. The priest went down this, and they followed for some distance. At length they all reached the bottom of the descent, and sa\^ there a door. The priest now lighted all the tapers, one by one, and gave one to each of the party, keeping one for himself. He then opened the door at the foot of the stairs. Nothing but utter darkness appeared there; and as they entered, one by one, there was a draught of chill, damp air, which swept slowly through the doorway from the place below. It was like the air in a dark cellar. The priest stood till they had all passed through, and then, closing the door very carefully, he told them to follow him, to hold their hands before the flames of their tapers, 8 114 THE SEVEN HILLS. and to keep all together. All of which seerned to the boys to be words of warning, words too full of a certain dark significance as to the possible dangers that awaited the heedless visitor in these labyrin- thine passages. " I don't know," said Uncle Moses, suddenly, — "I don't know; I railly don't know;'' and with a sickly smile he drew back, as though about to return. " Don't knowMvhat, Uncle Moses?" asked Frank. " Wal, I'm kine o' feard about this here," said Uncle Moses. " Afraid ? " said Frank. " 0, nonsense ! There's no danger." " No, no ; no danjaire," said the priest, " only you alia kip to geddar." " 0, it ain't that," said Uncle Moses. " It ain't the danger of bein lost ; it's — the rheumatiz." " Rheumatism ? " said Frank. " 0, there's no danger of that here. Why, the air is delicious. It's just pleasantly cool." Uncle Moses shook his head. " 0, it's all very well for you, with your young, warm blood, to talk of this place being pleasantly cool, but my old blood's different, an I feel a kine of a dreadful chill, that makes my poor old flesU kine o' crawl, and seems to strike to my marrer." " 0, that's because you've been standing here waiting for the tapers to be lighted," said Frank. " We'll walk along quick, and the exercise'll pre- THE CATACOMBS. 115 vent you from taking cold. Don't leave us. Como alonj^ u h us. You'll be interested. Come along, Uncle Moses." " Wal, it's dreadful resky," said Uncle Moses, " an I don't want to be laid up with the rheumatiz here in Rome ; but paps I'll fight it off, if we all walk rail smart ; an besides, I don't altogether like the looks of this place, an paps I'd better keep nigh you for a time, till I see how things air." So Uncle Moses finally decided to accompany them ; and they turned to follow the priest, who all this while had been waiting very patiently the result of this discussion. The darkness was intense and utter ; the flicker- ing light of the half dozen slender tapers threw into it but a feeble gleam ; but the light, faint though it was, served to disclose the dim shape and surface of the walls. The passage-way was about four feet in width and six in height. The walls were rough, showing marks of the ex- cavator's tools. The stone was a species of soft sandstone, and these passages had been cut with- out any very great trouble. In an age in which gunpowder was unknown, and hydraulic engines, and drills for tunnelling, it was only the softest rock that could be penetrated in this way, and the tools that were used could only be the pickaxe or the chisel. With such tools as these, tlie passages of the Catacombs had been excavated, as was evi- dent by the marks still visible on the rocky walls. 116 THE SEVEN HILLS. Tlio priest headed the party, holding his torch up above his face, yet keeping his hand before the flame, so as to prevent it from being extinguished, or from flickering, as he walked along. The rest of the party followed — Frank first, then David, then Clive, then Bob ; while Unjple Moses brought up the rear, being animated solely by the desire of keeping a sufficient watch and guard over these four precious responsibilities committed to his charge. They all did as the priest told them ; they held their hands before the flame of their torches, and they resolved to keep together. At first the walls of the passage-way on either side showed nothing but the rough rock with the marks of the excavator's tools still visible. But after walking about fifty paces, a change took place, which at once showed them tliat they were really and truly in the Catacombs. The walls on either side showed long niches, arranged one above the other, like the berths of a ship, which berths they resembled not only in arrangement, but also in size. These niches had been cut in the rocky wall on either side. Each one was about six feet long, and one foot in height. As a general thing, there wore three, one above another, though in several places there were four. There was this irregularity visible in other respects, for not only did these niches thus vary with regard to the number of excavations, but also with' regard to size. Some were much smaller than others, and * THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 117 the fact explained itself, for in every graveyard, even as in the Roman Catacombs, the unequal length of the grave mounds tells the observer that children as well as men must go down to the tomb. The guide walked on for some distance, and then stopped. " Dese," said he, " are do graves. Dey are all Christian. Dey are de graves of de martyr. Dey were burn, or died by de wild beast, in de persecuzione. You see de leetle grave ; dey are de grave of de children. All martyr — all martyr — all — men, women, and children." This assertion that they were all martyrs who were buried here is the common belief at Rome, and for that matter, is a general belief even out of Rome ; but it has no founcjation in fact. That mar- tyrs were buried here is beyond a doubt, but that all these tombs are the tombs of real martyrs is believed by no one who knows anything about the . Catacombs. The. Christians buried their dead here, whether they died on their beds, or laid ^ down their lives at the sentence of the persecutor. These dead thus include all classes, all sorts, and all ages of the Christian population of ancient Rome. " What are these marks ? " asked David, point- ing to some marks around the edge of a niche which he had been cai^efully examining. • " Dese marks ? " said the priest. ",0, dese — dey show de j 'ace where de tablet was fastened." 118 THE SEVEN HILLS. "The tablet?" " Yea ; do graves had all a tablet, marble, Avid de inscripzione, do epetapha, do name and ago of do dead. Dose all gone, all taken av/ay to do Galleria Lapidaria, at the Palazzo Vaticano." At this Bob put his head inside of one of the graves, the second from the bottom, Avhich was about on a level with his breast. He held his taper in so as to see what was there. The others also all peered in. Nothing, however, was visible. There were no bones there, only a little dust, from which Bob scraped up about a thimble full, and put it carefully in a small piece of paper. They now resumed their walk. In a few minutes they reached a place where the priest stopped. On either side they saw an opening which was made by a cross passage, but tiie way was closed by stones piled up so as to prevent any one from wandering there. " Dese y^assage," said the priest, " lead far away ; dere is danjaire ; dey are wall up. You must not go in dere; you will be lost." This injunction was 1'ardly needed ; for as the way was walled up to within a foot of the top, it would have been difficult to have climbed over or crawled through the narrow opening. Nothing more was said. The party of visitors •looked with feelings of deep awe upon these walled-up passages, and there came over them the thought of the fearful labyrinth beyond, and the THE LABYRINTHINE PASSAGES. 119 horror that might await tho unwary explorer of their mysteries. Instinctively they kept ck)ser together for a time, as they foHowed the priest. As tliey walked on now, they noticed that tiieso cross-passages were of frequ'^nt occurrence. Some were walled up to tho very top. Others were ^yalled up only half way. Others had no blockade at all, but yawned before their eyes, black, dark, menacing, and awi'ul, showing a gloomy depth, where they might imagine a thousand dangers lurking. Into these they threw but a hasty look, and hastened on, keeping still closer to the priest, and throwing hurried glances backward, to seQ that they were all together. At length they reached a place where one of these cross-passages was. On the right it yawned black and awful before them, leading into endless horrors, while on the left it had been walled up with stone to the very top. The stone had been whitewashed, and on this had been rudely painted a great black cross*. Straight ahead they still saw the passage-way along which they had been mov- ing, and they perceived that they could still go forward in a straight course. " An accident did once take place here," said the priest, " and it haf ben wall up, an dey all be wall up, to stop de accident. De cross here on do white stone is de warnin. But for us dere is no danjaire." He resumed his walk, and stopped after a few 120 THE SEVEN HILLS. minutes' farther progress, with his imnd upon ono of tlie niches. Tiius fur the wall iiad been lined on either aide, all the way, with these graves ; but there was something in the grave which the priest was indicating different from the generality. " You see dis," he said. " It is what dey call a Bisoraum ; daL means, two are buried — two in on^o grave." The boys looked in, holding in their torches. They saw that the grave was deeper than usual, and might have held two bodies. There was, however, nothing in this which they found particu- larly interesting, and so they once more moved on. The way now presented merely a continuation of the scenes through which they had been passing. It was of about the same height, width, and form. On either side the open graves yawned. The boys could not help lamenting that all the marble tablets had been taken away, for this prevented any close examination, and threw a certain monotony over the scene. Every step showed what was merely the counterpart of what they had just seen ; and so there was no inducement to stop at any one place so ns to examine more minutely. In spite of this, however, their interest in this place was none the less. It was so extraordinary a scene, that they could not view it with anything less than the most intense curiosity. It was utterly unlike anything that they had ever seen before, either at home or abroad. These Christian graves DANGER ON EVEBY SIDE. 121 made it soem like a sanctified spot, and the cross- passages threw over it an element of possible danger which did not lessen its attractions. Whetlier they were walled np or open, made no (lifFerence ; if walled up, they spoke of possible danger ; if open, they showed that danger manifest ; and so, as tliey went along, they felt an eager in- terest, a kindling enthusiasm, and an intense ex- citement, which was intermingled with a sense of threatening danger; and all together united to throw a terrible fascination over this scene. Thus they went on, following the guide, and keeping well together. At length their onward progress in this direction came to an abrupt termination. The passage-way was completely walled up. On the right, however, another opening appeared, which was originally, a cross-way, and into this their guide led them. After proceeding about a hundred yards, they reached some stones, and the guide turned to the , left, and proceeded onward for about two hundred yards. At length he reached a place where he stopped and looked around with an ex- pression of deep solemnity. This place was differ- ent from any that they had yet seen. The walls stood further apart, and the roof was higher above them. It was, in fact, a species of chamber, about nine or ten feet in diameter. " Dis," said the priest, " was use by dem for a chapel for de worship. See — on de walls — you 122 THE SEVEN HILLS. find dc picture; bco — hero is Noah an do Ark; and here is Jonah an de whale." Saying this, ho pointed to some marks on the wall, wliich the boys proceeded to examine with great attention. Time and damp had caused the colors to fade, and the drawings were never other tlian rude ; but still, enough was visible to show that there was an attempt to represent thoso sacred scones which tho priest had mentioned. The priest now became more communicative than he had hitherto been, and showed himself possessed of much information about the Catacombs and the ornaments on their walls. He pointed out many other rude pictures on tho walls of this little subterranean chapel. ITo showed them Abraham, IsJtuc, and Jacob ; tho three Hebrews in the fiery furnace; Christ stilling tho wavoe ; and many others Avhich represented events recorded in the Old and Now Testaments. He drew their attention to the prominence which was given to tho figure of a fish in these pictures, and explained the meaning of it. For the Greo'^ letters forming tho Greek word for fish are the initials of the Greek words which mean Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Saviour. He also told them of the sufferings of the Chris- tians during the pagan persecutions, and told them of a use then made of tho Catacombs which fliey had never before suspected. For then, when persecution raged, and no man, or woman or child SAD ABODE OF THE CHRISTIANS. 123 might be safe in tlie city, they fled lioro, leaving the Hght of day and tlio liaiints of living men to como down hero among the dead, in tiiia place of darknoBH and the shadow of death ; living here, peopling these narrow walks, worshipping in thia subterranean gloom, and singing their holy songs amid these mournful surroundings ; a subterranean city; a «cene unparalleled iu all the ages of history. 124 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER X. Walking in a Circle. — The awful Memorial. — The Story of Anselmo. — The Catacombs. — The Latnp. — The lost Clew. — The Valley of the Shadow of Death. — Tost in a Labyrinth. — The Search for the Clew. — In the Dark. — An eternal Separation. — Despairing Efforts. — TJirongh the Paths. — The vain Search. — The Loss of Hope. — The Terror of the Catacombs, ^^fe) EAVING the chapel, they now resumed their Jm^ wanderings along the passage-waj^s, whioh ^^"^ were very much the same as before. The priest went on ahead in silence, occasionally indi- cating some tomb of more than ordinary impor- tance ty a brief remark. After some time they turned to the right, and then, after a little longer walk, to the left, then once more to the right, and once more again to the right. These frequent turns were all very abrupt ones, being made where passages had either been closed up, or where stones lay on the floor, as if to indicate that they were closed. So many windings and turnings served to confuse the minds of the boys, who at length lost all idea of locality, and followed their guide in a bewildered way. THE AWFUL MEMORIAL. 125 At length the priest stopped, and the boys saw before tliem a passage-way walled up with stones. These stones were painted white, and on them was rudely marked a great black cross. " Why, this is exactly like that other one that we saw before," said David. " What does it mean? Does this also mark the place where some accident occurred ? " ' • *' Dis," said the priest, " is de same place ; you air come back." " What 1 have we come all the way back ? " said Frank, in a disappointed tone ; " and isn't there any more to see ? " " Dere is plenty more to see," said the priest; "but we nevare show no more to stranjaire. Dere is danjaire ; we go dissa way as you air gone." " But can't we see some of the real, ancient tablets on the graves themselves ? " asked David. " There needn't be any danger for us. We'll fol- low you, and keep close together." The priest shook his head. , " Boys, boys," said Uncle Moses, " don't think of it. Y, e've seen enough. Let's hurry out of this, or I'll be laid up with the rheumatiz for a month. I feel it already a penetratin of my bones." " 0, no ; don't go yet, Uncle Moses," said Clive ; "just let us see a little more. We'll never see such a place as this again.'' Uncle Moses buttoned his coat tighter about hia chest, and gave a groan. 126 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Wal," said he, with a resigned tone, " I don't want to hender yer enjymints." " Dere is danjaire," said the priest once more, in a solemn tone, " away outside of de track dat is 'ra?iged for de visitor. Dere is passage, wit open- in in de paviraents, into which you sail fall an die. De taper giv'es not light enough to guard yourself from the tmp-door openin. Dese catacombs air in stories, one 'bove de odaire, and so dere is dis danjaire, beside de danjaire of gettin lost. You see dis mark — de black cross on de white stones — dis is a mark, a sign, a commemorazione of a terrible aventura — " At this the boys w^ere filled with eager curiosity to hear what the terrible adventure was to which the priest alluded, and pressed him to tell them all about it. Tha priesl; was not unwilling, but pro- ceeded to recount the following tale, with a vohi- bility and a minuteness that seemed as though lie must have learned it by heart, and were evidently the result of a lo«g practice in telling this identical story to visitors whom he led about here. In giv- ing this story her'^ it is not necessary to retain the broken English and the Italian words and idioms which marked the priest's version of it; but the substance itself is given, without any particular alteration. " The Catacombs were the work of the early Christians, wlio buried their dead here, and found refuge here in several persecutions. Afterwards ^1^8 THE priest's stout. 127 they were looked upon as a holy place for cen- turies, and pilgrims came here from the more remote countries, to fast and pray amoiig the holy relics. But ctt length all this ceased, and through the dark ages they became altogether forgotten. At length, about a hundred years ago, they were discovered once more, and their true character made known to the world. " Among '.hose who came here to explore were two young priests, enthusiasts in Christian an- tiquities, who wished to study for themselves the manners and customs of the early Christians, in so far as they could learn these by the pictures and the inscriptions which they had left behind them here. One was named Ansalmo, and the other Pascal. They were at first«trictly cautioned by the authorities in the Catlpdral of St. Sebastian; but, after several visits, it was believed that their experience and their natural caution woula prevent them from falling into any danger. " At length one morning they weiit down, and took with them the usual materials to assist them in their explorations, namely, a lamp, a clew, and sketch-books. On entering the first passage they unrolled the clew, and theiftiwent on, seeking a fresh place to explore. It was through this very pas- sage, now walled up, that they took their way, and proceeded for some distance in that direction, wan- dering about in different passages, until at length, to their great joy, they came to a Christian chapel. 128 THE SEVEN HILLS. It was larger than any which they had yet seen, the pictures on the walls were more numerous and better drawn than usual, the colors also were brighter, and altogetlier the place promised more than any other in the Catacombs. " Now, it happened that before they had come to this place, the string which formed their clew had given out. It was a serious matter, but they did ,. not feel inclined to return just then, but rather determined to go onward for a short distance. They thought that if they went onward in a straight line, they could easily return to the clew whenever they wanted to. This they accordingly did, and walking on in this straight line, they reached the chapel which I have mentioned. " It was the largest that they had ever seen here, being as much as fifteen feet in diameter. It was also about twelve feet high, with a vaulted roof. Then one passage-way passed straight through it, and besides this two other passage-ways inter- sected it, so that around the chapel no less than six openings appeared, all of which led to different parts of the Catacombs. This seemed to show that the chapel may have once been more generally used than other places of the same kind. " They now proceeded, with the utmost eager- ness, to study the pictures, and make notes and sketches of them. Beginning at a prominent fig- ure, which had first attracted their attention, they went OQ from this, noting everything most care- THE priest's story. 129 fully. They had, as T have said, one lamp between them. One held this, while the other made notes and took sketches till he was tired, when he would take the lamp, and let the other do the work of transcription. " Anselmo was thus holding the light while Pascal was drawing, when the latter observed that it was growing dark. Anselmo at once suggested a return ; but Pascal, who was intensely interested in this particular drawing, entreated him to wait ; till he had finished it. Alas ! it was this that ruined all. Anselmo yielded, and picked the wick so as to make it burn brighter. The light thus flickered up for a few minutes somewhat cle^'er, but only for a few minutes. Picking fhe wick only has- tened its extinction ; it grew dimmer and dimmer, unttil at last Pascal could see no more, and a faint spark of flame only was left. " ' Quick ! ' said Pascal, ' before it goes out ; let's find the path. Which is it?' " By the flickering spark of flame the two guided themselves towards the place which seemed to them the point at which they had entered, and scarce had they reached it when the light died out utterly. " For a few moments Anselmo and Pascal stood ^"^\ dumb horror, unable to speak a word. Pascal 'Was the first to break that silence. " ' Tliis,' said he, * must be the path by which we came.' 9 130 THE SEVEN HILLS. " ' No/ said Anselmo ; ' this other passage must be the one. In fact, I'm confident — ' " ' And I'm equally confident/ said Pascal, ' that this is the one.' " A long argument followed. " The two passage-ways, about which they argued, entered the chapel at a distance of only two feet apart, and the wall here that separated them was rounded off. But they led in different directions, and if one was the path of life, the other must surely be the path of death. And thus Anselmo and Pascal were debating for life and death, and each one felt sure that this was the case. Therefore they argued all the more vehe- mently, each in favor of his own opinion, and each unable to convince the other. It was a question which they had no means of deciding, for light was gone, and in that utter darkness they could only compare the two by feeling with their hands. In- deed, even if their light had been burning, they could not have discerned the right path from the wrong, so completely had the charm of their occu- pation effaced all recollection of this passage by which they came. To the ordinary eye the two were both exactlv alike, and as thev felt with their hands along the floor and walls, they could per- ceive no difference. " I have often thought about this," said the priest, mournfully ; " very often ; and it has seemed to me that their only hope was to keep together at THE priest's story. 131 all events. It would have been the best course for them, going in company, to have tried each one of these passages, going along each, for as great a distance as might suffice to bring them to the clew. But perhaps this would have ruined both, instead of saving one ; and at all events they did not do so. On the contrary, they decided to separate, and while one was to take one passage, the other should take the other. They also agreed, if either found the clew, to return to the chapel, and wait there by the right passage for his companion. In making this agreement, they thought only of being sep- arated for a half hour or an hour, and had but little idea of the terrible trial that lay before them, or of the true nature of this separation. "And so they parted — Anselmo going to the passage which he thought the right one, while Pascal took the other. " Pascal did not dare to walk. He wished to find the clew, and therefore moved onward on his hands and knees. How far away that clew might be he did not know. He had forgotten, in the en- grossing occupations of the chapel. As he crept onward upon his hands and knees, he felt with his hand all the time, moving it from side to side, in search of the clew. " He went onward thus for a long distance, for a distance, indeed, so long that it seemed to him impossible for the clew to be so far away. The farther he went, the more confident did he feel of 132 THE SEVEN HILLS. tliis, until at length hu felt convinced that he must have taken the wrong path. " What now ? Should ho retrace his way. He must, and at once. And was Anselmo riglit? He might be. At any rate, it was better to return than to wander on in this way. " So ho turned now, and rising to his feet, walked back. Ho had to walk slowly, so as to be sure tliat he was keeping a straight line, and to feel the walls with his hands as he passed along. The length of the way back showed him plainly how far he had first gone, and also convinced him more effectually, that he must indeed have lost his way. He now hoped to find Anselmo, and this hope en- couraged him. He might have been successful, he thought, and if so, then all would be well. Even if ho had failed, all might still be well, for they could make another search, and in company. " At length he found himself back in what he knew to be the chapel, for there were the articles which they had left — the extinguished lamp and the fatal sketch-book. " But where was Anselmo ? " This question came to him as he re-entered the empty chapel. Where was Anselmo ? How had he fared ? How far had he gone ? " Where was Anselmo ? He could not tell. He could not conjecture. Was he within hearing? Perhaps so. But he was afraid to call. Afraid, for if no answer should come, then that awful truth would be all revealed which he feared to know. THE priest's story. 133 "At length ho could cndiiro his suspense no longer. Standing there by the passage-way up wliich he had gone, and down which he had re- turned, he leaned his head over so that i. should be in the passage-way chosen by Anselmo, and tlien called his name. The sound of his voice went far, far up the passage, and died away in the distance and in the darkness. Pascal listened, spell-bound, but no answer came. His cries died away -n the dark, and as ho listened, the silence seemed terri- ble. Again and again he cried. Still no answer came. " And now another thought arose in Pascal's mind. He would go up this passage-way. He would pursue his friend, and try to find him. At any rate, he would be nearer to him. Accordingly he acted on this impulse, and at once proceeded up Anselmo's passage. He moved more- rapidly than before, yet still on his hands and knees, part- ly because he wished to feel for the clew, but still more because he knew that in many of the pas- sages there were openings into stories below, down which one might be precipitated who dared to Avalk in the dark. Thus he crept on, and at intervals he stopped and shouted for Anselmo, and listened. " Long, long he crept on in this direction, until he had traversed a greater distance than that over Avhich he had cmwled in the first path. And still he found no trace of any clew, and still no answer came to his cry. But he had found no openings iu 134 THE SEVEN HILLS. iho patli, and there were no pitfalls hero through which Ans(*lmo could have fallen. " At length it seemed probable to him that An- selmo had turned about early in his course, and, re- tracing his steps, had tried another passage in the hope of finding the clew. No sooner had this thought occurred than hope once more arose within him. lie would go back at once, and he, too, would try all the other passages. By this means the clew must at last be found, and not only the clew, but also Anselmo. " Rising once more to his feet, he walked back, moving with painful steps, for he began to feel weak and weary, and his legs and hands were sore and bruised from so long a journey over the rough stone floor. It was, therefore, with uneasy, falter- ing, and staggering steps, and aching limbs, tliat he went back to the chapel. It was in a straight line ; and by keeping a straight course, he at length, after a long time, reached the fatal place. "Here once more he called for Anselmo, and once more there was no reply. Once more his cries died away in the abhorrent darkness, and his soul once more sank down in despair. But once more hope on her side revived, and he roused his energies towards a continuation of the search after the clew and Anselmo. " Pascal now entered a third passage-way, and moved up this, as before, on his hands and knees. But his progress was more slow and painful than THE priest's story. 135 before, and it was no bettor rewarded. After, a long and weary way, he dragged himself back, and once more reached the chapel. " Here ho sat for a moment overwhelmed with despair. This despair was intensified by his own increasing weakness. The time that had elapsed since he had parted from Anselmo seemed fearfnlly long. But in a situation like his ho dared not re- main long inactive, and as long as his strength lasted, he had to exert it. Three of the paths ho had already explored to a distance far greater than that which could possibly intervene between him- self and tlie clew. Three more remained. Ho might try them all, yet not go so far. Anselmo might be in one of them, or, if not, at any rate his best way would be first to find tlie clew, after which he could go and get abler explorers than himself, who might come and rescue the lost one. But first tlie clew, the clew ; without that he, too, was lost. " Once more, then, Pascal dragged his weary frame over the stony floor, through the darkness and silence, and, as before, he called for Anselmo, yet not so frequently. And so, at length, he had penetrated far up the fourth passage, not so far as in the others, yet far enough to reach the clew if it was there. But no clew was found, and onco more the wretched Pascal came back. " Two passages now remained ; but had ho strength for them ? No matter. He must go. Ho 136 THE SEVEN HILLS. must movo on, though ho died on that pathway. And Ro he crawled up tho fifth passage-way. " lie crawled feehly, miserably. He was weak now, half fainting. Ho was like ono who had been crawling for days over many miles. Hie voice was gone. When ho tried to call Anselmo, there was nothing but a whisper. He could scarce sustain his fainting form. At last, while his brain was reel- ing with faintness and dizziness, and his tremulous frame swayed from side to si'^e, as ho tried to force liimself onward, all of a sudden he felt upon his swollen and smarting hand the touch of a line of cord. An electric shock passed through him, a thrill of joy flashed over all his being. It was the clew. Ho was saved. " That very instant he fell senseless from joy ; and how long he lay he never could tell, nor could he ever tell how long he had been crawling to and fro. But, at any rate, there he was found, three days after he and Anselmo had gone down, by some from the cathedral, who had noticed their lung ab- sence, and had become frightened. By these Pas- cal was brought back, and tenderly nursed into health. But as for the other," — and here the narra- tor's voice sank into a low and thrilling tone, " as for the other, — brother Anselmo never returned." IMPRESSION OP THE PRIEST'S STORV. 137 CHAPTER XI. Superstitious Fears, — Another Round. — The hasty Tramp, — Alarm. — Awful Discovery. — Lost in the Catacombs. — The hurried Search. — Frank alone. — The anxious Lookout. — Where is he? — Ls there any Hope? — Throui;h the Fassa^q^es once more. — The Warning front Anselmo's Fate. — How it all ended. OST profound was tlio impression wliich the priest's story made upon all the boys. Under ordinary circumstances such a story was not without a certain interest ; but hero in this darkness, with the faint light of the tapers feebly illumining the surrounding gloom, here in this city of the dead, here in the very place where this had occurred, and by the very path over which he had dragged his weary frame, in sight of that great black cross, marked here to commemorate the doom of Anselmo, here, in such a place and with such surroundings, the effect of the story was tremendous. The boys listened to it with quick, throbbing hearts, breathlessly and in silence. After the priest ended, they poured upon him a whole volley of questions. Among them all, how- ever, one was prominent — "And what became of Anselmo?" 138 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Noting was ever found of him, and his fate is one of do darkest mysterie^> connected Avith de Catacombs. For after dey did rescue Pascal, dey explored de. Catacombs far and wide. In vain; not a trace of him was found." " How strange ! " exclaimed Clive. " Do you suppose that he could have wandered so far away ? " The priest shook his head. " I do not know," said ho. " Dere are some dat say dere was foul play, an dat Anselmo desave Pascal ; dat he entice him down, an escape him- self; but dis is not possibile ; for what could be de motif? Dere was no enmity ; dey were close friends ; dey were quiet students ; an more, dey were good Christian priests. In de mind of Pascal dere was never a suspizone. like dat. He live an he die with grief for his friend, an he feel remorse to his death-bed dat he was de cause why dey de- layed five minute too long, when de lamp first be- gan to grow dim. He alway say dose five minute de cause of all. If dey had hurried back widout "waitin dose five minute, dey might haf found de right passage. B .c for my part, I not tink dose five minute much good ; for if de lamp had been burnin. dey could not tell de right way from de wrong. But for Anselmo, my opinion is, he got lost, an die here ; dough whar he got lost, an whar he go, I cannot tell. An now, sail we go back ? " " Go back ? " repeated Frank. ^ ANOTHER ROUND. 139 " Yes ; to de cathedral." " Back ? " cried David ; " back? Why, can't we see some more ? " The priest shook his head. " Dere is no more," said he. " You haf seen de all." " 0, well, then," said Frank, " can't you take us around again ? I didn't notice it much the first time, you know ; but after your story, it's got to be ten times the place it was before. I want to see that chapel again, and see how it was tliat poor Pascal made his mistake." " But dat was not de chapel of Pascal." " 0, 1 know that ; but it'll do. I only want to see how the passages come into it, and whether they all look alike, or not." " Yes, yes," cried Clive, eagerly ; " let's go around again. Why, we can imagine that we see the two friends exploring these passages." " Yes," said David, " or Pascal creeping along on his hands and knees." " What fun ! " cried Bob. " It'll be as good as going through a haunted house in the dead of night, or an old graveyard, and looking about for the ghosts to appear. For my part, I do believe that the ghost of Anselrao — " " H-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-h ! " said the priest, with a severe look. " Do not speak so flippant of de awful mystery, of de spiritual state. De ghost of Anselmo may well haunt dis place ; but I not wis to see him." 140 THE SEVEN HILLS. At this rebuke Bob looked meekly down, and made no reply. The others said nothing. All felt that the rebuke was well merited, for certainly this was not a fitting place for levity at any time, but least of all while the memory of Anselmo and Pascal was still so strong in their minds. The priest now said no more, but with a gesture for them to follow, he walked away in compliance with their request to go over the ground once more which they had already traverned. They all followed him eagerly. The priest now walked much more rapidly than on the former occasion, and they were compelled to be much more careful with their tapers. But as they now walked along, they surveyed the gloomy scene with far different eyes. The story of Anselmo had thrown around everything a new interest, and given to everything a new mean- ing. Deep in the shadows before them they could fancy that they saw the forms of Anselmo and of Pascal flitting before them, beckoning them onward, or imagine that behind them those same shadowy figures were pursuing. This feehng at length took possession of them all, and to such a degree that a sort of superstitious fear came over them; and the sense of being pursued was so strong that none of them cared particularly about looking behind him. In this frame of mind they reached the chapel. Here they thought of nothing else but Anselmo and Pascal, as they, in a chapel similar A CRY FROM BOB. 141 to this, took notes and made sketches. On these walls before tliem tlioy saw the dim, faded colors and rude outlines of those symbolical Christian drawings which were the counterparts of those that olfered such a fatal fascination to the two ex- plorers ; and round them they saw the gapiug mouths of passages, each the counterpart of tlio other, like those which had bewildered Ansel mo and Pascal. Here two of the passages had been walled up; but the appearance of the whole formed the best possible illustration to the priest's story. Then they left the chapel, and hurried on through the passages ; past the rows of tombs ; the cells that were arrayed like the berths of a ship on either side ; past the rough, marked walls that showed the marks left by the Roman fossor , who had excavated these passages ; past the mouths 0^ cross-passages, some blocked up, others . gaping wide, black and grim, with a few stones to indicate a fence rather than to form one ; and round corners, now turning to the right, now to the left ; and then on, and once more rounding corners, until at length they began to think that they ought to be near the cathedral, when suddenly — sharp, and shrill, and terrible — there burst upon their ears a wild cry from Bob. In an instant every one turned to see what it was. Bob stood with pale face and clasped hands. 142 THE SEVEN HILLS. very dilTerent from the Bob of common life — a very different Bob indeed. Ho seemed actually unable to speak for some time ; his eyes stared and rolled wildly around ; his lips moved; he said noth- ing. At last he gasped forth two words, — " Uncle Moses ! " The two words sent a sharp pang through the hearts of the other boys. They looked around wildly, fearfully, hurriedly. Uncle Moses ! In their excitement thev had all forgotten him. They had walked at a rapid pace. He had been toiling after them. He had been left behind. Perhaps he had been seized with a sud- den attack of rheumatism, and had sunk down. Perhaps he had called after them, and had not been heard ; or, worse than all, — awful thought ! — thought of horror and of despair ! — perhaps he had lost his way ! Their minds were yet excited by the story of Anselmo. The thought that Uncle Moses might have lost his way, and here in this place, was utter anguish. Bob stood gasping, trying to say more, but unable. Frank stood as though struck dumb. Clive wrung his hands, and looked wildly about in all directions, while David burst forth into wild cries of, — " 0, Uncle Moses ! 0, Uncle Moses! 0, boys ! He's lost ! he's lost! 0, let's hurry and find him before it's too late ! 0, he's lost ! he's lost ! " In the midst of this the priest alone stood un- / LOST IN THE CATACOMBS. 143 moved. He looked earnestly at all the boys, and tried to speak, but for a moment David's cries pre- vented him from being heard. ^ " Do not fear," said he, at length, as soon as he could make himself heard. " It is alia right." " But you don't understand," cried David, in an agony of excitement and terror. " Uncle Moses, our guardian; he came with us here, and he's gone ; he's lost ! " " Yes, yes ; but compose yourself. Do not fear. It is alia right." " But he's lost I He's gone astray ! " cried Da- vid, in continued and increasing agitation, " and we'll never see him again 1 0, come ! O, sir, show us how to find him ! Help us to hunt him up before it's too late I Come, boys I Come, Frank ! Come ! 0, come ! " " But I say," said the priest, calmly," it's noting. It's alia right. No mattaire." " Can we find him ? Can you lead us to where he may be ? " asked Frank, in a tremu- lous voice, which he tried in vain to render cool and calm. " Easy," said the priest, " easy. Alia right. Be quiet. Do not be disteress." At these words a feeling of relief began to come over them. The calmness of the priest and his assurances diminished their anxiety to some slight extent, yet not very greatly, for the awful danger 144 THE €EVEN HILLS. of tlio Cfitacombs had been most vividly impressed upon their minds by the story of Anselmo, and they could not easily rally from the efl'ects of this new sliock. The priest said no more, but led the way, at his former rapid pace, in the same direction in which they had been going when Bob's cry stopped them. After a short time they found themselves once more at that well-remembered place — the walled- up passage-way, the white-washed or white-paint- ed stone, the big black cross. Tlie priest looked up and down in all directions, and then said, — " He haf got fatigato, and haf drop behind. Some of us sail go round again, and sail catch up to him ; but one mus stay here. Which one will stay?" He looked inquiringly at the boys as he said this. None of them responded. They all wanted to go oft' in search of Uncle Moses. The priest looked at Frank. " Will you stay ? " he psked. " Certainly," said Frank, " if you wish me to." " Yes ; alia right. You stay. If he come round, he will see you, and understand. If he don't, we sail catch up to him." With these words the priest went off, followed by Clive, David, and Bob, while Frank stood by the walled-up passage-way marked with the black cross, and waited. THE SEARCH. 145 The others followed the priest, and once more 'svcnt over the route which they had already twice traversed, looking out carefully for Uncle Moses. Tliey came once more to the chapel, anl then wont on as before. Frank stood by the wallcd-up passage waiting, hoping to see Uncle Moses make his appearance, toiling along through the gloom, but full of anxiety about him, nevertheless. The time seemed long. At any other time- he would have felt some very unpleasant sensations at being left thus in such a place ; but now his anxiety about Uncle Moses drove away eve *y superstitious fancy. At length he saw a faint gleam of lights far down the dark passage-way in front. Then came sounds of foot- steps, and then the priest, followed by others. Eagerly Frank looked as they approached, hoping to see Uncle Moses; eagerly he listened, hoping to hear cries of joy ; while they, on their part, looked and listened, hoping to see or hear some encour- agement from him. Alas ! tliere was no encour- aging sight, no encouraging sound. They met in silence. None asked the others what they had seen. It was too painful a question, and all knew well what the answer would be. Frank in his lonely watch had seen nothing. The others had gone their round, they had watched carefully, they had called and screamed, but no sight and no sound had come to satisfy their longing hearts. The priest now stood and looked up and down 10 146 THE SEVEN HILLS. the passages in silonco. The boys saw a puzzled expression on liis face, which to tliem seemed hke tho darkest perplexity; and the sight of thir, niado their hearts sink within them, I'or he was their only hop J and reliance. lie seemed to be perfect- ly familiar with these paths. He had led them three times most unerringly from this blocked-np passage with the cross-mark, round by intricate ways, and back again. He had been here for years. He was the guide of the Catacombs, and must be as familiar with these intricate passages as ho was with tho streets of Home. Yet this man now stood, and seemed to bo at a loss. For Bucli a man as this — the guide of the Catacombs — to be at a loss, and to hesitate, was a circum- stance which for the boys had only the very dark- est meaning, and tho most terrible significance. If he should be despondent, if he should fail, or even falter, what hope was left for them ? And meanwhile, where was Uncle Moses ? While they were lingering here, where was he ? Was he wandering through those interminable labyrinths, among which the wretched Anselmo had been lost 80 utterly? Was he himself thinking of that sto- ry, and in his despair anticipating a like fate for himself? Thoughts like these were horrible ; and these were the thoughts which the boys had as they stood there and saw the puzzled face of the guide. At last he spoke. WIIEUE IS UNCLE MOSES? 147 " You air cortain ilat ho como to dis place ? " " 0, yes," said Frank, " and he complained about the damp, and was afraid of the rheu- mutism." " Afraid ? ah ; an complain of do damp ? ah. Ver good. Don perhaps he stay bcliind. Ha!" " No," said Bob, sadlyl " for he went with us all around. I went last. He was in front of me." " When was dat?" "Tiio first time wo went around." " Ah, ver good I Do first time ? Ver good I An den he complain of do damp?" " Yes," said Frank. " H'm ! " said tiie guide. He then stood in deep thought, with a still more puzzled face. " 0," cried David, " don't let us waste time. Let us be off again." " But we haf been, an he is not dere," said the guide. " Then let us go to another place," said Frank. " Dere is no oder," said the guide. "He's wandered off into some side-passage," said David, " and lost his way. 0, come ! 0, think 1 Even now he is in despair, and wondering why we don't come to save him." " But I tell you dere is no place to wander,'^ said the guide. "Why, yes there is 1 We passed them — lots of cross-passages, you know." 148 THE 8KVEN HILLS. " Dcm ? 0, (lj\t is noting. De croas-pasaagos air all stopped up. No one can go trou deni. Nobody can go into dcm more dan tsvelf, fiftoeu foot. All stopped np. No chance to get lost. No possccbeeloetee. Nobody can pass into do oder parts from hero. All is shut up, uu barricade wit walls an doors." "Is that really so?" cried David, with inde- scribable relief. " It is so," said the guide. ''- An now I tell you whar he really is. Ho haf gone home." " Gone back ? " " Yes. Not possibile to go anywhar else. Ho gone back. Too damp hero. 'Fraid rheumatismo ; tired, hungry, or anyting. Any way he gone buck. Come." The guide's mind was made up. Having said this, he started off with a vigorous step, and an air of decision from which there was no appeal. The boys followed, full of hope ; and before long they reached the place of entrance at the foot of the stairway. The guide opened the door. The boys rushed through. A cry escaped them, — a wild cry of joy, — for there, calmly seated on the steps, calmly leaning against the wall in a particularly easy attitude, there they beheld Uncle Moses himself I " Uncle Moses ! " cried all. Their agitation, their joy, their reproaclves soon UNCLE MOSES' EXPLVNATION. 149 Tnf\f1o all known. Undo Mosos was full of rcmorso for liiivinj^ caused ho rauch troubio and pain. But his explanation wag a very simple one, and soon made. It seemed that when they had got back to the cross, after their first round, he was very tired, and very much afraid of the rheumatism. " I knowed that thar cross," said he. " I got an eye that's been trained in the woods. Anybody would ha' noticed that thar cross, but me in par- tic'lar. I knowod that this hero entrance wan't over a hundred yards away in a straight lino, at least not very much more'n that. I heard tho priest offer to go another round, and you all wantin to go, I hadn't the heart to stop you. You were all a enjyin of it at a rate that was a wonder to me, and I knowed that if I said I was fagged out, you'd all give up, an come back with me. But I didn't want to spoil sport, and so I resolved to come back alone. I knowed there wasn't any dan- ger. I knowed that the place was safe, and tho stories all bugaboo. For I asked the guide in tho chapel about the cross-passages, an he told me they were every one blocked up, every one, with- out exception, so that nobidy could get bst here even if he wanted to. Whereupon," concluded Uncle Moses, " as you started, off I slipped ; an here I come, an here I've ben ever since, takin my ease, an wonderin what's ben keepin you so long." 150 THE SEVEN HILLS. This explanation made all clear. The boys re- gained their former calmness. Bob was himself again at once. ^■' Uncle Moses," said he, in a solemn, sepulchral voice, " this will be a warning to me. After this, I will never let you go out of my sight." UNCLE MOSES' STORY. 151 CHAPTER XII. A Story by Uncle Moses. — The Exordium. — The patriotic Pcdler. — The haunted House. — A lonely Vigil. — A terrific Apparition.— Terrific Disclosures.— An awful Intcrvieiv.— The Bones of the Dead.— What is to be done? — An indignant Ghost. — Numerous Morals in a tremendous Story. j^MHAT tliar priest told a pooty tough story," Jy^ said Uncle Moses, after they had reached their rooms, and were making a comforta- ble evening of it ; "a pooty tough story ; an I saw that it took a kine of a holt of you boys that pained me to see. For I couldn't help perceivin that you were aU a leetle mite afeard of ghosts an things. Now, my idee is, that superstition's one of the very wust things that could get hold of a person, whether boy or man ; an for my own part, I ain't ever had a mite of that tliar feelin ever sence I I heard a story that used to be told by my wife's uncle — Uncle Tobias we used to call him ; an a very odd, eccentric sort of a character ho was, too. But his story knocks the priest's story all holler." " A story I " cried all the boys ; " 0, tcFi us it ; " 152 THE SEVEN HILLS. and with these words they all gathered nearer Uncle Moses. " Wal," said Uncle Moses, " I don't care if I do, bein as thar's a mor'l to it, an bein as I see that you're all kine o' superstitious, and are apt to be frightened by ghosts. Now, from the story of Uncle Tobias you'll larn that sich sentiments hadn't ought to be indulged. " Wal," began Uncle Moses, " this Uncle To- bias was a pcdler. In the pursuit of that elevated an honorable call in lie travelled from one end to the other of our great and glorious Union larnin every day to admire more an more the great an immortal principles of '76 for which our fathers fought an bled an out of whose ashes arose the American eagle phoenix-like whose screams now are heard throughout the earth to the terror of tyrants an foreign despots an long may it wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave I " Uncle Moses had poured forth this astonishing sentence without paying the slightest attention to punctuation marks. On his stopping to take breath the boys burst into shouts of laughter. " Uncle Moses," said Bob, " you must have given a Fourth of July oration once. You did, now ; own up." " Wal," said Uncle Moses, with a smile, " how- ever you guessed that beats all. I did once, when 1 was a young man, in my courtia days, an made it UNCLE MOSES' STORY. 153 Tip, an larned it by heart ; an I've jost gov you the openin sentence, for 1 remember it to this day. It's a kind of convenient introduction to a story, and makes it move on comfortabler. An now hevin hred off tliat, I'll contennoo without digression. " Uncle Tobias, then, was a pedlcr ; an as sich he L wandered through a most every town and dees- trick in tiie country, havin leady access to the \ homos and hearts of all. Now, it happened, in tlie course of his wanderins, that he once came to a town in North C'iina. It chanced tliat there was an old house there, by far the best in the place, which for fifteen years had been uninhalnted. In short, it was a haunted house. Jest fifteen years before, the tenant had disappeared under dreadful mysterious circumstances, and had never been heerd tell of senco. People all said he'd ben murdered ; but not a trace of any murder, and not a sign of any violence, had ever ben discovered. The trouble was, however, that from that time on, the house began to be haunted. People darsn't live in it. Them that tried to do it were druv out. They were all skeart at the horrible noises and the horrible sights The owner got into despair. He offered a big reward to anybod}'- that would find out what the trouble was, and drive off the sperits, ef they were aperits. He tried all the parsons in the state. No use. He fumigated it with sulphur. No go. Still he hoped to get at the bottom of the dif- 154 THE SEVEN HILLS. ficulty, an every little while somebody would try to face tlie sporits. They couldn't do it. " Now, all this time, mind you, boys, he had never come across a rail live ginooine Yankee. . , " Uncle Tobias was the first critter of that breed that travelled into these benighted regions, though Bence that eventfool time," added Uncle Moses, with a dry smile, " there hev been whole armies of them thereabouts. I guess, at any rate, he was the fust one there ; an when ho heard the story, he felt that at last a crisis had riz in his destiny. The property was a fine one. The house was of stone, an very valooble. To save it and make it habitable was wuth a great deal ; an so tho owner offered a thousand dollars cash to any one that'd do it for him. So Uncle Tobias felt as though he was the very man into whose pockets them thousand dollars had ought to go. It was jest the amount that he wanted for some leetle speclations that he had under way; an besides he knowed that ef he succeeded, it would be sech an advertisement for him as he never had before. He could sell out his traps, git home, an go into a settled b^*?;. " When he went to the owner with his proposal, he was received with a hearty weloome. The thousand dollars were promised, solemn, an to make all sure, Uncle Tobias got it down in black and white. The owner didn't expect that he would succeed, and Uncle Tobias kept calm, an UNCLE MOSES' STORY. 155 refrained from boastin, like a true Yankee, as he was. " Wal, tlie evenin came, an thar was Uncle To- bias, locked up in t'le house wi Ji a good lire, two lumps well filled, a kittle of water, sugar, whiskey, and a revolver convenient. He went there at ten o'clock, an soon felt quite comfortable. He had a rocking-chair on one side of the fire, while on the other was a large easy-chair. " For full two hours nothin;^ happened. At iho end of that time it was midnight, an Uncle Tobias began to think he'd make his money easy enough, when all of a F^udden there riz the greatest row tliat anybody ever heerd since the world begun. The house shook, the doors banged, the Avindows rattled, the tramp of footsteps was heerd all around, and yells and shrieks came through the air. Sud- denly the door bust open, and two figures appeared. One was a stout, middle-aged man, who dragged after him an old man that seemed kino o' lifeless. He dragged him through one door into the room, an out of the room through another door. " Uncle Tobias sat watching this closely without muvin, looking hard at the figures. This hero scene was repeated three times. So Uncle Tobias waited as patient as a lamb for the next. Wal, the row begun agin, the door bust open, and, sure enough, thar were the same figures. At that Uncle Tobias riz from his seat. " ' Gentlemen,' says he, ' allow me to remark that 156 THE SEVEN HILLS. this here scene's ben represented three times already, an I rize to respectfully submit that tliis here's beginnin to get l^ine o' tiresome, an to propose tliat you start somethin fresh. This is all very well in its way, but when repeated too often, it does grow monotonous. 1 feel confident that enlightened gentlemen, like you, have too much originality to require any further suggestions.' " An with this he sot down agin ; upon which the two figures retreated by the door by which they entered without actin their show agin. " Wal, about a quarter of an hour passed, an then thar was a thundorin row, wuss than before. The door opened and a figure entered. It was the fibrure of an old man, and looked exactlv like the party that had been dragged about a short time before. And all around it was a damp, mouldy robe, that kep a drippin, an a drippin, an a de-rippin with kellammy moister, an the face was all gray an greenish," continued Uncle Moses, in slow, lugubrious tones, " an it was all kivered with meould, an tlie har seemed jest on the pint of droppin off from utter decay, an the expression on that gray, green, grim face was torewly heejus ; a horrid grin was on its white teeth, an the cold, watery eyes fixed themselves on Uncle Tobias with a round, glassy stare I " Wal, as Uncle Tobias saw this figure advancin, he rose an faced it ; an as it came up quite cl'^se, Uiiclo Tobias made a bow. UNCLE MOSES' SlJRY. 157 " * Good evening, sivj said Uncle Tobias, briskly an politely. 'I take this quite kind in you. This looks like biz, at last, an I hope to liave the pleas- ure of* a brief conversation with you.' " The figure at this stared, but said not a word. '< <■ Pray be seated,' said Uncle Tobias, as polite as ever. ' Allow ine ; ' an he drawed up the easy-chair nearer. ^ Do you find the fire warm enough ? ' " The figure still stared without saying anythin. "'Wal,' said Uncle Tobias, 'of I chose to bo uncivil, I mujht say that you made noise enough a while ago, and that your silence jest now ain't creditable either to your head or your heart. Perhaps your stOut friend out there may be more communicative.' " The figure shook its head. "'No?' said Uncle Tobias. ' Wal, that's odd; an so you won't set down ? Won't you take some- thin to drink then? a drop of whiskey ? What! No, again? — not even Avhiskey? Wal, now, you air a little odd, tew. However, scnce you won't liquor yourself, Pll take the liberty of drinkin. Sir, your very good health.' " An with this he drank off a glass of whiskey. " Putting it down again, as he smacked his lips he winked at the figure, an surveyed it with a patronizin an benevolint smile. " The figure, mind you, boys, had all this time kep its eyes fixed on Uncle Tobias with a grim, 158 THE SEVEN HILLS. ghostly look. As Uncle Tobias now surveyed it, it stretched forth a long, thin, shurrivelled, sulliiny arm, and with its damp, clammy, bony hand, it beckoned. Then it began to move on towards tho door. " ' You want me to follow you — is that it ? ' said Uncle Tobias. * Wal, p'aps you'll be more com- municative. Pray go fust. No ceremony. I'll follor.' " An sayin this, as polite as ever, Uncle Tobias took one of the liglits, and puttin the revolver in his breast pocket, proceeded after the figure. " An now that tliar figure led the way through the hall an down into the cellar. Uncle Tobias followed. At the foot of the steps the figure stood an pointed at somethin which was lyin on the floor. Unc^e Tobias looked down, an saw that it was a spade, which had probably been used here recently by some workmen, an left behind. To this the figure pointed. Uncle Tobias understood him, and picked it up. " The figure now moved away to a corner of tho cellar, and stood still, pointin with its long, bony finger to the ground, an fixing its big, round, ghostly eyes on Uncle Tobias. The floor was of bare earth, and had never been covered over. " ' Do you want me to dig ? ' asked Uncle Tobias. " '^he figure nodded. " Uncle Tobias then put the lamp on the ground. iJNCLE MOSES' STORY. 169 ' Wal, sir/ said lio, ' if this here's a goin to bo a money pot, I'll give you the credit of it, an never let a word be spoke agin you/ " To this the figure made no reply, an Undo Tobias then went on diggin like all possessed. The airth was softish, an before long ho had made a hole a foot deep. Then his spade struck some- thin white. He threw it out. An what do vou think it was? Why, it was a human bone! " At this Uncle Tobias gave a long whistle, an then drawin himself up to his full height, he stood look in at the figure. " ' Now, sir,' said ho, a little stiff, ' we've got to ondcrstand one another. An fust, is this here what you want me to dig up for you ? ' " The figure nodded. " At this Uncle Tobias lost his patience teetotally. It was a awful disappintment, you see. ' What ! ' he said,^ do you mean to say that you take me for such a born fool as that, to come here and dig np a lot of old bones, an me thinkin it was a buried treasure ? Why, what sort of people have you been livin among ? ' " And stoopin down indignantly, he took tlie lamp, laid the spade down, and strode back up the stairs into the room. Here he took a glass of whiskey, and resumed his seat by the fire, lighted his pipe, and begun to smoke, to soothe his disap- pintment. He hadn't drawed more'n a dozen whiffs, when the figure came into the room an stood close by '\^\\\\. ICO THE SEVEN niLL3. " ' Wal, olfl gentleman/ said Uncle Tobias, in a dry voice, ' you've ben an gone an humbugged mo nicely — ain't you ? Still I don't bar malice, an ef you want to set down, why, thar's a cha-r for you.' " The figure shook its head. " * You seem to be kine o' dumb,' said Uncle Tobias, knockin the ashes out of the bowl of 1 N pipe. ' Anytliin the matter ? ' *' Tlie figure shook its head. " ' Wal,' said Uncle Tobias, after a few moments' reflection. ' P'aps you can tell me this. Was. there, or was there not, a murder done on these here premises.' " The figure nodded, with an awful look. " ' Il'm,' said Uncle Tobias; 'an now, my friend, one more question. Air you the party that — a — come to grief, eh?' " The figure nodded. " ' Now, see here, my friend,' contenooed Uncle Tobias, in a remonstrative tone. ' You must want something ; so why don't you speak up like a — a — sperit? Perhaps if you took a drink it would do you good. At any rate you'd better tell me, up an down, exactly what it is you want, an not stand there starin like a born fool.' " At this a deep moan issued from the figure, an then a sound, which Uncle Tobias said was like the sighin of the \vind, escaped, an it wan't louder than a whisper, — "'I — want — my — bones — buried/ said the figure. UNCLE MOSES' STORY. IGl "'Bones? H'm. Buried? IT'm/ said ITnclo Tobias. 'So them air your bones — air they? Buried? Why, ain't they buried?' " ♦ I want tliem buried proper/ said the figure, * in oonsecrated ground.' " Undo Tobias looked at the figure thought- fully. " • What makes you kick up such a row hero ? ' ho asked. " * I'm bound to the place where my bones lay unburied/ said tiie figure, in a voice that sounded like the last dying wail of some passing night blast. " ' Wal, an if they wore took away, would you stop your noise ? ' asked Uncle Tobias. " ' I must go where my bones go,' said the figure, " ' An would you contennoo to make this tre-men- jous uproar?' asked Uncle Tobias, eagerly. "'1 must make an uproar,' said the figure, 'till my bones air buried. Every night T must rehearse the scene of my murder.' " ' Whew ! ' said Uncle Tobias, with a whistle. * So — tliat's — the — arrangement — is — it ? Wal, you must have been liavin a pooty high ; time of it these last fifteen years ; that's all I can say. An that stout party — was he the party — that — a — a — that — a — a — fixed you ? ' " The figure nodded. " Uncle Tobias remained in a meditative atti- tude for a few minutes, and then he looked at the figure, that never took its eyes away. 11 162 THE SEVEN HILLS. " ' Come, now/ said Uncle Tobias. ' Look liorc j I mean business. I want you to clear out IVoni these here premises — bag and baggage — bones and all. You've ben hero long enough. Now, what'll you take to evacuate ? ' " The figure replied, in the same voice as before, — " ' Bury my bones, an bring my murderer to justice.' " Uncle Tobias meditated over this for some time. " ^ So, that's your ultimatum, old gentleman — is it?' ho asked at length. , . . " Tlie figure nodded. " ' An you won't take a drink ? ' • u " Tiie figure shook its head. " ' Nor set down ? ' " The figure shook its head. " * You needn't bo the least bit afeard o' me, you know,' remarked Uncle Tobias, in a tone meant to reassure his companion ; * I won't hurt you. 'Tain't in me to hurt any one.' " The figure stared at him Avith its awful eyes. "Uncle Tobias once more fell into deep thought. At last he looked up, and again addressed the figure. " ' Bury your bones — h'm — an bring your murderer to justice, is it? Wal, old gentleman — ■ I may do the fust — but as to the second — not if I know it. Bring him to justice ? ^''^hy, whar air the proofs. See here, now ; will you undertake to come into court, an stand in the witness box ? ' UNCLE MOSES* STORY. 163 " Tlio fip^urc shook its head. "'Of courso not. Tlicro it is, you sco/ said Uncle Tobias. ' I am to have all tlio trouble, an you ain't goin to turn a finger. 0, no — not you. And who is this party? Name him.' " The figure named him. " < Tliiit party ? ' said Uncle Tobias. ' Why, he's a leading man in these parts. What ! do you think I'm such a fool as to raise a row with him? No, sir.' " ' Then I must remain here/ said the figure, with a low wail. " Uncle Tobias looked at it earnestly, and shook his head. " ' Not at all, old gentleman. Excuse we — but you ain't goin to do nothin of the kind. Contrari- wise, you've got to come with me.' " ' With 1J0U ! ' wailed the figure. "Uncle Tobias rose to his feet, and laid his pipe on the table, an insenuated his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, — a favorite position, — an in that thar attitude confronted the awful figure face to face. " * See here, old gentleman,' said he ; ' you've got to follow your bones, you know. Wal, I mean to take them up, an carry them about with me — ' " ' With* you !^ wailed the figure, a second time. " ' Yes, sir,' said Uncle Tobias ; ' an all I've got to say is, that ef you feel equal to sich trpmenjons performances as you've ben a exhibitin of to me to- 164 THE SEVEN HILLS. night, and can keep em up, and can indooce tliat other party to lend a hand — why, there ain't a show, or a circus, or a museum, or a waxwork, — no, sir, there ain't nothin on this green airth that'll come within a thousand mile of the exhibition that I'll be in a po-sition to offer to the public. Ir^o look alive old gentleman. You've got to go with me ; an I mean to exhibit you throughout the length an breadth of these here United States, at midnight, twenty-five cents a head, children half price — ' *' The figure staggered back. Its eyes rolled fearfully. A shriek, loud as 'a peal of thunder, escaped its lips, and in an instant it had vanished. " Wal, Uncle Tobias waited for a time, but the figure didn't come back. He then went down, an dug up the bones. Then he went back, an fell asleep. When he waked it was morn'n. He went to the hotel for his wagon and an empty trunk, came back to the haunted house, put the bones in the empty trunk, and then returned to the hotel. " He waited on the owner, an indooced that gen- tleman an a party of friends to go to the house on the following night. They did so, an staid all night ; but thar wan't a sound. For a month dif- ferent parties stopped there, but the houL;e was quiet. At the end of that time the owner paid Uncle Tobias th'3 thousand dollars, repaired the house, an went to live in it himself. As foY the bones, Uncle Tobias said he never found them of UNCLE MOSES' STORY. 165 any use — not a mite. He watched several nights, but the figure wouldn't come. He kept em a whole year, an at last concluded to have em buried reg'lar, in consecrated ground. He -did so, and never heerd mythin more, or saw anythin more, of that thar figure. He alius declared that he'd friglitened the figure away." After Uncle Moses had ceased, there was silence for some time. At length Frank exclaimed, — , , " What a tremendouiL story ! " " It beats the priest's all hvollow," said Clive. " Well, Uncle Moses," said Bob, " how you, with such a story as that, could have been with us all these years, and never fired it off before, is utterly beyond my comprehension." " But," said David, " I don't understand. Did your Uncle Tobias tell that to you as real ? " " Wal — yes -he llus did," said Uncle Moses; " though I don't knc "^ that he ever objected to havin it took allegorical." " But was it real ? " asked David. " How could it have been ? Still he must have taken the bcnes away." " Wal," said Uncle Moses, " it's a story that I've thought a good deal over; an I see my way io ac- count for it in various ways. Fust and foremost, Uncle Tobias, in them ^ays, was a free drinker, an may have had a turn at delirium tremens. That would account for everything. Besides, he himr self says he was drinkin whiskey all night." 106 THE SEVEN HILLS. " But how could ho have dug up the bones ? '' " Wal, I dar say he heard some talk about the bones before he went thar. The spade in the cellar looks ae if some one had bin explorin around. Then, again, there's another thing ; he may've been asleep, and dreamed it all." "But mayn't some people have tricked him?" suggested Clive.' "Wal — hardly," said Uncle Moses ; "not when he iiad that thar revolver. Besides, they came so close, an he saw them so plain, that it couldn't hev ben livin man. It must hev been dreams ; or, as I think, delirium tremens." '' But how did it happen thnt the noises stopped after that night ? " * " Wal — p'aps the noises had never been thoroughly explored. No doubt rats did it all ; an the example of Uncle Tobias, an his departure with the bones, destroyed all further fears, an gave confidence. People went there to watch after- wards, staid all -night, and weren't troubled. It was all the work of Uncle Tobias, an he aimed his thousand dollars honest. " But, boys," continued Uncle Moses, " this ain't all. It can be took allegorical. The beauty of the story of Uncle Tobias is, that it has a mor'l. An the mor'l of it is, that nobody hadn't ought ever to bother his head about imaginary evils ; an that thar's lots of things that seem terrible, an have ony got to be faced like a man, an they turn out to bo APPLICATION OF THE STORY. 167 nothin. An another mor'l is, nothin ventur, nothin hev; an another mor'l is, appearances often de- ceive. An, ! thar's lots oi' more mor'ls ; for instance, one is to bewar of the intoxicatin .bowl ; an another, v/hich has reference to the superstitious owner who lost a thousand dollars, and may be stated as — never leave to others what may be done by yourself; an another, bearin upon the thought- less confession of the apparition — don't be too coniidin to strangers ; an another, toucliing upon the written agreement that Uncle Tobias got out of the owner — a bird in the hand's wuth two in the bush; an anotlier — time an tide wait for no man. An thar's lots of others, but — " Uncle Moses M^as interrupted by a groan. ITo started, stopped, and looked around. The groan came from Bob. lie was lying on the sofa. Uncle Moses hurried over to him with terror in his heart. Had he fainted with fear at this dismal story ? He turned him over. No; it was not a faint. Poor Bob, tired out with a hard day^s work, had gone asleep during these moralizings. The others also were all nod- ding in their chairs. " It's time to go to bed, boys," said Uncle Moses, gently. 168 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAi^TER Xm. The Heart of Rojjte. — A weary Way. — 77/1? Network of Streets. — The long Street and open Square. — Piazza del Popolo and Pincian Hill. — The Egyptian Obelisks. — How came they here ? — The Italian Engineer and the English Sailor. — The giaiit Fountain. — The Treasures of the Tiber, JHUS far the wanderings of tlie boys had taken place chiefly among the ancient parts of Rome. It was natural that their first im- pulse should be, as it was, St. Peter's, and then those hoary ruins which speak so eloquently of the fallen greatness of the ancient capital of the world. After this it was equally natural that they should wish to see the modern city — the Rome of to-day ; that city with its contrasts of mediiBval gloom and modern smartness, of splendor and squalor, of mag- nificence and decay. They wished to traverse it in their usual fashion, at random, without any guide ; to see things for themselves, to form their own impressions, and to judge from the living fact, and not from guide or guide-book. Tlieir guide- book they of course took, and their map ah.o, so as THE MODERN CITr. 1G9 to see the nature of each tiling wliich they might encounter ; but tliey followed no order, and merely wandered about at random. Uncle Moses accompanied them. He dared not trust the boys out of his sight, and was afraid of their falling into some fresh difliculty. Bob, on the other hand, speaking in behalf of the boys, de- clared that he could not trust Uncle Moses out of his sight, and that he dreaded some evil to him if they were to leo"'^ him behind. And thus Uncle Moses became i eir companion, and a weary, weary way it was in which they made him go." For they were young, enthusiastic, fond of activity, pleased with novel sights and scenes, while he would much rather have remained in some snug corner, resting his wearied limbs, or have sauntered at a moderate pace over some more restricted scene. This, how- ever, his anxiety for the boys, always keen, but now much more so since their recent adventures, would not allow him to do ; and so he felt himself bound to toil on after them in their wayward career. Thus, therefore, without any plan, they plunged into the heart of Rome. They found the streets narrow, and the houses high and gloomy. Most of them enclosed a court-yard, and were inhabited by families in stories. There were numerous wine shops and provision shops. The pavement of the streets was of irregular blocks of a dark stone. There were no sidewalks, but the gutter was in 170 THE SEVEN HILLS. the middle. They saw Rome at its best, for at this Beason of the year it is always cleaned up for the reception of the crowds of visitors who flock here at this time, and therefore coukl not know, or even imagine, the unspeakable abominations which the streets of Rome present after a year's neglect. On the score of cleanliness, therefore, they had but lit- tle occasion to find fault. «^ They wandered on through many of these nar- row streets, now coming out into some square, and then onco more plunging into the network of un- known ways. At last they found themselves in a street which was very long, of respectable breadth, and of a decidedly modern aspect, for it had side- walks, and shops appoared which had. quite a mod- ern air. A short walk onward enabled them to recognize in it the Corso, the chief street of Rome. Its character, on the whole, entitled it to the epi- thet of magnificent, which has sometimes been be- stowed upon it ; for, thoiigh there was much here of a common kind, still its general appearance was decidedly picturesque, and here and there an edi-^, fice of distinguished grandeur conspired to give an elevated character to the whole street. They walked along its whole length, and at last reached a spacious place, which they found to be the Piazza del Popolo. Where the Corso joins this place two domed churches arise on either side ; on the fiirther side of the place is a gateway, and in the middle a lofty Egyptian obelisk raises • THE PINCIAN HILL. 171 its taper form, in a sirij^le shaft, into the skies to the lioight of about ninety feet. On one side is a hill, which is approached from the Piazza del Po})olo by a winding carriage-way. This is the Pincian Hill, the great resort of the pleasure-loving Romans. Here every afternoon during the season the whole city seems to flock. The drives are beautiful. All around there are trees, and shrubbery, and ma.ble vases, and sculp- tured figures. Here pedestrians come and lounge,^ with their cigars, over the stairs and balustrades, looking forth from the top of the Pincian Hill upon tlio scene beneath. The scene is a magnificent one. Immediately beneath is the broad Piazza del Popolo, with its churches, its gateway, and its taper- ing obelisk. On one side lies the city ; on the other the Campagna. Immediately in front may be seen the windings of the historic Tiber ; there the co- lossal mass of the mausoleum of Hadrian shows it- self, now transformed to the Castle of St. Angelo ; while beyond this a mightier and a sublimer object appears — the vast and wondrous dome of the greatest of cathedrals — St. Peter's. All this appeared to the boys, though not on their first visit. It was not until later visits that they saw all the life, bustle, and animation which char- acterize this place at certain times of day, and watched that grandest sight of Rome — a sunset from its summit. Now, however, there was much to interest them, though on this first visit the chief 172 ' THE SEVEN HILLS. oT)ject of attraction was that tapering Egyptian shaft of red granite that shot up ninety feet in the air from the centre of the Piazza del Popoio. This was not tiie first one that they luid seen. One they remembered which stood in the middle of the place, in front of St. Peter's. Others they had encountered during their wanderiiigs on this very day. But the question arose, How came these mighty masses here ? They were Egyptian ; fashioned first in a country far away over the sea. They were originally single masses of stone, though some of thorn had been broken. How came such enormous masses to Rome from Egypt over the sea ? How had they been moved here, and set up in these places? These obelisks were all brought from Egypt to Rome in the rime of the emperors, during the first Christian century. The fact that they were brought over tlie sea from Egypt shows that the Romans muft have built larger ships than many suppose, for it has been calculated that in order to carry one of these enormous masses in safety for such a dis- tance, a ship would have been required of not much less than a thousand tons, modern measurement. That such ships were constructed is evident from the existence of so many of these gigantic Egyp- tian monuments in Rome. The vast amount of engineering skill and actual toil required to move one of these for any distance has been proved, in later days, in the case of the* obelisk which the THE OBELISKS. 173 Frcncli brought from Egypt in the time of Napoleon I., jind set up in Paris in the Place do la Con- corde. It was felt that one nnch task was enough for a great empire. But the Romans did this many times over; yet no Roman writer considered it as of sufficient moment to deserve special notice. After the decline of Rome, and during the mid- dle ages, these obelisks shared the fate of the other monuments of the past; and every one of them, in process of time, fell prostrate, or was overthrown out of the love of wanton destruction. All except one were broken — some in many pieces. At length Pope Sixtus determined to elevate them to their former places and repair them. This he suc- ceeded in doing ; and so well was it done that the casual observer sees no marks of fracture on any of them. The largest is that one which stands near the Catiiedral of St. John Lateran, and this is the largest in Europe still, though a portion of the base had to be cut off, in order to form an even surface on which it could stand erect. The oldest in Rome is that one which rises from the midst of the Piijzza del Popolo ; and Egyptian scholars, learned in hieroglyphics, have decided that its date cannot be later than the time of Moses. For all these obelisks, with but one exception, are covered with hieroglyphical inscriptions, and each one has its own story to tell to the diligent inquirer who may choose to examine it. The only one that does Dot bear any inscription 174 THE SEVEN IIILLSi irt that wliich stands in front of St. Peter's. This also was tlio only one wliich remained whole. It had fallen, like the others, but had not been broken or injured. In connection with this there is a legend which is universally told and iiniver- sally credited. The legend refers to its erection in the place where it now stands. Tlio mighty mass had been brought here, the engines were erected, and at the labor of thousands of men and horses, and in the presence of myriads of spectators, it began to rise into the air. Higher and higher it rose, until at last it stood almost upright, needing but a slight effort to complete the work. Yet at that very mo- ment it was found tliat no further power could be applied. The cables used at the huge windlasses and capstans below were all drawn up to the last inch, and tlie huge guys and slings attached to the obelisk stood stiffened out like iron rods across the air. Nothing more could be done. The engineer had miscalculated. It seemed as though the obe- lisk must be lowered again, and all tjie work per- formed afresh. Yet to lower it was difficult, if not impossible, for they had not made arrangements for that. In the event of such an attempt, the de- scending mass might go down with a run, and be shattered to fragnients. Now, the legend states that at this supreme mo- ment, when the obelisk, and the minds of all who saw it, were alike hanging in suspense, a certain RAISING OF THE OBELISK. 175 English sailor, who happened to bo in tho crowd, and saw tho diificulty, bhoutcd out, — " Wet the ropes / " Tho engineer caught at once at tho suggestion. He knew how ropes shrink on being wotted, and perceived that tho shrinking would apply all the force that was now needed to complete the eleva- tion. Enough. Tho command was given ; tho ropes were wetted. They shrank. The shrinking raised the obelisk, which ascended grandly into its place. There is a certain sceptical class who deny everything, from llomulus and Remus down to William Tell or Casabianca, and these men will not accept the English sailor. They object that an English sailor was not likely to visit Rome, and if he did so, he was not likely to speak Italian. Of course these and a thousand other objections may be made. But after all, the story is a good one. It is perfectly probable, and therefore may as well be accepted as rejected — like the story of King Alfred in the herdsman's hut, or Canute and his courtiers, or George Washington and his immortal hatchet. True or false, however, the story has a moral, which is simply this, that Theory must go with Fact, and that the man of scientific attain- ments may often be at a loss for sume idea which a plain, practical man may be very well able to sug- gest. At length the boys left the Fincian Hill and the no • THE 3EVEN HILLS. Piazza del Popolo, with the rosolvo to come back ol'ten — a resolve which they did not fail to carry- out. Once more they plunged into the streets of Rome, while Ur.'^le Moses toiled after them as be- fore. They went on until at length they were ar- rested by the noise of f{\lling waters, and on going a little further they found themselves before the hirgest fountain that they had ever seen. The fountains of Rome form a very peculiar fea- ture. No other city in Europe or in the world contains so many or so large ones. This is chiefly due to the supply of water which still flows in gen- erously and lavishly through those ancient aque- ducts that yet remain. The Romans themselves nogded and secured for themselves this lavish water supply, and these men, who have been said to have " built for eternity," have a right to that hyperbolical saying in the case of their aqueducts at least. The fountains of the modern city are of modern construction. The most famous are those glorious jets that sboot a hundred feet into the air in front of St. Peter's, on either side of the obelisk ; but the largest in Rome is the Trevi Fountain, where the boys now found themselves. Here a vast body of water pours forth like a small river, over artificial rocks, and falls into a spacious basin with a roar that is heard for some distance around. As for the river, — the river of rivers, the Tiber, — matchless though it may be in the charm of its historic and poetic associations, it may be consid- TREASURES OF THE TIBER. 177 ered as possessing no practical value to "Rome at the present clay. It is usually a shallow and muddy stream ; yet sometimes it makes its latent power known, and asserts itself in a most unpleasant, if not alarming manner, when its waters, swollen by winter rains, rise and inundate the city and Cam- pagna. Yet there are some who think that even from the lowest and most practical point of view, the Tiber may yet prove to be of incalculable value to Rome. These men assert that the bed of the classical river must contain an untold treasure, ac- cumulated here for centuries, and only waiting to be dug up. These men declare that in the river bed are immense treasures in gold, in silver, in precious stones, and in works of art. These men propose to dig a new channel by which to divert the Tiber from its bed, and then excavate said bed for an extent of about ten miles. The idea is not without plausibility ; and it is not at all impossi- ble that it may eventually be carried into execu- tion. Whether, in such a case, ^he discoveries would pay for the cost of excavation, cannot be said ; but certain it is that many objects would be discovered of immense value to the artist, the ar- chteologist, the scholar, and the historian. This day's walk revealed to them many charac- teristic features of Rome. They saw the shep- herds from the mountains, with their flocks of sheep or of goats. They saw the curious wine carts, with their freight of fresh wine, and the queer device 12 178 THE SEVEN HILLS. by which the driver shelters his head from the sun. They encountered groups of beggars, companies of soldiers, and crowds of priests. They met with monks and nuns. They saw crowds of paupers in certain places receiving supplies of soup at mon- asteries. They came to a huge jail, where the prisoners glared at them through iron gratings. They stumbled upon a hiil outside the city, which was altogether composed of fragments of broken pottery. They wondered at the absence of organ- grinders in Italy — the country which seemed to them the headquarters of that well-known profes- sion. They penetrated into the Ghetto, or Jews quarter, which they found more filthy than the worst parts of New York. Finally they returned to their lodgings, where Uncle Moses informed them that he had never worked so hard or felt so tired in all his life, and that Rome was, in every respect, inferior to Boston. THE CHURCHES OF BOMB. 179 CHAPTER XIV. The Churches of Rotne. — A great Crowd kissing the Pope's Toe. — Uncle Moses ctirlous. — The Line of Guards. — Great Eagerness. — Pertinacity of Uncle Moses. — Em- barrassing and awkward Position of the Swiss Hal- berdiers. — Tremendous Sensation. (HE churches of Rome are very numerous. They exceed three hundred in number ; ^^ and that is surely a large, in fact, an un- equalled, proportion to a city of a hundred and fifty thousand people. They are of every size, from the sublime St. Peter's, the mightiest work of human hands, down to that church which is famous from the f'^.ct that its dimensions, or, rather, the area which it covers, is precisely the same which is occupied by one of the four piers which support the dome of St. Peter's. These churches are generally most magnificent, and go far beyond anything known in America in the way of adornment. "Rich marbles, richer paintings, shrines where flame The lamps of gold," — 180 THE SEVEN ^ILLS. these are found everywhere, and in such profusion that the very splendor and the glitter of so much ornament become tiresome, and the traveller longs to behold the gloomy, yet grand, interior of some of the Gothic churches of the north. Chief among all these splendid churches — prominent among them all as princes and gods — are the great cathedrals of Rome. These are seven in number, and are known as basilicas, because they were originally, under that name, the halls of justice, or court-houses of ancient Rome. Under Constantino and his successors, these halls of jus- tice were handed over to the Christians to be turned into churches, which purpose they well served ; so well- indeed, that they became models in shape and in architecture for all future cathe- drals. Of these St. Peter's is the greatest. St. Sebastian's is another, though only sixth in rank. The others are St. John Late ran, which ranks second famous for its magnificence ; famous also for the Santa Scala, or sacred steps, which are said to be those which once belonged to Pilate's judgment liall, though, of course, such a legend is incredible. They are, however, the very steps up which Lu- ther once went on his knees, and up which thou- sands still go in the same way every year. The third basilica is the Cathedral of Santa Maria Mag- giore (St. Mary the Greater). It is most magnifi- cent, and the gilding, spread lavishly over the veil- ing, was made from some of the first gold brought ROMAN CHURCHES. 181 by the Spaniards from Peru. The foiirt]i in rank is the Cathedral of Santa Croco in Gerusaloninie (the Holy Cross in Jerusalem), which is famous for its relics. The tifth is Santo Paolo fuori Ic Mure (St. Paul's outside the Walls), wh:r;h was once the most magnificent and most interesting church in Europe, but was unfortunately burned down about thirty years ago. The present edifice is, there- fore, modern. The next is St. Sebastian's, famous for the Catacombs ; and the seventh is the Cathe- dral of San Lorenzo. This is the oldest of all, and still retains, more than any, tlie form, outli ic, architecture, and general characteristics of the ancient Roman basilicas. For this reason it is more studied by scholars and aichajologists than any of the others. But besides the cathedrals, there are the churches, which rival them in magnificence as in size. The greater churches are more splendid than the lesser cathedrals. San Carlo in the Corso raises its dome on high, and exhibits a lavish adornment which is unsurpassed ; and many others there are which come near to it in this respect ; but among all none can equal the Chiesa di Gesu (the Church of Jesus), which belongs to the order of the Jesuits. Here one day our party found themselves. Uncle Moses and the four boys were all together, and in the course of their wanderings they had come to this church. There was some great cele- 182 THE SEVEN HILLS. bration going on, which at once attracted thorn. They saw a crowd outside^ among whom were tlio life-guards of the pope, in their armor ; the Swiss halberdiers, in their gorgeous mediceval costume; the cardinals, in their scarlet robes; military oflicers of high rank ; and carriages of the Roman aristocracy, filled with beautiful Italian ladies. Something was evidently going on, and that, too, of no common ki^d ; and therefore the boys mingled w^th the crowd, and worked their way through ii, until at length they all found them- selves upon the steps of the church, where they stood looking forth upon the scene, and patiently waiting to see what it all might be. Close by them there happened to be a knot of English tour- ists, drawn here by curiosity, and chatting gayly with one another. It was thus that they made known their nationality ; and no sooner did Bob hear their familiar language than he asked them what the present gathering was all about. " 0," said one of them, carelessly, and with a laugh, " this, you know, is the Church of the Jesu- its, and the pope is goin^ to perform some great ceremony or other here — high mass, kissing his toe, and all that sort of thing, you know." This information was at once communicated to the others, and of course stimulated their curiosity to the utmost. " Kissin his to.e ! " said Uncle Moses, who had THE POPE. 183 clung fast to the boys in spite of the crowd, as they had also clung fiist to him ; " kissin his toe ! Why, railly now 1 Is that railly so ? Dew tell ! I want to know, for I never myself railly believed it; an even now I can't quite get hold of the idee. Who air the people that dew it? Why dew they dew it ? Why does this here pope let eu i It's a thing I can't fathom. To me it's an inscrootable idee. Ef they want to kiss, ef they must kiss, why don't they kiss his lips, his forehead, his cheeks, or even his hand ? Why his toe ? Who upon airth ever happened to hit upon that thar particular idee, now ? " To this particular question, however, no answer was offered, and consequently Uncle Moses had to solve the problem by himself. But now his thoughts, and those of the boys, and of the whole assemblage were drawn in another direction. A bustle arose, succeeded by a deep stillness. Then the Swiss halberdiers began to drive the crowd to the right and left, so as to make a way. Through this way a carriage drove up in regal state. In this was seated an elderly gentleman, richly ar- rayed. He had a very mild and gentle face, and on it there was a peculiarly sweet and winning smile. Indeed, no face in the world possesses more attractiveness and a more gentle charm than the face of Pio None. This w^as the face that met the gaze of the astonished boys, and upon which the crowd of spectators now looked, many with deep reverence, all with respect. 184 THE SEVEN HILLS. ^fjpon the boys tho sight of tliis sweet and gentle face, with its winning snule and venerable mien, produced a very great and st. "iking effect. Tiiia was not at all their idea of the Pope of Rome. They had formed no very definite conception on the subject, but had thought, in a general way, of a big, burly, bloated, hard-faced, red-nosed, Babylo- nian monster, with a purple robe and a triple crown, with cruel face, vindictive eyes, frowning brow, and malignant expression. Instead of that, however, they saw this venerable figure, this face of gentleness, this winning smile, and friendly glance. The result was, of course, an immense revulsion of feeling. " I like him," said Clive, emphatically. " I never saw a nobler face. I had no idea that he looked anything like this." " Nor had I," said David. " He's got a gentler face and a sweeter smile than any one I ever saw ; no, not even excepting Dr. Harrison," he added, after a pause ; and this was a very strong state- ment for David to make, who looked upon Dr. Harrison, his old preceptor, as the beau ideal of a Christian, a <^'entleman, and a scholar. " What makes people abuse him so ? " asked Frank. " I don't see how they can have the heart to. I should think one sight of that face would destroy all prejudice." " 0, it isn't he that they abuse," said David, with a profound gravity that he often assumed ; " it's the system, you know." > . EXCITEMENT OP UNCLE MOSES. 185 Bob said nothing, but kept Immming to himsotf the following very appropriate words, froin a weir known song : — " The popo ho leads a happy life : No care has ho or worldly dtrife; He drinks the best of Khenish wine. I would that his gay lot were mine." " You'd better look out," said Clive. " Tliey'U hear you, if you don't sing a little lower, and you'll be arrested." " Well," said Bob, " let 'em rip. Don't you know I want to see the inside of a Roman prison? " Meanwhile Uncle Moses had surveyed the pope with the deepest attention, and had experienced the same revulsion of fooling which had been un- dergone by the boys ; for his idea of the Pope of Rome had been quite as extravagant as theirs, and the reality produced upon him a very profound impression. He held up both of his hands in won- der, and for some time said nothing. At last his feelings burst forth. " Wal, I never ! " said Uncle Moses. " Dear, dear, dear ! Is that railly the pope ? Why, what a nice, kind, sweet-lookin old gentleman he is, to bo sure ! Why, I'd like to make his acquaintance. I would, railly. I think I'll jest go a leeile nearer, so as to get a better look. And his toe, too ! Railly now ! Surely Jie won't let em kiss his toe. Dear, dear, dear ! Why, what an on-common nice- lookin old gentleman, to be sure ! Yes, yes. I 186 'the seven HILL8. failly must try to git jest a leeile mito nearer to Saying tliis, Uncle Moses took a careful observa- tion of the scene, and then backed down slowly and curefull}'' from the place where he had been standing, after which he began to work, or, rather, worm his way through the crowd, with the inten- tion of getting nearer. The Swiss halberdiers, on dividing the crowd so as to makr way for the pope's carriage, had arranged themselves on either side, so as to keep order, and secure the passage- way from interruption, and prevent the people from pressing in upon it. Thus they stood ; and on working his way through the crowd, Uncle Moses at length found a line of these faithful guards immediately in front of him, and intercept- ing all farther progress. Meanwhile the coach of state was advancing along the passage-way that had been formed through the crowd, and between the Swiss hal- berdiers, who stood in lines on either side. The venerable occupant looked pleasantly out upon the crowd, and smiled, and bowed, and reacned out his hand, as if to bless them. Applause arose, and cheers. At length .^he carriage stopped, the door was thrown open, the steps let down, and several attendants presented themselves to receive the pope, and assist him down. It happened that the pope had stopped close by Uncle Moses, who could not have taken his stand UNCLE MOSES SEIZED. 187 ill a better ])lace. But in his eagornosa to see more, ho pushed his head forward between two Swiss halberdiers in front of him, and not content with this, aouaally lorgot iiiniself so far as to try to work his way between tlietn by the same proeesa which had been so successful in bringing hiiu thus far through the crowd. At fii'i^t the Swiss stood motionless, and Uncle Moses had actually succeeded in working himself about half way through. He was immediately op- posite, or, rather, in front of the pope, and waa staring at him with all his might. His attitude and face were so singular that the pope could not possibly help being struck by it. He was struck by it, and so much so that he uttered an involun- tary exclamation, and stopped short in his descent. The very moment that his holiness stoiU'od, Uncle Moses stopped short, too, and quite involuntarily ; for the Swiss halberdiers, irritated by his perti- nacity, and seeing the pope's gesture, turned sud- denly, and each one grasped Uncle Moses by the collar. Poor Uncle Moses ! The boys saw every incident in this scone. Thi^y saw it from a distance. They could do abso- lutely nothing, and could only stand aghast and stare. The Swiss halberdiers stood for a little while rigid and motionless, like two cast-iron men, hold- ing poor Uncle Moses like two vices. It must be 188 THE SEVEN HILLS. owned that it was an extremely undignified atti- tude for men like the Swiss halberdiers, whose position is simply an ornamental one, and whose contract is to the effect that they shall never put themselves in anything else but graceful attitudes. Nothing but the most unparalleled or unpardonable outrage to their dignity could have moved them to this. So 'unusual a display of energy, however, did not last long, for in a few moments several per- sons in citizens' clothes darted through the crowd to the spot, and secured the prisoner. Upon this the Swiss, finding their occupation gone, resumed their upright, rigid, ornamental attitude. The pope found no longer any obsUicle in his way, and re- sumed his descent ; and, as flir as he was con- cerned, he remained free from all further interrup- tion for the remainder of the ceremoniaL But Uncle Moses had been the unconscious cause of a tremendous sensation. For a moment he had created a wide-spread consternation in tlie breasts of aU the different and very numerous classes of men who composed that crowd. Utterly uncon- scious of what he was doing, he had, nevertheless, done that which, in thousands present, had made their nerves thrill, and their hearts throb fast with a sudden tumult of awful fear and apprehension. 1. The pope himself, who stopped and stared at him, and thought, " It's some Garibaldian." 2. The nearest cardinal, who thought, " It's an assassin." SENSATION AMONG DIFFERENT CLASSES. 189 I 3. The footman, who thought, " This is another I proof of the uselessness of the pampered hal- berdiers." 4. The chamberlains, who did not see Unclo Moses, thei" backs being turned to him, and who thought, " Something has disagreed with his holi- ness. He has vertigo." 5. Tlie general of the Jesuits, who muttered, " Aha ! h'm ! It's a Carbonaro." 6. The archbishops, who turned pale. 7. The bishops, who clasped their hands. 8. The abbots, who crossed themselves. 9. The Propaganda students, who made an effort to get nearer. 10. French soldiers, who — But it is un- necessary to describe the feehngs of all present on this occasion, for in that case we should have to consider in detail the feelings of 11. Italian radicals. 12. Papal dragoons. 13. Papal soldiers. 14. English tourists. 15. Russian do. 16. German do. 17. American .do. 18. French do. 19. Dutch ^ do. 20. Spanish do. 21. Belgian do. 22. Swedish do. 190 THE SEVEN HILLS. 23. Artists. 24. Priests. 25. Monks. 26. Friars. • 27. Frank! 28. David! 29. Clive! 30. Bob! And now, of all the horror that was experienced by all the above, certainly none was more genuine or more intense than that which was felt by the last four, whose names close the above list. For what did they see ? They saw Uncle Moses seized by the Papal Guard. Then they saw him seized by some men in citizens' clothes. Then they saw six gendarmes advance and take possession of him. He was arrested, and by the gendarmes I What would be the result ? What had he done ? What would the pope do ? What could they do ? What would become of Uncle Moses ? Alas ! it was too true, what Bob had said in jest, that he could not take care of himself. EFFECT CF THE CAPTURE OP UNCLF MOSES. 191 CHAPTER XV. Arrest of UticU Moses. — The Gendarmes again. — The Boys surround their hapless Friend. — Affecting Scene. — Mournful Interview and pathetic Farewell. — Uncle Moses is dragged off to the Dungeons of the Inquisition. — The Boys fly for Assistance. — No Hope. A gfiyf^HE arrest of Uncle Moses filled the boys at Jy^ first with despair ; but soon they rallied from *J^ this, and a confused medley of desperate plans arose. Their first impulse was to make a rush at the man in plain clothes and rescue him. With this intention they forced their way through the crowd for a short distance. But it was only to see an additional grief descend, in the capture of poor Uncle Moses by the abhorrent gendarmes. They tried to get nearer, however, in spite of this ; and though they could not make their way very easily through such a crowd, still they managed to keep on following after Uncle Moses. Thus, with the mere instinct of affection, they followed him, not knowing what they could do,and with their thoughts and purposes all confused. Working their way on thus, they succeeded in following the cocked hats of the gendarmes which 192 THE SEVEN HILLa appeared above the heads of the crowd; though of Uncle Moses thoy could only catch an occasional glimpse ; but at length the throng of people became less dense, and they gained ground upon the object of their pursuit. Finally they came to the out- skirts of the crowd, where the gendarmes stood and surrounded their prisoner, while one of them went away on some business. The boys now drew near. Uncle Moses looked at them with a pale face, and heaved a heavy sigh as he saw them. " Wal, boys," said he, " you see how it is. I can't get free. These rascals hev nabbed me. What on airth they're a goin to do with me I can't tell. But don't be oneasy. It'll be all right in time. 'Tain't myself I'm troubled about, but you ; for I can't bear the thought of leavin you onpro- tected. But as for me, they won't dare to harm so mucii as the hair of the head of a free American." " 0, Uncle Moses," cried David, in deep distress, " what can we do ? " " Darned ef I know," said Uncle Moses. " It's these here Roman poYice. They darsn't huTi, me — course — bein as I'm a free American citizen ; but they can keep me tied ap for a few days, an I dar say they will. But ef tbey do — ef they dar to do so — as sure as my name's Moses, I'll prosecute em all for damages. 1 will, by thunder. An so they'd better look out." With these words Uncle Moses cast a look of AFFECTING SCENE. 193 gloomy menace at the gendarmes around him, but the look was an unnatural one for him ; after a time it passed away, and his face resumed its usual serenity. " As I was a sayin," lie continued, " I don't care for myself, not a mite. The ony thing I do care for, is for you boys. Ef I'm kep away two or three days, what on airth is goin to become of you ? I'll be dreadful anxious an oneasy about you. Now promise me one thing." " What ? " asked David, in a doleful voice. " Why, promise me you won't go and get into any scrapes." • " Scrapes ! " said Frank. " Why, Uncle Moses, we don't intend to leave you. Well follow you, and stick by you through thick and thin, till you get free." ' . " Wal," said Uncle Moses, " I rayther guess you'll find you've got to leave me." " No *, we I give ourselves up," said Frank, firmly, " and go to prison along with you." " Yes, yes," said David. " That's what we'll do. We'll all go. We won't leave you. Uncle Moses." Uncle Moses gave a short, dry laugh. *' A likely story," said he, " a very likely story. But 'tain't so easy done, dear boys." " 0, yes," said Frank, " we'll give ourselves up, you know." " Wal," said Uncle Moses, " as to that, there air two objections. In the fust place they wouldn't 13 104 THE SEVEN HILLS. take yon. In the second place, ef they did take yoU; they wouldn't put you in the same place with me. They'd separate us all, put each of us in a separate dungeon, so's to examine us each by our- selves. That's the way they'd do it. No; you keep clear of this here business, or else you'll only complicate matters, and make it all the harder for me." " But, Uncle Moses, we can't bear to leave you in such a situation as this," said Clive, " for ever so short a time." The other boys said nothing, but stood looking at him with their young faces exhibiting the deepest affliction. Uncle Moses gtive a short cough,and then cleared his throat elaborately. " As to leavin me," said he, " you've got to do that. You talk of givin yourselves up, an gittin yourselves arrested ; but there ain't no way you can manage it, an ef you was to be arrested, as I said before, you'd all be separated, and so you can't come with me whatever way you fix it. So you cheer up, an go quietly home, an wait for me, an keep yourselves out of scrapes. Don't fret about me, for I'll be along shortly. They'll have to let me go soon. They darsn't detain me long. They've got nothin agin me, not a hooter." " Can't we do something for you ? " asked David. " Can't you think of anything that we can do to help you ? " " Wal, yea j I could think of somethm you could ADVICE TO THE BOYS. 11)5 « do for me ef you could only speak I-talian. But the misfortin of it is, you can't do it; an so you can't explain to them how things is. But now I tliink of it, there's something you can do, after all. There's our minister. You go and try to find him. He's here. You tell him all about it. He'll git me out. They darsn't refuse the demand of the American ambassador. Jest send him to see me. I'll tell him all about it, an he'll talk to em about right. He'll give em fits. He'll fix me up in five minutes. Yes, yes, boys, that's our plan ; hurry off for our minister, and send him along as quick as you can." This suggestion about the American minister inspired all the boys Avith hope. They all had boundless confidence in the power, might, majesty, and influence of the ambassador of the Great Republic. In him they at once felt that they would find a friend and a champion, who would interpose immediately and with effect to rescue Uncle Moses from the grasp of Roman jailers. But now the conversation was interrupted by the approach of a cab. It was a largo, clumsy vehicle, of a rusty black color, and drawn by two dingy horses. Beside the driver was seated a gendarme, in wMiom the boys recognized that one who had gone away. Tiiey understood now the purpose for which he had gone. It was to secure this cab. They were about to take Uncle Moses away in this — and where ? It was a miserable, a dismal question. 19G THE SEVEN HILLS. The cab hauled up ; the gendarme leaped down as nimbly as the stiffness of a gendarme would allow, and then conversed lor a few moments with the other gendarmes, who surrounded the prisoner. Again the boys felt a sharp regret at their igno- rance of Italian. ITow often had this ignorance stood in their way ! At length they seemed to have settled the subject of their conversation, for one of them opened the door of the cab, and another, leading Uncle Moses by the arm, pointed significantly towards it. Uncle Moses regarded the vehicle with a face of disgust. lie walked a few paces till he reached it. The boys followed. Then he turned and looked at them mournfully. '' I didn't think boys," said he, — " I didn't think that I'd live to see the day when I'd be dragged off to the lock-up in a close wagon. But it ain't no fault of mine. I'll tell you what it is. It s despotism. And, boys, let this be a warniu to you all the rest of your lives — let it be a lesson — to teach you to uphold to your dyin days the immortal principles of '76 ; to fight agin monarchy, aristoc- racy, slavery, hierarchy, agin thrones, principalities, an powers, an speritool wickedness in high places. You behold your uncle led off by the minions of the tyrant ! Ef you ever go an forgit this scene, I'll disown you. And mind what I told you about the American minister. Hunt him up at once. Don't wait. Tell him all about me. Tell PATHETIC FAREWELL. 197 liira tliat a free American citizen is a lyin a pinin in a prison in captivity in the dungeon of tho despot. And hurry up." Here the gendarme drew Uncle Moses with some force towards the cab, speaking at the same time witli evident impatience. "Well, well," said Uncle Moses, "there ain't no eich dreadful hurry about it, any way ; an you'll git me where you want me. There ain't no dan- ger of my gittin loose and runnin areound. An now, boys, I'm off," he said, putting one foot on the steps of the cab, and turning to speak a "jw part- ing words : " Good by, dear boys. Don't fret. I'm all right. I'm supported by a peaceful con- science. My only anxiety'll be about you. So you take care of yourselves for my sake, an don't give me any additional trouble. Hurry away and hunt up the American minister as fast as you can, and send him to me. Good by, dear boys ; I — > " Here Uncle Moses stopped abruptly, and turned away his head. A sob burst from him. He sprang into the cab. The boys stood with hearts that seemed almost ready to break. It would have been bad enough had Uncle Moses left them with a smile of confidence ; but that sob, wrung from him in spite of his assumed cheerfulness, showed them beyond a doubt what h!s actual feelings were, and at once brought back the very worst Tears which had formerly come to them. Thinking only of him, and of his danger, and the 198 THE SEVEN HILLS. mystorions fato before liim, the boys, obeyinp; a blinil iinpiilse, (liislietl forward, and made as tliougli tlioy would follow Uncle Moaes into the cab. But the oast-iron gendarmes coldly motioned them back, uttering at the same time what seemed like threats. Of course the boys at once desisted from any further attempt to act out their wild impulse. They therefore fell back, and stood looking with mournful faces, and hearts that throbbed feverishly and painfully. Two of the gendarmes now got into the cab along with Uncle Moses. A third shut the door, and then mounted the seat beside tl.3 dr'ver, and the others walked solemnly away. The cab now started olf, and drove rapidly away. " Boys," cried Bob, " let's run after the cab, and see where they take him." . The suggestion was at once acted upon. Away went the four boys, running at the top of their speed, and trying to keep within sight of the cab. For some distance they had no difficulty in doing this, as the cab went on in one direction, and the pace at which they went was quite fast enough to prevent it from going out of sight. At length, however, they entered a part of the city where the streets were narrow, and winding, and irregu- lar. Here the cab went out of sight once or twice in the windings of the street ; but by making an extraordinary effort, they managed to get nearer FRUITLESS SEARCH. 199 again, and catch siglit -^ f it. At last tho cab turned a corner, and wlion they wont up they saw nothing of it. Running down tho street. for the length of a block, they came to a cross street, where they stood looking anxiously up and down. In this cross street they felt sure that the cab must have turned, and whether it took tho right hand corner or the left, thoy could not conjecture. But they had to decide on one or tho other, and that, too, witliout delay, for there was not a isinglc moment to lose ; 80, at Frank's suggestion, they turned to the right, and continued their pursuit, or rather search, — for that was what it had now become, — at tho very top of their speed. But the next corner raised new doubts and difficulties, which were increased at the succeeding one, and filled them with perplexity. Still, baffled though thoy were, they kept up tho search for a long time, even after all hope had left them ; but at length thoy were compelled to give it up. " Well, boys," said Frank, " there's no use for us to waste our time any longer. We can't find the cab. liy this time it has reached the place it was going to, whatever that was. We're only wasting our time now that might be far better employed. So I say, let's go off at once after the American minister." " So, I say," said David ; " but where can we tell him to go ? We can't tell him where Uncle Moses has been taken." 200 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Bu* we don't know that, and can't find it out," said Frank, " and wo'ro only losing time. So conio, boyH ; lot'8 hurry ofi"." '* We dftn't need to know," said Bob, " where Uncle Moses lias been taken. The American ambassador won't care to know, either. It'll bo enough lor him to know that a fellow-countryman is imprisoned, and he can go and demand hia release.'^ " It's all very well," said Clive, to say, ' Let's go to the American minister ; ' but where does he live ? Do you know, Frank ? " " No ; but that's no matter. We cpn easily find out at the lodging-house." " Or the Hotel dell' Inghilteri'a," said David. *' There are always lots of English thci e, and Ameri- cans, too, for that matter. They'll know. Besides, the waiters speak English, and we can find out from them everything we want to knowj so hurry up." " Hurry up 1 " said Bob, looking around with a puzzled face. " It's all very well to say, * flurry lip,' but for my part, I'd like to know where wo are to hurry. We don't know where the American minister's is, and what's more, we don't know where our own lodging-house is." " Well," said Frank, quickly, " that's all the more reason why we should hurry up, so as to find it." With these words he started ofT, and the others followed. Having now some definite purpose, the THE B0Y8 MORE CHEERFUL. 201 boya throw awido all foolinpjR of gloom and dcapon- dency, and thought only of tho task before tlicra. Hope revived along w^ith action. Thoy all felt that thoy were doing Homething. Tho thought of the American minister roused their confidence to tho highest point. Armed as he was with all tho authority of tho Great Republic, that fonnidablo functionary could scarcely bo refused in any just demand. He was their fellow-countryman, and they could tell him all their story, and pour all their sorrows into his ear. lie would help them. His sympathy would be all enlisted on their side, and he would fly at once to the assistance of tho innocent prisoner. Now they understood fully tho advantage of having a representative of their own nation in foreign lands. Before this they used often to wonder why it was that American citizens were sent on embassies to the courts of foreign despots ; but at this moment they appreciated the fact to its fullest extent. For some time they wandered up and down through a tangled network of crooked streets, and could not find their way. Tho place was utttilj' unknown. At last, however, they emerged into a place where they recognized certain familiar land- marks in the shape of tho Pantheon, and the Column of Antonine. From this they went to tho Corso, and thence to their own lodgings. They then hurried off to the Hotel dell' Inghilterra. Here, as I'rank had said, the waiters spoke Eng- 202 THE 3EVEN HILLS. lish, and from them they found out at once, without any trouble, the residence of the American minister. It was in a part of the city, however, with wliich they were not at all acquainted ; so they had to go home to their lodgings, and find it out on the maj) wliich they had left behind them on this day. Then, map in hand, they went in search of the house of their country's representative. After a long search they at last succeeded in finding it. But on making inquiries, they learned, to their dismay, that the American minister was not at home. For this they had not been at all prepared, and it was with much anxiety that they asked, — " And where is he, then ? " " lie has gone with a party to Tivoli." "When will he be back?" " I don't know, I'm sure. He left no word. I don't think he will be back till to-morrow evening." At this the boys' hearts sank within them. They could not wait for the return of the American minister. Uncle Moses must be rescued before then. But how? What could they do, mere boys as they were, young, inexperienced, and ignorant of the lan- guage ? So they hurried away in deep gloom and disap- pointment, not having the remotest idea of what they ought to do next. RETURN OP THE BOYS. 203 CHAPTER XVI. New Plans to rescue the Captive. — The friendly Waiter. — The gru?nbling Englishman.— The Afati of Honor, and the first Lawyer in Europe. — An interesting Interview. — A slight Taste of Roman Law. — Terror of the Clients. — No Hope for the Prisoner. FTER leaving the residence of the Ameri- can minister, the boys retraced their steps back to their lodgings. The high hopes which tliey had set upon the American minister, and the confidence with which they had come in search of him, made their present disappointment all the more bitter ; and it was now with the deep- est despondency that they walked along. They walked without saying anything, for the simple reason that no one had anything to say. At length the silence was broken by Prank. " I tell you what it is, boys/' said he : " we can do something yet, after all." " What?" cried all, in the utmost eagerness. " Why," said Frank, " we can do just as peo- ple do at home, in a case of this kind — get a lawyer." " A lawyer I " 204 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Yes, of course — a lawyer. That's the very man we want." " But where can we get one ? " asked David. " 0, anywhere," said Frank, confidently. ''' There are plenty of tliem here i" Rome. There must be plenty of them, of course ; and, for that matter, there never has been, and there never will be, any place in the civilized world without plenty of law- yers. It must be easy enough to find them. So, boys, my idea is, that we had better set off at once, and hunt up a lawyer. We can hear about some good one at the Hotel delP Inghelterra. We want a leading lawyer, though ; a real tip-top, first-class man — none of your pettifogging attorneys. Now that's the sort of a man we want, and I propose that we give him the case of Uncle Moses, and urge him to go ahead with it at once, and first of all get him out of jail." David gave a sigh. " Well, I don't know," said he ; " but somehow I don't like the idea of getting a lawyer. I'm afraid if poor Uncle Moses gets into the clutches of the lawyers, it'll be worse for him. Better fight it out with the gendarmes. A lawyer will contrive to keep him in prison all his life, and make a living out of this one case. I wish we could do some- thing else. I'm afraid of lawyers, even at home among ourselves ; but what would become of us all if poor Uncle Moses got into the hands of the Ro- man lawyers ? For my part, I prefer relying on the American minister.'^ THE BOYS TN COUNCIL. 205 " But we can't rely on him," said Frank. " He's out of town, and mayn't be back for no one knows how long. Do you mean to say that you prefer standing still, and waiting till he gets back?" " I don't know," said David ; " I don't mean that, of course ; but I had a vague idea of trying to find him. But of course that would take time." *' Of course it would. What we want is to get Uncle Moses out of prison ; and to-day — not next week, mind you. Now, has any one anything elso to propose ? " •' No." " Very well, then ; we had better get a lawyer. For my part, I can't stand still and do nothing, and you can't, either. Whether a lawyer ci do any- thing for us or not, is a different matter altogether. He may help us, or he may not ; but at any rate, we can feel that we're doing something. To stand still, and mope, and groan, or to go skylarking over the Campagna, on a wild-goose chase after the American minister, isn't the best way to help Uncle Moses." " So I say," cried Bob, energetically. " Let's do something ; no matter what it is." "Yes," said Clive ; "let's get a lawyer as soon as possible. It's the only thing we can do now. Whether it's the best thing or not isn't the ques- tion ^t all." " 0, well," said David, " there isn't anything else to be done, I suppose. But how can we find one ? " 206 THE SEVEN HILLS. " 0, there are lots of them about, as I said," re- plied Frank. " We must first go, though, to the Hotel dell' Inghilterra, and make inquiries there. I wouldn't ask the waite .s; they may be in the pay of some tenth-rate lawyers. I'd prefer asking some English or Americans, who may reside here, if we can find any." " But how can we communicate with the lawver after we find one ? " said David, again raising an objection. " ^^, the lawyer'!! speak English, I dare say ; or, if not, we can get an interpreter," said Frank, who was as quick to demolish David's objections as David was at raising them. " 0, there needn't be a bit of trouble about it at all. It's all easy enough." Frank spoke in such a tone of cheerfulness that it reassured the others, and filled them all with something of the same feeling of hope wliich he evinced. Once more there arose before them a more encouraging prospect. A change came ov r them all, and they rose out of the extreme prostra- tion of spirits which had been caused by their late despondency. They were determined now to think the very best of all lawyers, and of Roman lawyers in particular. They did not know anything of Romar law, nor had they any idea of what the nature of Uncle Moses' off'ence might be ; but they believed it to be a very trivial one, and assured themselves that he only needed a frank explanation THE FRIENDLY WAITER. 207 to be made to the authorities in order to be set free at once. They thus reasoned as boys, who judge instinctively from le laws of fair play, and know nothing of the sophisms of law and the wiles of lawyers ; and thus, in this more cheerful frame of mind, they hurried back with the intention of mak- ing further inquiries at the Hotel dell' Inghilterra. They at once sought the waiter, with whom they had spoken before; for Frank thought that, in spite of the caution which he had just advised as to accepting the recommendation of a waiter, it might be best to ask his opinion, at least. With this resolve, then, he sought him out, and paved the way to a conversation by the donation of a half Napoleon — a gold coin, equal to two dollars or so. The waiter pocketed it with a beaming smile, and at once evinced so much zeal in their cause, that Frank was delighted with the success of his little plan. He therefore told the waiter all about the arrest of Uncle Moses, its cause, its accompani- ments, and its consequences ; about theic ineifectu- al search after the American minister, who very unfortunately happened to have gone away to Tivoli ; and about the decision to which they had come respecting the employment of a lawyer. The waiter listened to all this with the deepest atten- tion, with an expression on his face indicative of the profoundest sympathy, and with many remarks full of concern. Finally, he offered to find for them a friend of his who would take them to a lawyer. 208 THE SEVEN HILLS. The friend, he assured them, was a man of honor, and tlie lawyer was one of the most famous, not only in Rome, but in all Italy, or even in all Eu- rope. Would they wait till lie went in search of his friend, the man of honor ? They would. "• Whereupon the waiter left them, and at once went forth to seek after his friend, the man of honor, who was to introduce the boys to the most famous lawyer in Europe. The boys waited there for the return of their disinterested friend. As they waited, a gentleman approached them. He had been sitting in the room, and had heard the whole conversation. He now came up to them, and accosted them with a friendly smile. " Your uncle seems to have come to grief," said he. By his accent the boys knew that he was an Eng- lishman. There was something about him which invited their confidence. He was a man of middle age and of medium stature, with red whiskers, red face, red mustache, red hair, red eyebrows, red nose, and, above all, a glaring red neck-tie. It was not, however, this tremendous display of red which attracted the regards of the boys, but rather the expression of his face, the kindly gleam of his eye, the genial tone of his voice, and the warmth of his manner. The fact that he cherished a taste for red neck-ties, and even, as they afterwards saw, for red THE ENGLISHMAN. 209 Bilk pocket-handkerchiefs, could not conceal the sell-evident fact that underneath that red neck-tie there was a warm heart and a manly nature. For this reason, therefore, the hearts of the boys warmed towards this new acquaintance, and they felt a sin- gular confidence in him. " I've heard the whole story, boys," said he. " I'm sorry for you ; it's confounded hard too ; but you can't do anything, you know — that is, not to-day." " But we must do something," said Frank. "Uncle Moses must be got out to-day. The only way we can think of is to get a lawyer. It seems about the most natural thing to do. I suppose he'll be able to do something, at least, for Uncle Moses, if it is only to let us see him. The American min- ister would, of course, be the best one for us to get ; but then he's out of town, and we can't wait. We rnust do something." "Well, I understand exactly how you feel — im- patient, and all that sort of thing, you know," said the Englishman ; " still you ought not to de- ceive yourselves about this, you know. You must bear in mind the important fact that a Roman law- yer is a very different sort of personage from an English lawyer, or an American; just as Roman law is different from English, or American. I've lived in Italy a good many years, boys. I know Rome and its ways better than most people, and I tell you, sincerely, that there isn't a Roman lawyer 14 210 THE SEVEN IDLLS. living who will not take advantage of you' in a hundred different ways, and cheat you out of your very eyes. You don't know what you are doing when you propose to engage a Roman lawyer." " But what can we do ? " asked Frank. " Well, you've only one thing to do. You'll have to rely altogether on your American minister. He'll be able to do more than a hundred Roman lawyers, and he'll be willing to do more than ten thousand of them, even if they were all as honest as they could be. The fact is, your American minis- ter is your only hope; and I'd advise you to drop your idea about the lawyer, and rely altogether upon your fellow-countryman, tlie minister." " But he's out of town ; he's at Tivoli ; and we can't tell when he'll be back," said Frank. " Yes," said the Englishman ; " so I heard you say ; and that is very unfortunate, I confess ; but still you'd better wait for him." " Wait for him ? But how can we tell when he'll be here ? " " 0, he'll probably be 1 ack to-morrow, you know," said the Englishman. " But we want to get Uncle Moses out of prison at once — to-day," said Frank, impatiently. " At once ! To-day ! " said the Englishman ; " and you're getting a Roman lawyer to do that — are you? Why, boys, how long a time would it be, do you think, before your Roman lawyer would get him out, if you trusted this thing to him entirely ? " THE englishman's ADVICE. 211 *' I don't know," said Frank. « No — of course not," said the Englishman. " Well, I should say, speaking from experience, that six years would be a moderate allowance. A very conscientious and energetic lawyer, whose sympathies were all enlistod in the case, might possibly do it in that time. The majority, however, would spin *it out to twelve years ; many of them to twenty. Roman law 1 Why, there isn't any law in particular here. The only way to get justice done, is to bully the authorities. Common people have no chance. Your American minister is your only hope. But don't be alarmed. America has great influence in every court in Europe. Your American minister can free him in half an hour, unless he has done something very serious indeed. Your uncle's case can be satisfactorily explained, I think. They're very particular here with sus- pected political agents ; but it can easily be shown, 1 think, that he could have been nothing of the kind. 0, yes, I think so. In fact, I'm sure of it." " And don't you think that a lawyer could do anything at all for him to-day," asked Frank. " Nothing whatever," said the Englishman. " He can't; and what's more, he won't. The American minister is your only chance." " But we must do something to-day," said Frank. *' 0, yes ; I know all that," said the Englishman. "I'm awfully sorry for you, you know; and I understand exactly how you feel. I wish I could 212 THE SEVEN HILLS. do something myself, but I can't ; and the fact is, your only liopo is in the American mininter. He will procure your uncle's release at once, if it is possible. Just wait patiently till ho gets back. Don't go near any of the l^oman lawyers. Mean- while, if you want to amuse yourselves, I'll bo happy to take you round the town, and show you some things that are not generally visited." " You're very kind," said Frank ; " but we don't feel much inclined for amusement just now. Wo thank you, however, for the kind olfer. But wo can't give up our hope of doing something to-day for Uncle Moses, and we'll visit every lawyer in the city, and every one else that can do anything, rather than give it up and wait." " Well, boys, you're right," said the Englishman; " hang it all, you're right. Go about as you pro- pose. Do as you say. But above all, whatever you do, don't forget the American minister. He's your only hope." " 0, there's no fear," said Frank, " whatever we do, or wherever we go, that we'll forget liim. Only, we hope, you know, to get Uncle Moses out before to-morrov ; and so we hope not to have to go to the American minister at all." After some further conversation, the Englishman went off; and not long after, the waiter returned. With him there came his friend, the man of honor, who would show them the first lawyer in Eu- rope, and act as interpreter also. The interpreter SIGNOR CUCINT. 213 was a tliin, bony, sallow, scody personage, vvlio spoko very fair Enf^lish, and informed them that the best lawyer in Europe was one Signer Ciicini, to whom ho would bo happy to introduce tliem ; and that if any hiwyer in Europe could do anything for them, that lawyer was Signer Cucini himself. Tliis information roused the boys from the dejec- tion into which they had been thrown by the Englislimaivs disparaging remarks about Romiin lawyers, and they at once urged the interpreter to take them to Signer Cucini as soon as possil^le. In a short time they stood before Signer Cucini. They found him in a little, dingy room, in the basement of a gloomy edifice, in a remote part of the city. Around the room stood a few boxes, of enormous size, while in the middle were a huge table and three heavy stools, which comprised the furniture. The light, which struggled in through a window covered with dust and cobwebs, dis- closed the person of the lawyer himself. He was a thin, attenuated person, with wizened features, sallow skin, carroty hair, unshaven beard, and ex- ceedingly dirty hands. He wore a long black gown, which was fastened about the waist with a cord ; and this gave him so ecclesiastical an appear- • ancie, that the boys thought he must be a priest. After having learned their case. Signer Cucini fell into a profound fit of abstraction. The boys grew impatient, and urged the interpreter to ask what could be done. The interpreter did so. 2U TUE SEVEN HILLS. 4 Si^nor Cuoini tlioroupon looked Rtcadily at his youtlilid clients ; then lie turned over Bome papers ; after which ho said, slowly and solemnly, — "Very well. Yes, I will undeitakc the case." Ho then asked the address of the prisoner, and jotted down the particulais of the case. " Ask him what time to-day he can get out," said Frank. The interpreter did so, with a half smile. " To-day I " said Cucini. " What do they mean ? " " They're Americans," said the interpreter. " They don't know any better." "To-day! They're mad!" said Cucini. "To- day I Tell them that it will take more than five weeks to go through the preliminaries of so com- plicated a case as this. Why, the mere writing of documents connected with this case would tako up eighteen or twenty days I " The interpreter transhtted this. The boys looked at one another in dismay. So great was their con- sternation that they did not say a single word. A common conviction came to them that the English- man was right, and that the American minister was their only hope. From this one remark of the Roman lawyer they all felt the utter hopelessness of any help from this quarter. They did not at- tempt to remone.trate, or to influence Signer Cucini in any way whatever. Frank rose from his seat ; the others did the same. They then bowed them- NO HOPE FOR THE PRISONER. 215 selves out in silence, and retired, followed by the interpreter. They walked back to their lodgings in deep perplexity. Each one was thinking over the case ; yet no one had any suggestion to make. They could only conclude to wait for the return of tho American minister. 216 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER XVII. A new Plan. — A Frieiid in Need. — Hope arises, but is ' followed by Despondency. — The Agony of Hope deferred. — Back to their Lodgings. — Uncle Moses.— Immense Sensation. — foyful Rcnnioji. — TJie singular Report of Uncle Moses. — Unusual Prison Fare. — Ludlow to tJie Rescue. jfe) WONDER," said David, as they walked JrJ^ along, " if it would be any use for us to go to the English ambassador." " The English ambassador?" said Frank. " Why should we go to him ? " " 0, I don't know," said David. " It is only be- cause he speaks English that I thought of him. If the French or German ambassador could speak English, I would just as soon go to them." " And none of them would undertake the cause of poor Uncle Moses," said Clive. " An ambassa- dor thinks he has enough to do, I fancy, in attend- ing to men of his own nation, without bothering about men of other nations." " I wish," said Bob, " that there was an Irish ambassador here. I'd go to him fast enough." " Especially if he was like Padre O'Toule," said Frank. THE GENDARME. 2.7 " Padre O'Toule I " cried David, stopping short as he walked, and striking both hands together. " Why, he's the very man for us ! Why in the world didn't we think of him before ? " " bo he is," said Frank, " sure enough ! He's the very man for us, and he'll do anything we want." " Let's go at once," oaid David, " and try to find him." "I wonder if we'll have time," said Clive. " 0, yes, lots of time," said David, " if we only hurry." The boys now started off as fast as they could go for St. Peter's, in search of their friend, the Irish priest. Padre O'Toule. It was as much as two miles away ; but they got a cab, and before long reached the place. Then they entered the well-known incline, and hurried to the top of tlie cathedral. Or. reaching the roof, they were all very much out of breath ; and on looking around they saw nothing of their friend. Upon this they walked around to that little chamber where the good pi 'est had given them an audience on their former visit. On the ^vay they were met face to fice by a stiff gendarme, who seemed to them the very counterpart of that cast-iron potentate who had, on the former occasion, held them in captivity for a time. The boys, however, did not look at him very closely, but kept their eyes fixed straight before them, while the gendarme, if he really was 218 THE SEVEN HILLS. flioir former onemy, did not seem to recognize them now, for he paid no attention to them wliat- ever. It was with a feeling of reHef that they passed him without being stopped ; and in a few minutes tliey found themselves at the door of the priest's little chamber. The door was open, and to their great joy, on looking in, they saw the jovial face of Padre O'Toule himself. " Tare an ages ! " he exclaimed, starting up, and coming forward as he recognized them. " Sure but it's meself that's glad to see yez, so it is I But what's come over yez," ho continued, noticing the sad and anxious expression of their faces. " Sure it's trouble ye're in, thin ? What is it, thin ? Sure it's meself that'll be glad to do anythin I can to hilp yez, if I can, so it is.'' Upon this Frank began, and told him all about the misfortune that had befallen Uncle Moses, to- gether with their own doings. At first the priest seemed to take it as a joke ; but as they went on to speak about his arrest, and his removal in a cab, the merry face grew less merry, and a shade of anxiety came over it, which the boys were quick to notice. When they spoke about their search after the Amei'ican minister, he nodded his head approving- ly, and said, — " Sure that's the very best thing ye cud do, so it is. An he's the man that'll make it all right for yez." A FRIEND IN NEED. 219 But tiien tlioy went on to explain tlieir iinpn- tience, and their eagerness to have Uncle Moses released at once, together with their visit to Sig- ner Cucini. At which Padre O'TouIe shook his head signifi- cantly, and remarked, — " 'Dade, thin, an it's well ye're not in the clutches of that same Cucini, for it's an owld blackgyard ho is ; it's a leech that he is, and he'd suck yer warrum heart's blood out of yez, if he cud, so he would, the thafe of the wurruld ! " When the boys had ended their story. Padre O'Toule remained in silence for some time. " Sure an he'll get out fast enough," said he, at length, " whin the American plinopitintiary ex- trardinary comes back here, for it needs only a brief steetmint from that same. The ony trouble is, he mayn't be back for a month, an ye want to get him out this day. An sure an it's meself that would be" glad to do that same for yez, if I could, an ril thry, so I will ; for Pve got a frind that's butler to one of the cj^ardinals, an I can get the ear of his imminiace, I think ; but not to-day, an there's the trouble. Ye see, boys, there's trouble abuut, an what with the Liberls, an the Radicals, an till! Atheists, an the Carbonari, an the Garibal- diui, the police have their hands full, so they have. An what's more, by the same token, the life of his holiness — more power to his elbow ! — has been minaced, an ayvin shot at several times of late. 220 THE SEVEN HILLS. An that's why your uncle's case was taken up so severely. They don't know him, an they'll send out spies everywhere to find out who he is, an whether he's an imissary of any of the saycrit so- cieties. I tell you this, boys dear, not to make you alarrumed, but simply to let you prepare your- selves for a little disappointment. Ye may have to wait longer to get him out than ye expected ; but this much ye may comfort yerselves wid^ that he'll get out in time, an before very long." At this the boys all exchanged glances of sad- ness and consternation. They had expected some- thing far, very far different. " Sure an don't look so disconsolate," said the priest, kindly, and with a lace full of sympathy. " I'll start off at once, and see what I can do. I'll hunt up me friend, the butler of his imminince, an perhaps I can do somethin, after all. I'll do what I can. An now you try to cheer up, boys, jools, an I'll be off at once. Ony ye must remimbeir that I'm only a humble praste, an haven't got any influ- ence to back me ; but I'll do what I can." With these words the priest arose, and started off at once, followed by the boys. They all de- scended the incline together. They traversed the piazza, and went down the street that leads to the Bridge of St. Angelo. Tiiis they crossed in silence. On reaching the other side, the priest stopped. " Where are you living ? " he asked. They told him their address. DESPONDENCY. 221 "Well," said he, "you go straight homo to yer lodgings, an make yer minds as ayzy as ye con- vayniently can. I have to go down this way. I'll look in some time before night, tliough, and tell yez what the prospects are. Ony don't be too impa- tient. Try an assure yerselves that he's all safe. He'll be all right, ye know. Sure an he can't suf- fer a mite of harrum, at all, at all, an he'll be as comfortable where he is as anywhere, barrin the confinement." With these words the priest left them ; and the boys, in sadnei?s and in silence, continued their way to their lodgings. It was in a deeply-despondent mood tliat they reached this place, and went up to their chambers. The situation of itself was one which now seemed bad enough to fill them all with gloom and anxiety ; but in addition to this, they all were now completely worn out from sheer fatigue. They had gone so far, first in pursuing the cab, then in going after the American minister, and finally in the toilsome ascent to the roof of St. Peter's, that they could scarcely get up stairs to their own rooms. This weariness of body, therefore, made them fall more completely a prey to their disappointment and trouble of mind. Thus they slowly toiled up the stairs that led to their chambers — Frank first, next David, next Clive, and Bob brought up the rear. Slowly and gloomily they went up. None of them spoke a 222 THE SEVEN HILLS. word. All were thinking in deep dejection, while Frank was turning over in his mind various argu- ments for and against a plan which he had pro- posed of getting a carriage at once, and driving out to Tivoli, so as to secure tlie American minis- ter. Beyond this no one had anything in his mind. Such, then, was their general state of body and of mind, when Frank placed his hand on the door- knob. He turned it in a slow, dejected way. He opened it, his eyes on the floor, with all his gloom, grief, disappointment, despondency, anxiety, and trouble now at the utmost height. Thus he opened the door. The next instant a shout of amazement burst from him, and not from him only, but from all the others also. For there I Calmly seated on an easy-chair ! Slippers on his feet 1 And those feet perched upon the table, so that the soles were towards the boys ! Sitting -in such a way that he would face any one entering, evidently awaiting the arrival of the boys, with a mild light in his eyes, and a bland smile on his lips, and an expression on his face of general peace and good will to all mankind, not excepting his late persecutors ! - There, so sitting, so looking, so smihng, they be- held Uncle Moses I ENTHUSIASM OF THE BOYS. 223 One long, loud, wild, enthusiastic sliout, and tho next instant the delighted boys were all iipontlicir venerable and rejoicing relative. ■ They seized his hands, his arms, his legs, his head, any part of him that happened to be most convenient, or at all seiz- able, and each one thus seizing it proceeded to shake it, or to squeeze it, most vehemently. Fully a quarter of an hour elapsed before Uncle Moses could utter a single word. One reason was, that he was too much pulled and shaken about by the boys to be capable of expressing himself in an articulate manner ; and another was, that the boys themselves cried, and shouted, and vociferated so continuously, so irrepressibly, and so deafeningly, that the few words which he did succeed in utter- ing were not at all audible. But at length the boys were compelled to desist out of sheer weari- ness, and the uproar subsided in some degree, and Uncle Moses was able to make himself heard *; whereupon he began to give an account of him- self. *' Wal, boys," said he, " you saw me git into that thar cab, an drive off, or git druv off. I felt dreadful homesick, an pined arter you, an felt sick with anxiety about you ; an what with bein carted away from you, with two po-licemen in front of me an one on the driver's box outside, it want an agreeable sitooation by no manner of means, mind I tell you, particoorlarly as I couldn't speak one single, solituary word of their language, an couldn't 224 - THE SEVEN HTLLS. mako out a word of their gibberish when they chattered to oi]o another ; so we druv an druv, it seemed about twenty mile an more, though in ac- tool reality it wan't so very far, arter all. At last we came to a black an gloomy buildin in a street I never saw before, an don't intend ever to see agin ef I can help it. " Wal, I tliought they were goin to thrust me into one of the dungeons of the Inquisition, sure; but they wan't, an they didn't. On the contrary, they took me into a very tasty an stylish room — marble pavements, pictoors, statutes, an all that, with easy-chairs an luxoorus couches. An as I ar- rove there, I was asked to set down ; so down I acoordinly sot. '' Wal, arter waitin a few minutes, an elderly gentleman come in. Ho was dressed in some kind o' uniform, an wan't bad lookin, considerin he was a /-talian. With him there was another person, who was dressed common. They both took a good stare at me, an I bore it very meekly, bein as how 1 was in their power, an didn't want to make a unfavorable impression on their inquirin minds. Then the common-dressed person spoke to me in English. He spoke English very well. He asked me all about myself — whar I come from, whar I was goin to, an who were with me. I told him everythin, made a clean breast of it, all fair an square, an honest, an open, an aboveboard ; an ar- ter every word he'd stop, an talk to the other, jest, UNCLE M03E3' ACCOUNT. 225 yon know, as if he was translatin it into /talian. Wai, this quoationin lasted for a long time, but it wan't onpleasant ; it was all very ])olito an respect- ful, an the man in uniform smiled several times quite good-natured like, an this made mo feel re- lieved considerable. " Wal, tills questionin camo to an end at last, an arter it was over, they went away, an I sot there waitin, an wonderin what would turn up next. I begun to feel a little hopeful ; still I didn't know but what the next moment I'd be taken off to a dungeon. Wal, I heard footsteps, an thinkses I, this here's the po-lice ; they're a comin with chains an manacles. An sure enough it was the po-lice ; an what do you think they brought?" None of the boys could guess. " Why, a tray, with coffee an biscuit. Now, wan't that pooty tall treatment ? I caPlate it was. Wal, did I eat an drink ? I did. Wal, arter this the time seemed a leetle mite dull, an so about two hours passed. At the end of that time the man in uniform come in, bringin with him another man; an who do you think he was ? " The boys could not think. " Guess." The boys declared they could not. " Yes, you can," said Uncle Moses. " Of course you can, for thar's ony one man there could be, that you know." At this Bob at once cried out, — 15 226 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Ludlow ! Liullow ! " " Tho very man." " Why, is ho Iiero ? " criod tho boys, in great dehglit. " Ho is ; an what's more, ho was tho man that got mo ofT." " Plurrah ! hurrali ! " cried all tho boys. " And is his wife hero, too ? And can we see him ? Is he going to stay here ? " " Wal, he is, I do believe," said Uncle Moses. '' He's comin here to stay some considerable time, — longer'n we air, at all events, — so you'll see him often enough. 1 believe he's goin to spend most of his time here for the rest of his life, for that's the way of these painter people ; but, at any rate, I'll finish my story. " He looked fairly dumbfounded when he saw me, an one of us was as much amazed as the other. But the moment he recognized me, he bust into a roar of laughter, an then rushed up, an shook my hand so that I ain't begun to git over it yet. Wal, then he asked me all about it, an I told him every- thin over again. He listened, an went on laughin as I told him about it ; an finally he told me that it was all right, an that the authorities had al- ready made up their minds that I was a harmless character. But he explained all about the reason why they arrested me. You see they were afcard at first that I might be some refoogee, bandit, or somethin, an so took me up. The pope's life has UNCLE MOSES' ACCOUNT. 227 been threatened, an all that. "Wal, Mr. Ludlow ex- plained all about mo. It sccmH tlicy had gone out for some American, who might see me an testify to me, an had hit on him by chance ; an so when ho explained, the end of it was, they let me off. The fact of it is," continued Uncle Moses, emphati- cally, " considcriu evorythin, I think they treated me oncoraraon handsome ; an I don't believe, ef an 7-talian was to frighten our president that way, an try to git at him by breakin through a file of sol- diers, I don't believe our ^o-lico would give him a lunch an let him off, the way the Roman ^o-lice let me off. That was Mr. Ludlow's opinion, an that's mine, tew." " How long have you been here in the rooms, uncle ? " asked Frank. " Wal, I come straight here as soon as I could. I felt dreadful anxious about you. I've ben here nearly t\^o hours, an I've ben a wonderin where you all could be. I couldn't go out an hunt you up, for I didn't know where to go to fust ; so I jest sot down here, an here I've sot ever sence. An now, boys, tell me what you've ben a doin with yourselves." Upon this the boys began to tell him all about their fears, griefs, and anxieties ; their chase after him ; their search after the American ambassador ; their interview with the lawyer ; and their last resort to Padre O'Toule ; to all of which Uncle 228 THE SEVEN HTLLP. Moses listened with tho most intense interest, and iiitorruptod tho story incessantly with exclama- tions indicative of grief, symi)athy, astonishment, indignation, and many other feelings of a similar character; l,■^-,^. r'. :,, 0'lv>;-.)''.-.u'i''^' ''■' '"ij-- '' CELEBRATION OP UNCLE MOSES' DELIVERY. 229 CHAPTER XVIII. Celebration of the Captive's delivery. — Arrival of Ludlow. — Cons;rat Illations. — Padre G' Toiile is dumbfounded. — The Roman Season. — The Approach of lient. — Farewell to Gayety. — The Glories ^ and Wonders^ and Festivities^ and Extravagances of the great Roman Carnival. Js^ FTER tliG first joy at their reunion liacl ^/^Jv^ subsided, their universal tliought was about 4/4 dinner ; for none of the boys had eaten any- thing since morning, and the prison faro of Uncle MosGs had not altogether taken the edge off his ap- petite. But now the appetites of the boys, which, during the anxieties of this eventful day, had been under a cloud, and quite dormant, now revived and asserted themselves in a way that was too vehe- ment to be denied. A half-starved band, they there- fore sallied forth from their rooms to fly to that cafe which was their usual resort. Here they set- tled themselves for a solid, substantial repast, which should restore fainting nature, satisfy the demands of appetite to the uttermost, and make am^.^ds, as far as possible, for the enforced self-de- nials of the day. Towards the close of which pleasing and impor- 230 THE SEVEN HILLS. tant duty they were roused by a thnnderons langh, and the approach of a tall and burly form, bearing a head with bus^hy hair, and whiskered face. At the sight of which every one of the four boys dropped knives, forks, and spoons, rose to their feet, and rushed forth to greet the new comer. It was Ludlow. v v - He wrung their hands all round. " I've been k) your rooms," said he, " to find out whether you had got your runaway uncle back again, and to see whether said runaway had fallen into an}" fresh difficulties or not. I found you had all come here, and very properly ; so I trotted along after you." <;* •. .; > ,.. Now followed any quantity of questions and an- swers from both sides. Ludlow must know what the boys had been doing, and how they had passed the time during the loss of their uncle and guar- dian. He thought that, on the whole, they had done very well indeed. He also must hear the whole story of Uncle Moses and his attack upon the Swiss halberdiers once again ; and he heard it once again, with additions volunteered by all the boys, each one giving some fresh statement from his own point of view ; at which the bold Ludlow laughed long and laughed hugely ; and, following this up, he made them tell? him all the incidents connected with their visit to Rome, and, in fact, all the adventures which they had met with since they left him. ARRIVAL OP LUDLOW. 231 " But we didn't expect to meet you here," said Prank. " 0, my wife was crazy to come here. This is the great Roman season, you know. There's no place in the world equal to Rome at this time." *' And has your wife come with yoa?" asked David. " My wife come with me ? " said Ludlow. " Of course she has. I'd like to see myself coming hero at such a time as this without her." " 0, how glad I am ! I should so love to see her 1 " said David. " Well, Davey, my boy, that's a state of mind with which I fully sympathize," said Ludlow ; " and I admire your taste. I may also add that your feelings are fully reciprocated, and I am sure Mrs. Ludlow will be delighted to see you, and not only you, Davey, my lad, but all of you boys ; so come, as they say on the election notices, come early and come often. We're stopping at the Hotel Vitruvio, close by here. " I wouldn't be away from Rome at this season," said Ludlow, " for all that the world calls great and good. It is the Roman season — the time when Rome stands alone, unequalled in attractions, and unapproachable. Lent is coming. To-morrow the Carnival begins. It lasts for a whole week, al- though the Carnival proper only takes up the last day. What is the Carnival ? Well, I'd rather be excused from trying to explain. Wait one week. 232 THE SEVEN HILLS. Then you'll know what the Carnival is, and you'll understand why I decline describing it. " Well — then comes Lent. Rome is great all through Lent, religiously, but I came here perhaps rather for art than for religion. It's the season when visitors crowd here to an enormous degree, and among them come lots of friends, and also brother artists. I expect to meet ever so many people tliat I want most particularly to see. And tlien, Mrs. Ludlow's perfectly crazy about the reli- gious services of holy week and the illumination of St. Peter's. : ., ^ r.W " The illumination of St. Peter's? " said Ludlow, in answer to a question from Clive. " Well, my boy, in answer to that I can only say as I said about the Carnival, that Pd rather be excused from de- scribing it. It's indescribable. There's nothing like it in all the world. It stands alone and unap- proachable, like RafTaelle's Transfiguration, like the Apollo Belvedere, like Handel's Messiah, like Niagara, or, I may add, like St. Peter's itself. Now, St. Peter's itself, in ordinary daylight, is sim- ply one of the wonders of the world; but imagine that astonishing structure suddenly bursting into sight from out the midst of darkness, with all its vast outlines marked by myriads of lamps, with crowns of glory cresting the mighty dome, and cir- cles of radiance surrounding it from the base to the cupola, — imiigin^ all this, and then you'll have but a faint idea of what is meant by the iiiamination PADRE o'toule. 233 of St. Peter's. Now, that's one of the things I've come to see, and show Mrs. Ludlow. The sea.'son of Rome begins witli the Carnival and ends with the illumination of St. Peter's." After much further conversation Ludlow left them, promising soon to see them again, and to show them all the great works of art which Rome possessed. They also returned to their rooms. On reaching them they began to make arrange- ments for the following day, when they were inter- rupted by a hurried knock at the door. Bob opened it. Padre O'Toule stood there. He looked much changed. The rosy cheeks had gone, the jovial expression had vanished. He was pale and troubled. " Are ye all here, boys, jools ? " he asked as he entered, throwing a wistful gaze over the party. As he did so he recognized the form of Uncle Moses, which was decidedly conspicuous in the lit- tle assembly. " Tare an ages ! " he cried ; " what's this ? What d'ye all look so overjoyed about ? Have ye got him, thin ? an is this himself? " The voice of the worthy Padre O'Toule trembled with, emotion as he asked this. All was soon ex- plained, and Padre O'Toule's own visit was also explained. It seemed that he had been unable to find *' his frind that was butler to his Iminince," and, after much search, had learned that he had 234 THE SEVEN HILLS. gone to Naples for a few weeks. Ho then had tried to see the authorities, but without success. Ho had come now, full of grief, to advise the boys to be patient till the return of the American am- bassador, and to bewail his own failure. But he had found Uncle Moses himself present. So great was the revulsion of feeling in the mind of the worthy Padre O'Toule, that he remained for a long time enjoying the situation. In an instant he himself had passed from gloom to happiness, and the pallor of his face and the anxious expression were exchanged for the hue of rosy red and the brightness of jovial mirth. He interrogated Uncle Moses closely, and struck up a friendship with him. For the advances of the worthy priest were met by Uncle* Moses more than half way, who, like the boys, and in fact like all Americans, recognized in this priest an Irishman and a brother. It was the brogue that softened Uncle Moses' too suscep- tible heart ; and as his old prejudices against Roman ecclesiastics had already been dispelled by the treatment which he had himself received at their hands, so now this new manifestation of the Roman priesthood was nothing else than most pleasing and most welcome. Uncle Moses therefore con- ceived a very strong regard for this Padre O'Toule, who once had saved his boys from serious trouble, who had sought to interfere on his own account, and whose very failure had evinced the strong feelings which had animated him in such interfer- THE CARNIVAL WEEK. 235 cnce, and the deep disappointment which ho had felt at finding himself unable to help tliem. Padre O'Toule remained until a late hour, and at length reluctantly departed, leaving a stronger regard for him than ever in the minds of the boys, and a very friendly feeling indeed in the mind of Uncle Moses. Ludlow had spoken to them of the Roman sea- son, of the Carnival, and the illumination of St. Peter's. Of these things they had heard, but had not laid any stress on them, nor had they calcu- lated on being present at them until Ludlow had spoken to them in such strong language. But on the following day they began to see the mean- ing of his words, and to understand something of his enthusiasm. They began to find scenes and sights far different from anytliing that they had yet encountered. The Carnival week had now begun, and all the inhabitants of the city, from tlie highest to the lowest, yielded to the influence of this festive time. This week is the one that im- mediately precedes Lent. As the Lenten season approaches — the time of sadness and gloom — the Roman wishes to take a fitting farewell of worldly pIcMsures ; and so he crowds into that last week precc iiiig Lent all that he can of noisy sport, of extravagant play, of uproarious nonsense, of reck- less and desperate bufibonery. For this he has preserved his ancient Saturnalia, and cherished it, and brought it down through the middle ages to 236 THE SEVEN HILLS. modern times, associating it with the observance of the Cliristian year, and christening it under the name of the Carnival — a word compounded of came and vale, and meaning a farewell to flesh, or meat diet. For this last week all Rome gives itself up thus to wild sport. ^Ml this week the fun, the merri- ment, and the absurdity go on increasing in ex- travagance till the last day comes, when it all reaches a climax. The Corso, the chief street in Rome, is the place where all gather to enjoy the last of mirth and laughter. Here the wildest satire prevails, and the most unlimited license of action, of dress, and of speech. Romans generally are quiet and grave in their demeanor, but during the Carnival they all become transformed to the noisiest, funniest, drollest, queerest, rowdiest, ab- surdest, foolishest ; into the most fantastic, nonsen- sical, crazy, maudlin, frantic, roaring, howling, frenzied, extravagant, unreasonable, hairbrained, rollicking collection of human beings that ever gathered together, at least in modern times, outside the walls of a lunatic asylum. Fancy, then, the feelings of the boys as they found themselves day after day among such a peo- ple and amid such scenes. The Corso was the centre of attraction. In the mornings quiet usually prevailed ; but in the afternoon the great street became filled with crowds of people — men, women, children, boys, girls, priests, beggars, soldiers, trav- THE CARNIVAL WEEK. 237 ellers, monks, nuns, and representatives of all that varied class of people who at this season flock to Rome above all other places. Here, for this sea- son at least, speech is perfectly free — free, indeed, to an extent unknown anywhere else. The crowds, as they move to and fro, and backward and for- ward, exchange a never-ending fire of sharp re- marks and repartees. No matter what may be said, everything is taken in good part, and an- swered good-naturedly. It is forbidden to be angry or to take offr^nce at anything during the Carnival. Every day is dedicated to fun, and mirth, and wit, and joy. Grave people, serious people, sober people, sad people, all people with long faces must keep away. What is most aston- ishing is this — that in all this reign of fun, and sport, and nonsense, where the lower orders all come crowding in, hobnobbing nobles of every degree, there is none of that drunkenness which is so sure to prevail at any general merry-making attempted among people of the Anglo-Saxon race and speech. It is an unfortunate fact that the Anglo-Saxon, or English-speaking race, if it be the greatest on earth, is also the most prone to drunk- enness ; while, on the other hand, the Italians, whatever their faults may be, are certainly a very abstemious and temperate people. Whether this is owing to the influence of climate, or to the char- acteristics of the race, the fact remains that one may see many of these wild, lawless, and unli- 238 THE SEVEN HILLS. censed Roman Carnivals, and yet never encounter a single drunken man. Such a season in England or America would be associated with unlimited drunkenness, and all the accompaniments of drunk- enness. Here the Italian, even in the midst of his excitement, can restrain himself. And surely it is a sad thing that the English-speaking race, which has created the mightiest literature of modern times, and the noblest law, and the freest govern- ment, which has spread itself all over the world, and has carried the Book of God with it wherever it has gone ; which also promises to make its grand language universal among men of the future ; — sad it is, and most miserable, that this great, this chosen race, should thus be distinguished beyond all others for that one vice which makes man most like the brutes. ' ■ ^ ' The afternoons of this week generally pass away in this manner amid sport and extravagance, and at length at six o'clock there is a sudden change. Just before that time at one end of the long Corso, in the Piazza del Popolo, which is a circular place of great extent and beauty, a number of horses are gathered. They are all decorated with ribbons, and over their flanks, and along their backs, there are fixed sharp spurs, in such a way that when they run these shall strike into their flesh and pierce the skin, and goad them on. In front of these is a company of Papal Dragoon Guards, mounted on stout war horses, and arrayed in shin- THE CARNIVAL WEEK. 239 ing steel cuirasses, and polished steel helmets, with horsetail plumes. Just before six o'clock this company of dra^^oons 'charge down through tlio crowded streets at a swift gallop. To a stiiuigor this seems like a fearful and perilous thing- — full of danger to that dense throng of idle, careless, laugliing people, — men, women, and children, — who, for two miles, fill the long street. But the danger is only apparent. The people know what is coming, and are prepared for it. They see from afar the shining helmets and the waving plumes, and though many of them recklessly linger in the middle of the street until the very last moment, yet, as the dragoons come thundering along, the crowd all moves to one side or the other, and thus a wide open space is left in the midst. Then, after the dragoons have charged, a gun is suddenly fired. It is the signal for the horses to start. The barricades at the Piazza del Popolo are let fall, and at once, with a bound, a snort, and a frantic plunge, the whole crowd of half-wild and riderless horses, excited to madness by the sting of their goads and the roar of the multitude, rush straight down the Corso, through the pathway opened up by the dra- goons. On they fly I And as they go there rises from the people a loud cry, — a yell of acclamation, — so wild, so long, and so sustained, that there is nothing which can be heard anywhere else that is at all like it. Beginning with the crowd at the 2 to TOE SEVEN niLLS. head of the hw^ street, it bursts forth, and goes on as the horses pass by, to be caught up by oth- ers, and transferred to others yet again, and so to be borne far along through two miles of roaring multitudes — behind the rushing horses, before them, and on each side of them, until at last the accumulated thunder of the many mingled voices dies away in distant reverberations where rises far away the lofty tower of the Capitolian Mount. And with this last scene each day ends. ,,,,,, '■■- ' • '.'1 ' . 'i'^n, .-;.;„,-:/; ;>f-' \' : > t ; ; ; '■'*■■«, ; ■ .. - . . -Uf ■!.! ;.-- . .. ■ . ,. ^^ ' * ''.,.' - -^ ■ , • ; " :'t'.'.- 11',' •'■;'.'■,,• ■■ . ' '■ i : ■ -1 i - X-*^r- — ■/';:"'*'.(''V'f-i^ W0NDEB3 OF THE CARNIVAL. 241 CHAPTER XIX. The Wonders of the Carnival. — The noisy ^ uproarious^ nonsensical^ multitudinous Crowd. — A whole City of Boys, — The Battle of the Confette. — Street Fight. — All the Corso in Arms. — The Smoke of the Battle. — Uncle Moses retires from the scene of Conflict. — The modern Saturnalia. F all the days of the Carnival seaaon, the last is by far the greatest. This forms the climax when all the fun, and mirth, and burlesque, and extravagance, and satire, and buf- foonery ascend to their fullest height. On that day, as the afternoon begins the festivi- ties commence. The Corso presents a striking scene. From one end to the other it is all ablaze with gorgeous colors. From every window is displayed a wonderful variety of decorations, flags of all nations, bearing every possible device ; streamers of all colors, of every possible material. Every story in every house has its balcony, — for this is the Roman, or rather the Italian fashion, — and now all along these are spread cloths of most brilliant hue. Ribbons fly off and float in the air; gay draperies hang in festoons intertwined with 16 242 THE SEVEN HILLS. flowers along tlio balconies, or from window to window, or acroas tlio street from liouse-top to house-top. All around are rosettes, flowers, and other ornjimcnts interminp,led with devices and mottoes of innunicrabio kinds, rangin«^ througli every mood, from grave to gay, from lively to severe; from elevated and sincere patriotism down to the lowest buffoonery ; from the lightest and most sparkling wit to the severest and most trenchant satire. Some have reference to the social world only ; others are sentimental ; others again go further, and tri-colors appear, bearing mottoes of the Radical school ; and those last generally exhibit no restraint, but rush boldly into politics and religion. Gradually the street fills, but from tho honses come ladies and children all dressed as gayly as possible, and crowd the balconies. In the street below, carriages pass filled with gentlemen. On every balcony there are barrels, and baskets, and bags, filled with a certain material called confette. These are nothing more than grains of some sort coated with plaster, which, on being thrown against any object, send forth a fine, suffocating dust. With this confette every carriage is also loaded down. The sideAvalks and the shops are also crowded with dealers in this material, who drive a roaring trade ; for this confette forms an all-impor- tant means for carrying on the great work of the Carnival. THE CARNIVAL. 243 Tims tlio biilconiofl on either side of the long Corso are filled with ladies, and up and down pass contimiDUs lines of carriages filled with gentlemen, while the sidewalks and the vacant spaces of the middle of the street are filled with an enormous crowd of people, which seem to increase in num- ber continually. And such people 1 All are in masquerade attire, or nearly all, whether in carriages or on foot. People. ¥qw of them are altogether like the inhabitants of a city in the nineteenth century. It is a mixture of centuries and of ages, where one sees All the past. The Pre-Adamite ages. The Pakeozoic period. The Italian opera-house. Melodrama. The circus. Romance. The middle ages. Nursery love. The Antediluvians. Phalansterians. Ancient days. Classic ages. The lower regions. The world of waters. The upper air. The fictions of novelists. 244 THE SEVEN HILLS. The dreams of poets. Old Boguey. Mother Goose. Sindbad the Sailor. , . , Aladdin. ' -And representations of every element in litera- ture, or every character in fiction, of every class of conceptions which have entered into the imagi- nation of man with regard to living and moving things. What a scene was this for the boys I It was utterly unexpected. They had heard of the Car- nival before, but had not thought much about it. They had not had any idea that this was the sea- son for it. Nor did they suppose that the nature of the festival was of this sort. They found the gravest, the most solemn, and the most venerable city in the world suddenly transformed into a sort of Bedlam ; its quiet, decorous inhabitants suddenly changed to a riotous assemblage, capable of more uproarious nonsense than any set of school-boys just let loose from school into the play-ground. This scene, however, gradually dr ned upon the boys, and it was only piece by piece that they understood it. Seeing it thus, they threw them- selves into the spirit of the time with the utmost ardor and enthusiasm. What was the meaning of this, of that, of the other? What was to take place on this day of days? Why did those fair Italian dames throng to the balconies ? Why did THE CARNIVAL. 245 gentlemen only ride in the carriages? What did thoy all carry in these baskets, bags, and barrels ? And what was that dusty stuff which was being sold in such enormous quantities ? Such were the questions that suggested them- selves to the boys as they suggest themselves to every visitor at Rome, who may, like these, have stumbled upon the Carnival. All these things they were gradually to learn, but as yet no one of them could answer these questions. So they wandered about amid crowds that grew denser every moment, and every moment more bizarre, more curious, more absurd, more outrageous, more bewildering, more confounding, more astonishing, more confused, more huddled together, more hustled about, more mutually aggressive, more generally uproarious, more picturesquoi, more bur- lesque, more Romanesque, more grotesque, more disorderly, more laughable, more tumultuous, more many-sided, more manifold, more variegated, more multitudinous, and more utterly incomprehensible. " Boys," said Uncle Moses, as he laboriously picked himself up, after stumbling over a small boy dressed like a monkey, who had got before him for that special purpose, — " boys'-— I — am — dumbfounded ! I am, railly ! " And very good reason had Uncle Moses for being dumbfounded, or anything else he pleased; and so, lor that matter, had all the rest, only they favored different feelings. They — the boys — 246 THE SF^EN HILLS. found themselves suddenly in the midst of what seemed a population of boys, or children, — for here grown men and women had evidently gone back to childhood, and were playing as only chil- dren can. Yet, for all this, it was certainly bewil- dering. For, if they merely stood still, as they did, on the steps of the Cafd Nuovo, and looked on the vast masquerade, — on the rapidly moving throng, with its fantastic characters and amazing costumes, — what was it that met their eyes ? Why, nearly everything that could make those eyes open wide in wonder. Such as, — The Great Mogul in his robes. Tamehameha. Ten men on hobby horses. :; Tae Ping Wang. *• Nigger minstrels with bones. ' - A knight in armor. - Seven devils with horns and tails. *" Two crocodiles walking erect. A rhinoceros do. A hippopctamus do. : Twenty-one men with big noses. ' ^ ' Aunt Sally. - 'A colossal bat with folded wings. ' Six men with vultures' heads. '• '" Seven men with donkeys' heads. ^'-^—^r:rf~r:. Two mermen with scaly tails. ^^ A figure with a skeleton head. THE CARNIVAL. 247 A dozen in shrouds with eye-holes. Three Zouaves. Papal Guards. Swiss Halberdiers. Cardinals with cocked hats, v > Giants on stilts. , v .,'<'?= Aboulpharagis. - .^V ;.:;)"- Pterodactyls. : */' s- i; - ! Chimpanzees. s- .,: • Mandarins. ^ : ,,,;;• - '.-v;.;,,;;' Dervises. -•;,■>■-.■,■.:., .ri- ^' >■'' , ^ Paclias with many tails. ■ > . ; i' Gorillas without any. '■ .>■' '; > Garibaldini. ' ! ; Boys banging inflated bladders. Knights of Malta. •\ ' v . Crusaders. - ii ^ V ; FratelH di Misericordia. V Trasteverini. , . ; ,/ ^;, ;._,:;■■:>';' Quakers. ■■;''■■,.>■;..-■> -■v^:■■-^ ':,-,;.. ■/ Bandits. ;;;.;'.■,.,:,.,;.,,;,;■;.,; .:,•-•. -■,;■ / Jm- ;y Pirates. ' 'r,r^■:■^-;^ ,., Vampires. A giraffe formed by two men. A sea-serpent formed by forty men. And hundreds, yea, thousands of other figures, equally absurd, equally fantastic, and equally bewildering. On a sudden a change came over the scene. The crowd which thus far had moved about in 248 THE SEVEN HILLS. comparative ease, and seemed to be engaged in nothing but showing themselves and staring at others, now became agitated to the wildest tumult. Thousands rushed to and fro, and in an instant the atmosphere became filled with a white shower. It was as though some snow-storm had suddenly burst forth, or rather some hail-storm, for the patter of the falling atoms was louder than the light fall of snow, and the blow was harder. On all sides, up, down, wherever the eye turned to look, fell the white sliower. Now the boys learned the use of the confette, and the need of the bags, baskets, and barrels. Now they understood why the ladies discreetly remained in the balconies, leaving the gentlemen to run the gantlet in the street. It was a universal fight, which consisted in dashing handfuls, or scoopfuls, or basketfuls of confette in one another's faces. The war began. The crowd swayed and tossed in all directions. Fig- ures darted swiftly to and fro. Shouts, screams, laughter, yells, hoots, whistles, cat-calls ; all the sounds of the barnyard, all the noises of the wild forest, arose, mingling together in one deafening clamor, ill in the street took part in the univer- sal strife and riot. The rhinoceros engaged with the Great Mogul ; the Quaker with the Giant on stilts ; the Chimpanzees with the three Zouaves ; the crocodiles with the mandarins ; and an immense crowd made a terrible and united attack with confette upon the sea-serpent. The whole scene THE CARNIVAL. 249 shifted and changed like the disordered figures of some fever dream, and around and amid it all fell the white showers of choking plaster dust. The attitude of tl. e boys at first was simply that of astonished spectators. They stood, and stared, and wondered. They found it quite incomprehensible, and could not conceive the meaning of it at all, or whether there might be any meaning to it what- ever. But they were not lon^;; allowed to main- tain the peaceful attitude of ii.terested spectators. For before they had looked on two minutes, before they had even begun to satisfy their curiosity, tlio scene was brought home to themselves most sud- denly, most vigorously, and' most irresistibly. As they stared, a carriage passed by, and from that carriage, wliich was filled with lads of about their own age, there came a dozen discharges of the confette, from scoops .,.:d dippers, full into their faces, penetrating their eyes, mouths, and nostrils. At the same instant a whole barrel full was poured down upon them from the balcony immediately above. Gasping, choking, rubbing their eyes, they stood for a few moments helpless, trying to regain their breath. A wild laugh burst from the lads in the carriage. " Hurrah ! " cried one of the lads. " Give it to them ! " And the carriage passed on. " So that's it," said Bob, as soon as he could speak ; " so that's what this white stuff is for — is 250 THE SEVEN HILLS. it? Well, here goes. I'll try if I can't give as ^ood as I get. Boys, don't you remember the old Baying, ' When you're in Rome, do as Rome does'? Come along. Let's do as Rome does. Let's got hold of a supply of ammunition, and charge into the thickest of the battle." • ' .|. r- Away rushed Bob to the nearest side street, and after him hurried all the others. It was no easy matter getting through the crowd. Their haste also served to attract attention, and make them the targets for every one to fire at. They had to run a-muck for it; but at last, half blind and half choked, they reached a corner, and turned into a cross street. Here all was quiet, for the wliole of Rome was in the Corso, and in the Corso only. Here they found plenty of the confette for sale. With this they filled all their pockets. Bob and Frank tore out their pockets, and filled all the skirts of their coats. The others were more moderate. After this thev all rushed back into the scene of conflict. But here Uncle Moses faltered and held back. He was in a quiet place, close by the Column of Antonine, and it seem'>d to him far pleasanter than the stormy Corso. Before him rolled the tumult of the busy street, the air all filled with showers of white dust ; behind him all was peace. He could not follow the boys into that furious Babel of strife. He chose rather to sta id where he was and philosophize. THE CARNIVAL. 251 " I've got into trouble enough," he said to him- self, thoughtfully, " by a pushin of myself for'ard whar I hadn't any business to go ; and as to this here Carnival, why should I go and act like a born fool? It's all very well to say, ' When you're in Rome, do as the Romans do,' Lut I ain't goin to make a fool of myself jest because the Romans take it into their heads to act an carry on like born fools ; an what's more, I won't dew it ; an that thar's what I call a pooty sensible voo of this matter." ■ • ' But such grave thoughts and wise reflections as those were, of course, lost upon the boys, who, wild with excitement, had already plunged into the thick of the crowd. A carriage was passing ; it was the same carriage which had first attacked them. The lads occupying it were showering out confette most vigorously on all sides, and were themselves assailed most vigorously in return. Here Bob headed a charge, followed by the others, and the four carried on a vigorous fight for some time, in spite of the disadvantage under which they labored of fighting on foot, while the enemy was so high above them. Their other more accessible enemies appeared, and they gave up the carriage to turn their attention elsewhere. How the Corso roared ! How the vast crowd writhed, and swayed, and tumbled, and tossed I Every balcony showered down its stores of con- fette. Every carriage threw its broadsides to the 252 THE SEVEN HILLS. right and to the left. But the people in the street paid them hack witli interest, and threw into the carriages overpowering discharges from all sides. Every place was white with dust. On all sides might be seen the wounded retreating from tlie battle, choking men, blinded men flying to the refuge of tlie side streets, so as to get breath and eyesight, and return again. In the carriages the occupants were also covered with the white dust; clothes, faces, hair, beard, all were cov- ered ; in t!:: balconies the Italian ladies, roused up to the full height of this immense excitement, dashed about like Bacchantes, showering down their hail-storms on the carriages and foot pas- sengers beneath ; while all around, above, below, on every side, arose a confused din of laughter, shouts, screams, outcries ; a wild and frenzied uproar ; yet an uproar in which all these Bedlamites were perfectly good-natured, and made it a point of honor to take offence at nothing. THE COMBAT DEEPENS. 253 CHAPTER XX. The Combat deepens. Otiy ye Brave! — Boh attacks a French Officer. — The French Officer retorts. — Frank to the Rescue. — Tremendous single Combat. — A Ring formed. — An Homeric Fight. — The sympathizing Spec- tators. — The Soldier draws his Sword. — Conclusion of the Fight. , ^HAT a place was this for boys ! All were boys together here — all this great, roaring, absurd, nonsensical crowd of practical jokers. The sport was boyish, the non- sense was boyish. The supreme and presiding spirit was that of boyish Fun. And didn't our boys throw themselves into the spirit of this occasion ? Methinks they did. For you see, wherever there was any particular scrimmage, it always happened that one of them, or all of them, were in the very thick of it. Again and again they exhausted their supplies of ammunition. In fact they needed a carriage, and several barrels of confette ready to hand, to supply their wants and the demands of the occa- sion. Over and over again they had to fly to the 254 THE SEVEN HILLS. side streets in order to procure a fresh supply of ammunition. In spite of this, they never lost their ardor ; on the contrary, with every moment that ardor increased. This, for them, was a day un- equalled, unparalleled, never to be forgotten, never to be known again in all their lives. It was a day of days, every moment of which must be occupied in the great business that engrossed the thoughts and the actions of all. Slash ! went the pockets of Clive. David, also, carried away by this unusual excitement, tore hia out. Like Frank and Bob, they poured about a bushel of confette into the place where their pock- ets once were ; so that the skirts of their coats stood out with portentous fulness, and resembled more than anything the full crinolines that were once in fashion. Then away they hurried back again to the Corso, and into the thickest of the strife. To attempt to run, however, with the inside of one's coat loaded down with a bushel or so of grains like wheat, is not a very feasible under- taking, and therefore the pace which they were able to make was no very rapid one. There was also the constant danger that the lining of their coats might give way utterly under a test to which they were never intended to be subjected, and so their desire to make haste was tempered by a natural caution about the strength of their coats. Still they did make haste, and thus hurried, as THE FRENCH OFFICER. 255 well as they could, back again to the ardor of the strife. ,* -' Bob was ahead. • As ho hurried along, looking about for a fitting adversary, a foeman wortliy of his steel, he saw a French officer standing on the sidewalk. This French officer had on his face a surly and super- cilious expression. He had, probably, strolled into the Corso a short time before, and was now regard- ing the scene before him with the air of a superior being, as which he evidently at this moment re- garded himself. And why so very superior ? thought Bob to him- - self Must this man consider himself a favored being, and superior to the license of the Carnival ? With this thought he reached the French officer, and as he did so, he suddenly dashed two handfuls of confette full in his face. At any other time, in any other place, such an act on Bob's part would surely deserve the sever- est condemnation and punishment. Nor would Bob himself have been capable of such an act under any other circumstances. But this, be it remembered, was the Carnival at Rome. This was the very business which people came to the Corso " to carry out. Bob himself had received a hundred such assaults, and had dealt them out to others. To do this to the French officer was, therefore, in his eyes, highly proper, natural, laudable, and praiseworthy, the very fulfilment, in fact, of tlie idea of the Carnival. 2oG THE SEVEN HILLS. Tho French officer stagge^'ed back with a curso. lie (lashed the dust from his face, and then catch- ing sight of his yoitthful assailant through his half bUnded eyes, ho rushed at him, and, with a howl of rage and a fierce execration, he struck with his clinched fiat full tht Bob's face. And Bob went down in an instant, falling heavily on the pavement, on his back, in the midst of tho crowd. The boys had been close behind, and had seen it all. They had not been prepared for anything like this; for perfect good temper had been the law of the Carnival thus far, and everything was taken in good part. As they saw the blow fall, they stood for a moment amazed, and stared in silence. Bob fell heavily, and David, with a cry of rage and pity, stooped to pick him up. • The French officer, having struck Bob down, rushed towards his prostrate form, just as David was trying to raise him, with a malignity on his face which showed that he was bent on further mischief But as he advanced, Frank sprang for- ward, and grasping the French officer by the collar, hurled him back. , " Coward and scoundrel ! " cried Frank, utterly beside himself with rage ; " would you strike him when he's down ? " At this the French officer turned upon Frank, not understanding what he said, but seeing the contempt of his face and the scorn of his gesture. FRANK TO THE RESCUE. 257 Mad with rage, he rushed blindly at Frank, and aimed a blow at him. But he had altogether mistaken his antagonist. For the Frenchman was not at all acquainted with the scientific US': of those fists of his with which he made so free ; but Frank, on the contrary, happened to be very familiar indeed with the nj>le art of self-defence. A somewhat stormy boyhood, a school in which he had been compelled to fight his wfiy, and a naturally pugnacious disposition, had p I conspired to train him in this art. Added to this, his frame was muscular and sinewy ; in point of actual strength, he was not much inferior to the Frenchman, while in science he was much beyond him, so much so, indeed, that there was no compari- son ; and so it was, that when the Frenchman, in his rage and blind fury, ruL^ied at Frank, striking madly at his face, he found hi arm quietly pushed aside, while a tremendous blow descended upon his own face. It arr-^sted him, drove him back like a bat- tering-ram, and sent him headlong to the ground. Before this Bob was on his feet again. "Let me finish him," he cried. "He struck me first." 'Stand back, Bob," cried Frank. "It's my quarrel now. Stand back. Fair play." "Yes, yes, Bob," cried David and Clive, who very much preferred to see Frank opposed to the Frenchman. " Stand back. Fair play. It's Frank's fight now." 17 238 THE SEVEN HILLS. So ^Bob was compelled to stand back, tliouji^h very reluctantly. David and Clive also stood on each side of the fallen Frenchman. By this time there was a pause in the surround- ing crowd. Some bystanders, wlio had seen it all, explained it to the others. A Babel of commotion arose. They were Inglese — these boys. This French officer had become enraged because one of the boys had thrown a little confette at him, and he had at- tacked the boy. So the other boy had attacked the French officer, and knocked him down. Bravo ! Bravissimo ! Ingelis box I Hold ! Bravo ! Bra- vissimo I An Ingelis fight ! The Frenchman is a fool and a coward. On the Corso to-day no one must be angry. It is forbidden. When one grows angry, one should go away. To get angry at tlie confette is an insult to Borne. The Frenchman is a fool. He is arrogant, and should be punished. So Bravo ! Inglese boys ! Bravo ! Bravo i Bravo ! B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ravo ! The sympathies of the crowd were thus all on the side of the boys. They called them'Engli?];, for the reason that they could not distinguisli English from Americans, and named them after the language which is common to both. Unity of lan- guage makes the people of both countries the same in their eyes. They sympathized with them be- cause they were clearly in the right in tliis quarrel, and because the foolish Frenchman liad violated A RING FORMED. 259 the law of good humor and fun which should be observed at the Carnival. They sympathized with them also because Frank was a boy, and the French- man was a man. But — and here was the deepest reason — they sympathized with the boys because their assailant was a Frenchman. As the other Italians used to regard Gerrrians, so the Romans, at this time, regarded Frenchmen. They hated the Frenchmen more intensely than any other men, for at that time French soldiers held virtual pos- session of the city. French soldiers guarded their walls. French soldiers had put down Garibaldi. French soldiers were standing in the way of their aspirations after the unity of Italy. French sol- diers also lorded it over them, and took no pains to conceal that they deemed themselves the masters of Rome and of the Romans. French soldiers freed Lombardy, and were therefore popular in other parts of Italy ; but French soldiers enslaved Rome, and held it at this time in subjection. Conse- quently at this time, French soldiers were an abomination in the eyes of the Romans. And so, the crowd which had gathered all around, tilled "/itli these feelings, stood still, and watched to see the result. David, Clive, and Bob stationed themselves so as to keep back the crowd, and form a space sufficient for the fight, while Frank stood waiting for his antagonist. The whole thing was done very quietly, and very neatly. It was the result of long practice at school. They were all, 260 THE SEVEN HILLS. even David, well up in the noble art, and in all its details. On the present occasion, therefore, they all shone with uncommon lustre. The Frencli officer picked himself up, and for a moment scowled at Frank, with a face all distorted by malignant passion. He saw tlie ring around him, and the sinister Italian faces fixed darkly upon him. He saw that the antagonist, who had already handled him so roughly, was a bo}^ ; but then he was a strong, and muscular, and resolute boy, and, worse than all, he knew that, which to every Frenchman is at once admired and abhorred, as " ze Tnglis box." As for the Italii;xns, it was with unfeigned anxiety that they awaited the issue. For Frank was a boy, while the Frenchman was a grown and bearded man. Yet they saw that Frank was strong for his years, and what was more, that he knew the use of his fists. As for David, Clive, and Bob, they hadn't the least anxiety. They be- lieved most fully in Frank. They knew his powers and liis prowess, and didn't believe in this French- man, or any other living Frenchman, at all. For Americans have inherited that curious conviction from tlieir English forefathers, that one English- speaking man is worth three "frog-eating French- men ; " and this conviction, with a few Yankee ad- ditions, glowed brightly in the breasts of the boys on the present occasion. The Frenchman did not wait long. He took 07ie look, and then flew like a madman at Frank, hissing AN HOMERIC FIGHT. 261 out French oaths and execrations. Frank very easily and very dexterously evaded his assault, and in return dealt him a tremendous blow side- wise on the left ear. A wild yell arose from the Italians. It was a yell of triumph. The Frenchman fell, but instantly sprang up again, and rushing upon Frank, caught hold of him; but Frank was ready for this also. Boxing or wrestling, it w . all the same to him ; and if the Frenchman chose to come to close quarters, he was prepared. And so, watching for his oppor- tunity, he secured the under hold, and had his an- tagonist at his mercy. A little trick of his, often before used successfully, was now put in practice. He drew himself suddenly downward, and then, by a peculiar twist and unexpected jerk of his left leg, he dashed away the footing of his enemy. The Frenchman reeled, and fell heavily, with Frank above him. With a sudden spring Frank then detached himself, and, leaping back, stood erect, strong and vigorous as a gladiator, waiting for another assault. He did not care to have a close fight, rolling over the ground. He preferred to act in a free and unembarrassed manner. Another wild shout of triumph and delight arose from the spectators. David, Clive, and Bob said nothing. They felt no surprise, for this was just what they had anticipated ; and besides, they all had too much generosity, and too great a sense of fair play, to exhibit any exultation. 262 THE SEVEN HILLS. Tho Frenchman again sprang to his feet. In boxing and in wrestling lie had shown liimself utterly delicient, and had been, therefore, severely mauled by a boy. But there was one thing in which he was a proficient. He sprang up, with his face cut and bruised, his eyes blood-shot, and his expression full of fury, and seized the handle of his sword. Another mo- ment and ^^ would have been drawn. " Coward ! " yelled t'^e Italians, and a wild move- ment arose among them. But the action of Frank put a stop to this. With his vigilant eyes he had seen the gesture of the Frenchman, and had anticipated it. He leaped towards him, and struck him another of those tremendous " blows from the shoulder," the secret of which he had learned from long practice. The next instac.t he was upon him. He would not strike a man wh*en he was down, but the Frenchman had shown such a villanous dis- regard of all the laws of fair play, that Frank determined to punish him. The mode of punish- ment was at hand. Around the prostrate French- man he twined his sinewy legs, pinioning his arras in this way ; and then, thrusting his hands in his pockets, he showered the confette over his face, rubbing it over and over again. Many a time had he done this before, not in anger and with confette, but in sport and with harmless snow. This he had been accustomed to do on capturing a prisoner in the snow-ball wars of school days, when he pro- CONCLUSION OF THE FIGHT. 263 ceeded according to the laws of snow-ball war, to " duck " said prisoner. The art was useful to him now. The Frenchman was prostrate beneath him, at his mercy, his arras pinioned, his eyes blinded, his mouth and nostrils filled with dust. From the Italians all around wild cries arose. Laughter, shouts, jeers, sneers, exultations, — all these burst forth. This they thought was a fitting punishment for one who had dared to break in upon the sport of the Carnival, and in return for tiie joke of a harmless boy to knock him down. Frank at length desisted, and arose. The French- man started up perfectly frantic ; but he dared not do anything. He heard shouts from the crowd, warning him not to draw his swoid. Such a warn- ing he dared not neglect. Besides, he was almost blind. -His only thought was to get the dust out of his eyes, and to regain his breath. Had he made another attack on Frank in that state, he would have been still more at the mercy of his enemy. So he contented himself with groping his way to the sidewalk, rubbing his eyes, and muttering tlireats of vengeance. As for Frank and the boys, they walked away, amid shouts of applause. Now, for all this the boys were clearly not to blame. True, Bob had been the aggressor, and had dusted confette in the Frenchman's eyes ; but then he had done the same thing to hundreds of others, and hundreds of others had done the same 264 THE SEVEN HILLS. thing to him. Could this Frenchman expect, on Huch a day, to walk down the Corso with impunity ? Ho had knocked Bob down for what was really nothing. He began the quarrel. He was even about to deal another blow upon Bob's prostrate form when Frank interfered. On the Frenchman, then, lay the blame, and on him had descended that punishment which he had deserved. The boys had nothing for which they could blame them- selves, and nothing to regret, except Bob, who persisted in thinking and saying that he ought to have been allowed to fight the Frenchman. But the others were glad that the fight had been maintained by Frank. A FRESH SUPPLY OF AMMUNITION. 2C5 CHAPTER XXI. Out of Ammunition. — A fresh Supply. — The Boys in- trench tJiemselves. — General Assault from all Sides. — The Assault sustained nobly. — A perpendicular Fire. — A tremendo7is Surprise. — A sicdden Chancre. — TJie Dragoon Cha?-ge. — The Race-horses. — Darkness. — Universal Illutnination. — A new Struggle. — Senza Moccolo. — Senza Moccolo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o ! ^^OON in the excitement that followed the 1^^ great fight was for a time forgotten. New ^^ duties demanded their attention. In that wild, excited, and struggling throng even the strongest sensations or emotions would yield to the new series of surprises that arose every mo- ment. Besides, so long as they remained in the Corso they were compelled to be watchful and vigilant, ever keeping up an active self-defence, and carrying on constant war: not so serious, in- deed, as Frank's late fight -vvitl. ' o French officer, yet a war, nevertheless, and one ,00, which, though good-natured, was vigorous ar^a incessant. And so once more they threw themselves into the thickest of the fight, and poured out volleys and received them in return. Again and yet again 266 THE SEVEN HILL9, thoy had to retreat from the scene of conflict to the side streets in order to replenish their ex- hiiusted stock of ammunition, and then back they came once more to the fray. Tiiey had torn out their pockets, and had trusted to the lining of their coats. But tlie test to which this lining was thus subjected was one for which it had never been designed, and therefore it is not to be wondered at that it should at length break down under the severe strain. One by one they became conscious — Bob first, then the others — that there was a waste going on in another quar- ter ; and at length, when they came to fill up again, they found that the confette ran out as fast as it was poured in. But the little army was not to be daunted or dis- couraged by the failure of what may be termed the ordnance department. No sooner had this taken place than necessity, the mother of invention, sug- gested a most eflective substitute. The dealer from whom they were purchasing the confette kept his material in barrels. One of these the boys bought, and rolled it towards the Corse. Bob went forth to reconnoitre, and discovered a doorway a few yards round the corner, which afforded a good place to occupy. ETere they rolled their barrel, through a tempest of assaults from the roaring, laughing crowd, who saw, and cheered, and jeered at their project. However, they at length reached the doorway in safety, placed their GENERAL ASSAULT FROM ALL SIDES. " 267 barrel there, burst it open, and tlien began. Showers of confette poured forth. From that doorway there fell an incessant stream upon all who passed. All who passed returned lire; and so it was that for a time the tliickest of tlie fight raged around that doorway, where the little band had planted their battery. There was a novelty, a boldness, and an origi- nahty about this plan which delighted tlie Romans, and drew upon the boys the largest possible share of attention. But in the Corso, during Carnival time, attention meant something more, and one could nut give that without giving confette also. The showers that poured in upon that doorway were prodigious. David had begged them at first not to be too lavish with the confette. There was no reason, however, for caution. Although their own drafts upon the barrel were large enough to exhaust its contents in a quarter of an hour, yet there poured upon them such incessant torrents that their barrel remained constantly well sup- plied. The heaviest showers came from some of the oc- cupants of the house, who were in a balcony just above, but a little on one side. They had seen the whole proceeding, and seemed, either out of fun, or from a sense of ownership, resolved on expel- ling the intruders from their premises. Tliey themselves were out of reach, nor could the boys look up so as to take aim. The consequence was, 268 THE SEVEN HILLS. that they were helpless against that shower from above. At length the party above, finding that the boys still held their post most obstinately, and that no efforts of theirs thus far had availed to dislodge them, decided upon a final attempt of a most des- perate nature. At this very time the boys were surrounded, and doing battle most heroically. A carriage in front was discharging whole basket- fuls at a time, while a dense array of foot-passen- gers was hurling shots at them right and left. This was the moment chosen by those in the bal- cony for what they intended to be a final and a crushing blow. They brought out a whole barrel of confette, and drew it to the end of the balcony nearest the boys. Then they raised it to the edge, and tilted it over. Down fell the confette in a tor- rent, and so heavy was it, and so continuous, that the boys looked up in amazement. ^j^^j It was aimed very strangely, certainly. The fjilling confette, which came down in a solid stream, did not touch one of the boys, but, singu- larly enough, poured itself into the barrel, now quite empty, and filled it full. It was this, rather than anything else, that so amazed the boys. Was this some propitious being, some ally, who thus. re- plenished their magazines at the moment of their sorest need ? One look gave an answer to the question ; for there, at that corner of the balcony, still holding the now empty barrel balanced so as LUDLOW AGAIN. , 2G9 to ponr out the few remaining atoms, there, his bushy hair and beard, and his tawny skin, all white with plaster-dust, they recognized their friend Ludlow. As their eyes met his, he burst into a roar of laugh tej. " Don't give up the sliip, boys ! " lie cried. " Stand to your guns like men ! Remember '7G I ' The Union must and shall be preserved.' ' Give me liberty or give me death.' ' Libei ty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable.' ' Free trade and sailors' rights.' * Strike till the last armed foe expires ! Strike for your altars and your fires ! Strike for the green graves of your sires ! ' Erin go Unum, E pluribus bragh ! " These astonishing sentences were howled out by Ludlow in a voice of thunder, which was heard far above the din and the hurly-burly all around. Oi^e look at Ludlow had been sufficient to convince them that he had taken his part in the activities of the occasion, and it hardly needed this astonishing flood of nonsense to show how fully he had been seized by the fever of the Carnival. They saw in the balcony with him another familiar face, — that of his wife, — which pretty face was now as white as that of any in the street. The balcony was over- hung with an enormous American flag, while above it towered a big American eagle. After shouting out the words above reported, Ludlow disappeared. A few moments after the 270 THE SEVEN HILLS. door behind tbem opened, and Lndlow reappeared. He dragged them all inside, locked the door, and then hurried them up to the balcony. " How lucky tliat you came here ! " said he. " You're just in time to see the greatest sight in all <~'hristendom, with one exception, which won't bo seen for five weeks yet." As tliey entered the balcony, Mrs. Ludlow nodded pleasantly, but was too busy watching the cflect of a shower of confette which she was then engaged in pouring upon some one below. Hav- ing done tliis important task to her full satisfaction, she turned, and gave to each of tliem a hand, as well plastered and as white as their own. In the • midst of this friendly greeting, however, a tremen- dous torrent of confette was hurled upon them, evidently by way of retaliation from some sufferer below. Their conversation and greetings were thus abruptly terminated by coughings and gasp, ings. *' Boys,'' cried Ludlow, " this is not a time for ad- ulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot avail us in this rugged and awful crisis. 'The combat deepens. On, ye brave ! ' " With which words he raised up another barrel of confette, and poUred down, indiscriminately, a vast amount of the contents. The crowd below scattered. The boys seized scoops and baskets. Mrs. Ludlow sprang to the guns. The balcony be- came a battery, from which the most voluminous, A SUDDEN CHANGE. 271 the most massive, tlie most accnratoly-aimod, and the best-sustained discharges of confette were ^ent fortli that ever was known in the annals of tlie Eternal City. The boys now had every advantage. They had done wild work below ; but from this commanding point they hu 1 the crowd; both on foot and in car- riages, completely at their mercy. At length a gun fired. In an instant a change took place. Every one ceased throwing confette. Every one stood still. Every carriage hastened to get out of the Corso, turning down the nearest side street. In about five minutes there was not a single carriage visible throughout its entire length. Into the space whicii thus far had been occupied by the continu- ous streams of carriages that passed up and down the crowd now found themselves, so that the street showed a dense mass of human beings, which was increased by the return of those who had sent their carriages home. It was a noisy, laughing, jesting crowd, but no longer a struggling, warring crowd, for the time of the confette had passed away, and all the white clouds, which a short time before had made the Corso look like a street in a snow-storm, had vanished from sight. And now from the Piazza del Popolo a troop of dragoons charged at full gallop into the midst of the dense crowd. It seemed very dangerous, but the crowd gave but little heed to this. They 272 THE SEVEN HILLS. moved to citlior side in a very leisurely manner, so as to afford room for the dragoons to pass ; but the moment they had passed they moved back again, so that it was difficult to see what had been ac- complished by this cavalry charge. It was in- tended to make a course for the race-horses, but its result was not particularly successful. Still it served to prepare tlie crowd for what was coming, and they now stood silent, straining their eyes and ears in the direction of the Piazza del Popolo, to see or to hear some signs of the coming racers. At last they came — some twenty horses or more, witiiout riders, having spurs and goads at- tached in such a way that their motion would cause them to pierce the skin. In an instant the silence ceased, and there arose, far up the Corso, a low, deep sound, like the roar of many waters, like the thunder of a cataract, or the hoarse roar of the surf on the sea-shore, — the voice of a mighty mul- titude. It was the multitudinous cry of those who stood nearest to the rushing horses, who made way for them, opening on either side, and falling back, who shouted and yelled to excite the racers, and also to give w^arning to the people farther on. And as the horses fled along, and the crowd divided, the cry also came rolling down the Corso in a thunder-peal, caught up by successive crowds among the myriads of people, and following, and preceding, and accompanying the horses all along. The people in the balconies caught up the cry, ILLUMINATION. 273 and from every balcony, from every window, and from every house-top there waved flags and colored streamers, shaken out into the air by the excited spectators, till all the atmosphere seemed to vibrate and thrill wiih the agitation and tossivg up and clown of numerous colors. ^, Through such a scene as +his, along such a race- course, with all these exciting sounds ringing in their ears, with all these bewildering sights daz- zling their eyes, stimulated also by the sting of the tolling goads, the race-horses flew along tho Corso, and held on their way, in madness and fear, till they reached the goal. v^. By this time it began to grow dark. Twilight is short in this southern clime — day rushes into night, and there is but little evening. Now tho darkness hurried on, and the boys began to fear that all was over; but the crowd still remained, and they knew by this time that there was some- thing yet to be seen. What that something was, they all wondered ; but no one asked Ludlow, for they preferred having the thing disclose itself. At length all was revealed. ^ For, as the darkness deepened, the street, throughout its whole length, began to exhibit flame after flame, until at length there gleamed the lustre of innumerable points of lights. These lights be- gan to flash from all the windows, and from all the balconies, and from all the house-tops. But it was on the windows of the basement, in the lower bal- 18 274 THE SEVEN HILLS. coniea, and in the street that the lights wore by far most numerous. Now Ludlow produced some tapers, and began to light them, and distribute them to his party. These tapers were of wax, about eight or ten inches in length, and about as thick as the stem of a clay pipe or an ordinary slate pencil. But they were too high up to take part in the coming sport, and so they contented themselves, for the present, with watching. All the lower windows were wide open, and filled with ladies in festal attire. Each lady held a light. The street was as full as ever, and every one in the crowd held a burning taper; and all that crowd now began to rush swiftly to and fro, and up and down, i.^v -^ ;. ., :/ r. . j.. Suddenly a wild cry arose. " Senza moccolo ! Senza moccolo ! Senza rnoc- colo ! Senza moccolo-o-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o I Senza moc- colooo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o ! " Once more appeared the riot, the tumult, the confusion, the struggle, and the strife of the Car- nival. Confette had had its day ; now the struggle was with blazing tapers. Every man held a burn- ing taper in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. With this handkerchief each man tried to extinguish his neighbor's light, uttering, as he did 80, the cry, — " Senza moccolo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o ! " The chief amusement was on the sidewalks, SENZA MOCCOLO. 275 where the lower windows opened out, and where tlio lower balconies were within reacli. In these win- dows and balconies were ladies, iiolding lijj^lits and handkerchiefs. Passers by assailed them, trying to cast their handkerchiefs over the burning tapers, while the ladies tried to preserve their own lights, and extinguish those of their assailants. Loud was the laughter, incessan. the jests and outcries. Between the ladies at the windows and their as- sailants on the sidewalks there was an incessant flow of banter and witty repartee. ' None could remain long at one place, or make more than one throw of the handkerchief at the same taper. The crowd was constantly in motion. Out in the street it was the same, only more noisy, and the crowd moved more swiftly to and fro. Every man attacked his neighbor. Whilo one mau would extinguish his neighbor's light, his own would be quenched. Amid all these, were otiiers trying to kindle again their tapers from the flame of others, which they intended to extinguish the moment their own was lighted; but against .this every one guarded most vigilantly, so th^^t, whilo it was difficult to keep a taper lighted, it was far more difficult to kindle it again when once it had been put out. And above all this uproar rose the multitudinous cry, — " Senza moccolo ! Senza moccolo ! Senza mocco- lo 1 Senza moccolo ! Senza moccolo ! Senza moc- colo-o O-0-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O ! " 276 THE SEVEN HILLS. This scene the boys watched from the balcony of Ludlow for about a quarter of a minute. They then could remain inactive no longer. They ruslied down with their blazing tapers, and flung them- selves into the struggling, roaring, laughing, jesting crowd, above all whose struggles, and roars, and laughter, and jests arose the cry, — Senza moccolo ! Senza moccolo ! Senza moccolo J Senza moccolo ! Senza moccolo I Senza moccolo-o-o-o-oo-o-o-o-o-oo I But the endeavor to represent the prolonged into- nation which the crowd threw on that last syllable, would exhaust the largest stock of " O's " in the largest printing-office in tlio land. -': At length — a gun ! - . /-iia^ '^ ^' Then — fireworks. *^ w,,.i i.r/vv And 80 ended the last day of the Carnival at Rome. '" ;:; • ^•"^' ' '[' ■•^^'" ■■""■ ' '[ ■■'';■•; ■■^;_ 'i-.-,j i-, !;.;■. ,,.:,■-, Mi;:^ ,.:.ij;,;,i:'-:v;,vr!it -/ 'Vu ;-;i:i.^ /v'..-.y4i!jKJ ■ '■.-'- " ' " ■ . ■ .' -, , ■ i-- 1 ^ ■■.-■-_-...■■-■■.-, - ' . >■ . 'i ' ■ ' ' ■ ' T /- . , " '■, , . . , , ' , ^ ' ■ . ' ■ .' • • ^ , ■ -> 'V . "■- , _ •; la--' >■;;.■-;.' <»f »,"'..< ^i- T^r. '■;•.. ■.),»■;-> '^'v-'- -y '•;■<- '''i ;,-.W,s: jj ^V''■■•^,V:• --.-i-7-.r-^'^ '-^-,'-_--^ i -fr" OBJECT OP LUDOW'S VISIT. 277 CHAPTER XXII. The Wonders of the Vatican Palace. — The Galleries of Art. — The Apollo Belvedere. — The Laocoon. — The Lapida- rian Gallery. — The Immortal Paintings. — 'The Trans- figuration. — Bewildering Array of Works of Art, — In- terminable Galleries, '^^IJpEETING SO unexpectedly with Ludlow fwK. would have been, under any circum- ""^P^ stances, most delightful to the boys, with whom he and his wife also were immense favorites ; but his arrival brought to them certain advantages which, without him, they could never have enjoyed. Ludlow was an enthusiastic artist, and also knew Rome perfectly. He had brought his young wife here at this time to show her the great city at ita best; to show her all the treasures of art, of an- tiquity, and of religion, which had accumulated here during ages of zealous, fostering care. Of antiquities and of religious edifices the boys had already seen much, but as yet they had seen noth- ing of the wonders of art — the statues and paint- ings, the museums and galleries, in which Rome is so rich. And so, when Ludlow invited them to ac- 278 THE SEVEN HILLS. company him and bis wife tlicy accepted the invi- tation with the greatest delight. ''^ First of all they visited the far-fumed Palace of the Vatican. The size of this palace is immense, and, as it is composed of parts erected at dificrent intervals, it is very irregular in its shape. Within its Willis are treasured up the most noble paintings in the world, the most glorious sculptures, and tiio most precious collection of antiquities. For this cause the Palace of the Vatican is a place of pil- grimage for artists and scholars, and the very name is a household word in the educated world. The Museum first claimed their attention. The first division of the Museum is the Lapidarian Gal- lery. It is a hall a thousand feet in length, filled with inscriptions and sculptures, principally from ancient tombs. Here in this gallery one beholds a scene unequalled in all the world. On one side there is a long array of stone tablets — the slabs that once shut in the tombs of the Christians in the Cata- combs ; on the other is another long array of tab- lets taken from Pagan tombs. Each bear their own epitaphs, and the visitor is able, by looking to the right or the left, and reading the Pagan or the Christian epitaph, to contrast the two, and to meas- ure at that one glance the infinite difference. For in the one there is nothing but the language of de- spair, or the sad longing after the vanished pleas- ures of the world ; in the other there is the ex- pression of that faith that filled the soul of the GALLERIES OP SCULPTURE. 270 miirtyrs, and of that hope of tlieirs which was full of immortality. One '^xgau cpitapli says, — " /, Procopias, lift up my hands against the gods who snatched away me innoceniJ^ On the opposite side a Christian epitaph sayp, — " In Christ, peace. Easchia, a sweet soul, sleeps in 2^eace." And these two may be taken as specimens of tho whole. It was with feelings of the deepest interest that the boys looked upon these. Their own visit to the Catacombs had enabled them to appreciate the value of the Christian sentiment thus expressed, and to look p.pon these contrasted epitaphs with feelings of no common kind. Beyond this gallery is another of the same size, and filled with more tlian a thousand pieces of sculpture, all arranged in the best manner, and showing pieces of every degree of excellence. With this gallery others are connected, filled, like this, with sculpture. On one side is a room con- taining magnificent works of ancient art, while at its end is another, where, in the mid^it of many other works, is a mutilated statue of Hercules, of such wonderful excellence, that it is one of the chief studies of artists at the present day. Beyond this apartment there is an open court with a fountain, which is surrounded by a portico, containing four small rooms. In the open part of 280 THE SEVEN HILLS. the portico there are antique marble columns, baths cut in porphyry, and sculptures of various kinds ; while the four small rooms are devoted to the preservation of some of the most wonderful works of art that the world has ever seen. In the cabinet on the right are three famous statues of Canova, — the Perseus with the head of Medusa, and tlie two Boxers. In these last every muscle and sinew seems to be brought into play, while the expression of fierce resolution on their faces has never been surpassed. But the Perseus is the best of the three. This great work seems the- personification of manly beauty. When 'lie statues of Apollo and the Laoooon were taken away by Napoleon, this Perseus and the Boxers were put in their places, for which cause the former received the name of " Consolatrice " — the Consoler. After the restoration of the Apollo and the Laocoon, Canova wished to remove his own statues, thinking that they would sulfer from a comparison with the masterpieces of ancient art, but his request was refused ; and here they remain, worthy compan- ions to the others, and representatives of the best of modern sculptures. These are in the first of the four cabinets. In the second cabinet is the Antinous, one of the most admirable pieces of ancient art ; once admired and studied by the famous painter Doraenichino, who used to declare that he wa?i indebted to this statue for his knowledge of the beautiful. THE LAOCOON. 281 In the third cabinet is a greater work than these — one of those pieces of ancient sculpture which in modern times have been called miracles of art. It is the famous f^roup of the Laocoon, so familiar to all by descript jns and by pictures, as well as by plaster cas..s. This group was described by Pliny in a well-known passage. It was found in the Baths of Titus. The artist has sought to rep- resent Laocoon, the priest of Apollo, and his two sons, devoured by serpents sent by Minerva to destroy them. Byron has described this group in language which has never been equalled : — " Or, turning to the Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture, dignifying pain ; A fiitlier's love, and mortal's agony, Witli an immortal's patience blending. Vain The struggle ; vain against the coiling strain, And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's clasp, The old man's clinch : the long envenomed chain Rivets the living links ; the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp." In the fourth cabinet is a statue which is, perhaps, the greatest ever produced by the genius of man. It is the famous statue of the Apollo Belvedere, and represents that god as he is conceived to have appeared just after he had slain the Python. Its discovery at Rome took place about a hundred years ago, and excited the most boundless enthusi- asm. Like the Laocoon, it is familiar to all from pictures, plaster casts, and copies of every size 282 THE SEVEN HILLS. and sort. Like tliat other work also, it transcends all criticism. Byron's description of this unfolds the whole meaning and power of this marvellous work. '* Or, view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light. The sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow if o) All radiant from his triumph in the fight. _..j . it The sliaft liath just been shot; the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance. In his eye And nostril, beautiful disdain, and might, And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity." " And if ii. be Prometheus stole from heaven .^sui i-j .1. The fire which we endure, it was repaid By him to whom the energy was given Which this poetic marble hath arrayed With an eternal glory, — which, if made By human hands, is not of human thought; And Time himself hath hallowed it, nor laid One ringlet in tlie dust, nor hath it caught A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 'twas wrought." Leaving this, they next entered an apartment called the Hall of Animals, from the fact that it contains a collection of ancient sculptures of almost every kind of animal. It has been called a Menagerie of Art. On one side is another gallery filled with ancient statues, the most famous of which is " Ariadne Sleeping," while beyond it are the Halls of the Busts and of the Muses. Farther on fatill is a magnificent circular apartment, in the ETRUSCAN ANTIQUITrES. 283 centre of which is an enormous vase, hollowof! out of a single block of porphyry forty-two feet in circumference. Passing on from this^ they came to another room, in the form of a Greek cross, in which there were two immense sarcopliagi, or stone coffins, made of porphyry. One of these is said to have been the sarcophagus of the Empress Helena, the mother of the great Constantine ; the other, that of Constantia, his daughter. Then comes a flight of stairs, at the head of which is another apartment, called the Hall of the Car, from an ancient chariot and horses which it con- tains. Besides this there are numerous statues. Beyond this is the Gallery of the Candelabra, a thousand feet in length, containing a vast collec- tion of ancient candelabra, with sculptures and bronzes of many different kinds. Close by this is a group of apartments devoted to the exhibition of Etruscan antiquities. Here there are statue., bronzes, sculptures of every kind, vases, sepulchral urns, together with many miscellaneous articles, principally ornaments. One of the most iaiportant things here, and actually the most interesting to the boys, was an ancient chin-iot, not a sculptured one, but a real one. It was exhumed near Rome, and is the only one of the kiiid in existence. Near the entrance are also some little dark cells, made to imitate Etruscan sepulchres. The next group of apartments is devoted to 284 THE SEVEN H1LL3. the exhibition of Egyptian antiquities, where the rooms themselves are fashioned in the Egyptian style, and are in accordance with the things which they contain. Here there are glass cases filled with curiosities found in mummy cases, such aa seals, rings, pins, small idols, and ornaments of many kinds ; rooms filled with mummies and sarcophagi ; and other rooms filled with statues of Egyptian deities. Another place which was full of interest to them was the Vatican Library. Here there is the richest collection of ancient manuscripts in the world. The rooms are magnificent, adorned with frescoes, and on each side are presses filled with the books and manuscripts. At one end are closets containing articles found in the Catacombs, and some small pictures, the work of the early Roman Christians. In other closets are certain implements supposed to have been used for torture, which also were found in the Catacombs. Besides these there are also many smaller ancient carvings and other works of art. These, they saw, but none of the books or manuscripts were shown them., for those are guarded with the utmost care, and cannot be seen without specia^ permission from the highest authority. In anotlier part of the vast structure are the galleries which contain paintings in fresco and in oil. The entrance to them is through the " Loggia of Raphael." The Loggia is a long gallery, open GALLERIES OP PAfNTTNGS IN FRESCO. 285 on one aide like a balcony or veranda. It is now, however, all covered in. It owes its fame to an immense number of paintings on the ceiling, de- signed by Raphael, illustrative of scenes in Scrip- ture history, and fami4iar to every one by the pictures in illustrated Bibles. Beyond this are four apartments, called the Stanze di Raffaelle, or Chambers of Raphael, where that great painter has left immortal works of genius. The paintings here are all in fresco, — which means painting on the plaster wall, — and these are the finest in the world. The first room contains scenes in the life of the Emperor Constantino ; the second, scenes in the history of the church ; the third has pictures of an allegorical character, among which is the well- known " School of Athens ; " while the fourth con- tains pictures representing events in the mcdia3val history of Rome, such as the coronation of Char- lemagne, the defeat of the Saracens, &c. Near to these are other apartments containing a collection of oil paintings. These are not over fifty in number, and yet so great is their excellence that the collection is the best in existence, and the value is incalculable. Chief among these is the greatest work of Raphael — the Transfiguration. This picture was his last work, and was begun by him in order to redeem his reputation, which had suffered somewhat from his intrusting the execu- tion of many of his designs to his scholars. It proved to be his last work, and he had scarcely 286 THE SEVEN HILLS. finisliorl it when he died. His corpse lay in state for two or three days in one of the Roman clmrchos, and this painting was liung upon tho wall over it. *' When Raphael went To sleep beneath the venerable dome All Rome was there. But ere the march began VV^ho had not sought him ? And when all beheld Ilim, where he lay, how changed from yesterday ! Ilitn ill that hour cut off", and at his head His last great work; when, entering in, they looked Now on the dead, then on that masterpiece, Now on Ills face, lifeless and colorless, ,t-,y^ Then on those forms divine that lived and breathed. And would live on for ages — all were moved ; ' And sighs burst forth, and loudest lamentations." This great painting, like many others of the works of art in the Vatican, has been so often en- graved, and so widely circulated, that it is familiar to all. Most especially is the Head of Christ, as Raphael portrayed it, thus familiar, and few there are wlio have not been moved by that wonderful blending of holiness, majesty, and love. The day ended by a visit to the manufacture of mosaics, in a part of the Vatican which the boy^*, in spite of their fatigue, found very interesting. When they went there, the worl^en were busily engaged in making pictures, in m(^pc, of the Popes of Rome, for the Cathedral of St. Paul. The process of making a mosaic picture is excessively tedious. First; the stones must be made out of a MANUFACTURE OF MOSAICS. 287 species of composition, and colored to as many as lour hundred diirerent shades. Each stone is ahnost as thin as a needle. Then these stones are set in a bed, excavated from a slab, to the depth of an inch or so, in such a way as to copy a picture with perfect accuracy. The slab in which these colored stones are set is formed out of a composi- tion made of pulverized travertine. The workman has the picture before him, which he copies, and as he proceeds, he cuts out the composition, so as to riake a place for the insertion of the fine mosaic stones. The work is one which requires the utmost care and patience. The time occupied in copying some pictures has amounted to over twenty years ; but such time is not lost, for such a copy as this is virtually indestructible and imperishable. It stands, a perfect copy — not on crumbling plaster, or on frail canvas, but in stone — or more, in a composition which is a species of glass, and is beyond the reach of harm from any cause except fire. 288 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER XXIII. The Wonders of the Capitoline Hill. — The dying Gladiator. — The colossal Foot. — The Statue of Marcus A urelius. — The Palaces of Rome aud their Statues. — The Villas of Route and their Gardens. — Too much Splendor and Magnificence. 2(^>f^,IIE visit to the Vatican produced an im- fpression of 'bewilderment upon the minds of the boys. Such a vast collection of halls, galleries, quadrangles, and cabinets they had never met with before. Besides, the accumula- tion of things here was so prodigious that their minds failed to take in everything. Out of each department but a few remained prominent: among sculptures they remembered the Laocoon and the Apollo ; among paintings, the Transfiguration, while the inscriptions of the Lapidarian gallery and the Mosaic factory could not easily be forgot- ten. But other places invited attention also, and Ludlow offered to take them to all the chief places of interest first, after which they could select what they pleased for further visits. Rome is pre-eminently the city of churches. It is also the city of palaces. No less than eighty CAPITOLINE HILLS. 289 buildings exist here which arc called by this name. These buildings are of every grade, from the unapproachable glories of the Vatican, through every degree of splendor, down to plainness and even meanness. Next to the Vatican Palace, that of the Quirinal is most famous. Until recently it was one of the pope's residences, and had this character at the time of our boys' visits. Its spacious apartments, lordly halls, and magnificent galleries excited their utmost admiration. Among the pictures here, they were most struck by a Head of Christ, which was already familiar to them through en- gravings called " Ecce Homo." From the Quirinal Palace, Ludlow took them to the Museum of the Capitol, a place erected, ai^ the name implies, upon the top of the Capitoline Hill. The collection of sculpture here ranks next after that at the Vatican. In the court^yard below is an immense statue of Oceanus, and on ascending the stairs to the gal- leries of sculpture they saw ancient plans of Rome, which had been engraved in stone set ifi the wall. These were discovered three hundred years ago, and give an idea of the streets . of the ancient city. On reaching the Museum, they passed through gallery after gallery, enc tunter- ing at every step new forms of beauty or of power. The first apartment is ol great extent, and is called the Hall of the Vase, from a beautiful antique vase, which forms its principal ornament. 19 290 THE SEVEN HTLLS. Tho second is called the ITall of the EmperorS; from the fiict that it contains ancient busts of nearly all of those mighty rulers. Then comes the Ilall of the Philosophers, with busts of philoso- phers, as well as of poets and orators. Here is the godlike brow of Homer, the strangely ugly face of Socrates, the lofty forehead of Plato, and the intellectual head of Cicero. Then comes a large hall filled with statues, among which tho chief is a bronze one of Hercules. Another room full of statues adjoins this, and in a chaml)er load- ing from this is a piece of sculpture which gives glory to tho whole Museum of the Capitol, and • stands, in the estimation of the world, side by side with the Laocoon and the Apollo Belvedere, as one of those immortal works which have been called miracles of art. Every one is familiar with this statue from copies in stone or plaster, engrav- ings and photographs. For a long time after its first discovery, it was a matter of dispute whether it was a Gladiator or Herald ; but the question was at length decided in favor of the theory that it was designed to represent a wounded Gaul in the agonies of death. But still it is called the Dying Gladiator, and that name it will, no doubt, retain permanently. Besides the great and wonderful excellence of the statue'itself, it has been endowed with a new and more pathetic interest by the melancholy genius of Byron. THE PALACES OP ROME. 291 ** I 8Pe before mo the Rlarliator Ho ! IIu k'luis upon liii) hiirul ; his ninnly brow Cunacnts to death, but conquers agony, And h's drooped iiead sinks gradually low, And through Ids side the last drops, ebbing sIomt From the red g.ish, fall heavy, one by on Like the first of a thunder-shower. And nov The arena swims around him. He is gone I ^ Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. " lie heard it, but ho hooded not. His cyos Were with his heart; and that was far away. H'> recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay. There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Daeian mother — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Koman holiday. All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire, And unavenged? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire ! " Opposite the Museum of the Capitol is the Palace of the Conservatori. Here there is an admirable collection of paintings and ancient works of art, the most famous of which is a very ancient image of a wolf and two infants in bronze. It was intended, undoubtedly, to represent Romulus and Remus with the fabled wolf that nourislied them. It is supposed to be the identical bronze wolf mentioned by Cicero as having been struck by lightning when Ca3sar fell. On leaving this palace, they visited some pieces of sculpture in the court-yard, where they saw the 292 THE SEVEN HILLS. foot of a coloflsfil fltatiio, so largo that tlie groat too was more than twelve inches in thickness. Then passing out they camo to tho square of the Capitol. Here there is the finest bronze equestrian statue in existence. It is ancient, and represents tlio Emperor Marcus Aurelius. It was once gilded, but only a little now remains on tho horse's head. It is said that Michael Angelo admired this statue exceedingly, and was never tired of looking at it. Once, in a fit of enthusiasm, he shouted out to it, " Cammina I " — Get up. From this place they went the round of other palaces. Tiiey visited the Borgliese Palace, a great edifice, with the largest, though not the best collection of paintings, in Rome. Raphael, Domoni- chino, Titian, Guido, and most, if not all of the great masters, are represented here by some mag- nificent painting. The adornment of this palace is in keeping with its costly treasures of art ; marble floors, gilded ceilings, and rich tapestries appear on every side. More splendid still is the Colonna Palace, with its pavement of precious marbles of every color, polished like glass, its walls of verd-antique and polished porphyry, itb vast mirrors with paintings upon their surface, its lofty ceilings of fretted gold. The paintings here are numerous and ex- cellent, all being the works of great masters. One curiosity is shown here, in the shape of a cannon ball which fell into th"3 palace during a bombard- BEATRICE CENCI. 293 mont by tlio French, tit tho tinio of tlio sic^o in 1848. T'.io ball broko a pano of glass and Hliattcrod a marblo step, but did no further injury. It lies now in the place where it stopped. Anotlicr groat palace is tho Orsini, "which, like the one just mentioned, i.s adorned with the utniOHt magnificence, and contains many noble works of !.rt. The Barborini Pfdace is of great size and beauty, but has only a small collection of works of art. Among these, however, is one picture which is among those that are known and admired in all lands, which has been copied and recopied inim- nierable times, in every shape and way, — in oils, in engravings, in photographs, and in stereoscopic views. It is tho exquisite face of Beatrice Cenci, with its mournful eyes, golden hair, and tender, pathetic expression. Tho picture has a legend connected with it, which states that it was copied by the painter Guide, from his remembrance of he' '■'"t look as she ascended the scaffold, and prepare d to lay down her head upon the block. Wheth3r this legend be true or not, it will always be connected with the picture of Beatrice Cenci. At the Spada Palace they saw an ancient statue, upon which they looked with indescribable interest. It represents Pompey, and is supposed to be the very one at the base of which CtDsar fell when ho was struck down by the daggers of conspirators. This statue seemed familiar to them all, from the 294 THE SEVEN HILLS. well-known lines in that well-known speech of Marc Antony, at which all of them had done their part in declaiming. " Then burst his mighty heart ; And in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at tlie base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell ; Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, While bloody treason flourished over us." This statue has also been described by Byron in a well-known passage : — . ** And thou, dread statue, yet existent in . " . ^ - The austerest form of naked majesty, v ThoU; who beheldest 'mid the assassin's din, At thy bathed base the bloody Cajsar lie, ■ ' ' ' '^ Folding his robe in dying dignity, f . ;. 1^^ ■ An offering to thine altar from the queen Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die, And thou too perish, Poiupcy? Have ye been Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene?" Another palace, which excited some interest of a peculiar kind in the minds of the boys, was the Farnese Palace. Their interest arose from the fact that this palace was built of stones taken from the Coliseum. They recalled the appearance of that mighty ruin from which such an enormous quantity of stones had been taken, and in the size of the huge blocks of the Farnese Palace they recognized the old Roman handiwork. Other pl'm- der also appears in this place, chief among which ROMAN VILLAS. 295 is a beautiful sarcophagus in the court-yard, which was taken from the tomb of C;iecilia Metella. The palace happens to be one of those which is most distinguished for beauty of architecture, and justly so, since it was the work of Michael Angelo. But even the stately front designed by the greatest of architects, cannot make amends for the wrong and injury done to the mighty Coliseum ; and not one of the boys would have hesitated, if the choice had been in his power, to see the palace vanish like Aladdin's, if by so doing the stones could be deposited in their original resting-places. Besides the palaces of Rome, there are also other edifoes equally palatial, known as Villas. These are numerous and splendid. Chief among them is the Villa Borghese. Its grounds are of great extent, and are adorned with everything that art or luxury could suggest. There seems to have been an effort to reproduce the ornaments and the style of classical antiquity in the laying out of these grounds. On every side there are temples, groves, and vases, with statues of gods, fauns, nymphs, and satyrs. The Casino here is magnifi- cently adorned. The pavements are of polished marbles, the' walls and ceilings are adorned with paintings, while on every side the eye encounters marble statueso From the balcony here, there is a magnificent prospect. The grounds of the Villa Borghese are thrown open to the public with the greatest liberality, or were at this time, so that 296 THE SEVEN HILLS. they deserved to be considered as the Park of Rome. Another one of the principal houses of this class is the Villa Albano. The gardens around this are very extensive, and the approach to the house is most beautiful. The walks are all stiff and formal, in the style of the eighteenth century, while on every side there appear fantastic forms of vases and animals, into which the boxwood bushes are trimmed. The effect is somewhat quaint and curious. The house itself is adorned with the usual magnificence, showing on every side polished marbles and gilded walls, while its collection of paintings and sculptures is one of the best that exists in Rome. It was in the Villa Ludovici, however, that the boys took the deepest interest. The grounds here they found very extensive and varied ; on one side they saw a representation of the English style, and on the other the French. They found a collection of statuary here as elsewhere, which, though not so large as that of the Villa Borghese, was yet more select. The last of the villas which they visited was one which showed a greater amount of dazzling and ostentatious luxury than any of the rest. It belonged to a wealthy family named Torlonia. The head of this family sprang from very low origin, and made his money by banking. He finally ' ecame created prince, and raised this TOO MUCH SPLENDOR. 297 edifice in order to assert his princely dignity, and liide his humble origin . by the utmost magnificence. But in this ancient city, it is as hard now as it was in the days of Cicero for a novus homo to make his way among the old families, and the sneers with which such a man was kept back by the ancient patricians, still mark the contempt felt for all outside their own circle by the haughty families of the modern city. Many of these pretend to trace their do- scent from the old Roman families ; and though such a claim ,canno*^ be successfully maintained, it nevertheless shows the feelings with which they regard a new man, like Torlonia. The Villa Torlonia is surrounded by extensive grounds, w^hich are adorned by lakes, fountains, gardens, grottos, temples, pavilions, and statues of many kinds, while in the mivlst of all is a circus. In the villa there are three buildings, one of which contains a theatre, formed after the ancient model. If the effect of their visit to the Vatican had been bewildering to the boys, th^ir tour among the palaces and villas of Rome was no less so. The succession of splendid interiors, with marble pavements and gilded roofs, the vast number of statues and pictures which met their eyes wherever they went, the constant succession also of beautiful gardens, filled with everything that could dehght the taste or elicit admiration, — ali 298 THE SEVEN HILLS. these became mingled together in their memories, and out of so great a mul ude of attractive objects but a few would be recalled afterwards. Among those which they most admired and re- membered best, were the statues of Pompey and the Dying Gladiator, and the picture of Beatrice Cenci. ■■» ',: VISITS TO THE MUSEUMS AND VILLAS. 299 CHAPTER XXIV. The Lenten Season. — The manifold Throtig of Visitors and Pilgrims. — The threefold Charm of Rotnc. — The End of Lent. — Holy Week. — A vast Crowd. — The Pope's Blessing. — The Illtimination of St. Peter's. — Innumera- ble Lights. jHE visits which the boys had made under the guidance of Ludlow to the palaces, the museums, and the villas of Rome, occu- pied many days. They were made in a desultory sort of a way, at different times, so as to suit Ludlow's convenience ; and also in such a manner that the boys themselves might not be too much bored. Yet even then, when they had a judicious and sympathetic. guide, so vast was the number of objects to be seen, so varied their character, so high their respective claims upon their attention, that, as we have seen, the larger number remained hopelessly confused in their memories, and out of this tangled mass there remained but a few which they could recall with any degree of exactness ; ar.i 80 it must ever be with the casual visitor to Rome. It is only the student, only the one who devotes much time and attention, who can gain real 300 . THE SEVEN HILLS. benefit from the vast and varied resources of this wonderful city. Lent had now arrived, and through this season they went from time to time with Ludlow and his amiable wife to visit the places which have been briefly alluded to in the preceding chapters. This, as Ludlow had already informed them, is the greatest season of Rome. Strangers come hero from all parts of the world, and the majority of them reach here at the Carnival time, and remain till the close of Holy Week. In this way they contrive to be present at two grand spectacles, the one at the beginning, the other at the end of their visit. Moreover, this is the time when Rome expects strangers, and puts on her brightest attire to do tl^em honor. There is a threefold power in Rome which draws three different classes here, in addition to that great crowd of idle tourists who come only to stare. The one is the charm of the ancient ruins, where the Past sits enthroned amid those vast monuments which lie along the seven hills around the circuit of the walls, and throughout the waste Campagna. Another is the charm of art, which lives, and moves, and has its being in the galleries of painting and of sculpture, or in the forms of vast cathedrals and noble palaces. The third is the charm of religion, which finds a dwelling-place in the three hundred churches of Rome, and reaches its highest glory during the solemn ceremonies of the Lmten sea- son, or the celebrations of Holy Week. STRANGERS AND VISITORS. 301 And 80 there flock here those who are drawn by one or tlie other of these three resistless charms — the scholar, or archreologist, who comes here to study the past, and to wander among the ruins of Rome, to visit all the ancient landmarks, and to read tlie works of her mighty authors amid the scenes tliat once surrounded them, — the artist, who comes to gaze upon the immortal works of the fathers of modern art; to viow the creations of tlie sublime soul of Michael Angelo, or the pt 'feet beauty that was bodied forth from the genius of Raffaelle ; and, finally, the devout soul who comes to kindle anew the flame of religious devotion, to visit the places made sacred by the memories of the martyrs, to witness the solemn services of sub- lime cathedrals, and perhaps to strengthen his own faith by .a visit to that arena where so many martyrs died, or those Catacombs where so many martyrs are buried. All these the boys met with as they visited place after place ; as they traversed the seven hills of Rome ; as they wandered after Ludlow through its palaces ; or as they visited anew the churches and cathedrals. When they had first arrived they noticed many who seemed, like themselves, stran- gers and visitors ; but every week that they staid seemed to bring a fresh number, and the crowd of those who strolled through the ancient forum, or filled the galleries, or stared at the churches, seemed to increase with every succeeding day. 302 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Rome appears busy enongli now," said Ludlow to them, " but after IToly Week it is all changed. All these visitors take to flight. After Holy Week no one comes. This isn't on account of Holy Week in particular, but because the weather generally grows hot after Easter ; and with the hot weatlier the dreaded malaria makes its appearance. This malaria is hard enough on the Romans ; but for foreigners, or even for Italians from other parts, it's almost the same as death. During all the sum- mer months Rome looks almost as dead as Pompeii. I've put a summer through her, — and, for that matter, most of the foreign artists do, — and I managed, by means of great care, to fight off the malaria ; but I shouldn't particularly care to pass another summer. It don't pay in the long run, and is apt to undermine a fellow's constitution. My idea of life would be to winter in Rome, and clear out in the summer to Norway." " What, and wouldn't you ever go to America?" asked Clive. " 0, of course," said Ludlow ; " I was merely speaking as an artist, not as a man. I merely spoke from a professional point of view. If I were independent, and all that, or if I were a merchant, or a lawyer, or a doctor, or a minister, or anything else than what I am, I should live in America; but being an artist, I have to live in Italy, — at least just now, — where there is so much for me to study." HOLT WEEK. 303 "Well, then," said Clive, "I rather think an artist's I'fe would never suit me." " 0, no, I dare say not," said Ludlow j " it don't suit the generality of people." The Lenten season pasf^ed amid occupations like these, and th'f boys formed a much closer acquaint- ance with Rome than usually falls to the lot of visitors, whether boys or men. At length Holy Week came. This is the end of Lent, and all the solemn ser- vices which have marked that sacred season are intensified, and gathered up in a few days. All this goes on increasing until the end. At length the last day came. They were with Ludlow on that day. He and his wife were going to see the grand concluding ceremonies, and, as usual, invited the boys. Uncle Moses had generally remained at home when the boys went with Ludlow, transferring to him the re- sponsibility of watching ov^r them ; but on this occasion he summoned up all his curiosity and all his energies, and went forth with them. In the piazza of St. Peter's, the great place in front of the mighty cathedral, enclosed by the sweep of its colonnades, it seemed as though all Rome and all the concourse of visitors had as- sembled. Far on high, from the centre of the place, arose the Egyptian obelisk, — an uiibroken shaft of red granite, — which for eighteen centuries had watched the changing fortunes of Rome. On 301 THE SEVEN HILLS. either side of tho obelisk mighty fountains throw into the air jets of water a hundred feet high. Before them arose the face of the cathedral, and beyond this the matchless dome towered aloft into the skies. There was a roar of a great acclamation, followed by instantaneous silence. A party suddenly ap- peared at a balcony, in tho front of the cathedral, immediately over the central door. *• It's the pope and his council," said Ludlow. They were too far away to see the faces ; hut they saw one figure stand forward, and stretch out his hand as if to bless. Immediately the immense crowd fell on their knees, with the exception of those who seemed like strangers. These, either through ignorance, or, as was more probable, through scruples of conscience, refused to bow the knee ; and with these Ludlow, and the boys, and Uncle Moses remained standing. But those who knelt made no objections to others standing, nor did they even appear to notice it. Once it was not so ; but the world has. become tolerant, and Rome has followed the example of the world. Evening came on swii'tly, the short evening of tho south, where there is scarcely any twilight, but where light is transformed, with startling rapid- ity, into darkness. The slow change of northern climes ; the prolongation of light, which seems loath to leave ; the gradual advance of darkness, which seems to be resisted and driven back by many ILLUMINATION OP ST. PETER'S. 305 obstacles ; the mellow lessening day ; tlio sweet gloaming, — these had no place here; but with startling abruptness the mighty mass of St. Peter'a retreated into darkness, until at last its outline was but dimly and obscurely visible. But the crowd had long before risen from their knees, and now stood watching. Suddenly a change came. It was along the noble colonnades that encircle the piazza of St. Peter's. Here lights began to flash forth. One after the other they burst into view ; one after the other, row upon row, rank be- hind rank, until the flames ran on up to the very cathedral itself. Now the cathedral itself caught the glow of this illumination. Along the front the lights passed rapidly, flashing on in line after lino, from point to point, from pinnacle to pinnacle. Then the lofty columns stood marked in living light, and the por- tals below, and the apostolic statues above. The lights passed on. They swept over all the front : they strove to rise higher. Now the roof tJirew forth a glare, and around the base of the central dome and the side domes they began to make their appearance. Soon the smaller domes were all aglow, and around the mighty central dome — the dome of Michael Angelo — their last progress was watched. Here they flashed along in line upon line, in row after row, encircling the vast structure, rising higher and higher every mo- 20 30G THE SEVEN HILLS. mont. Up tlio domo tlioro ran myriads of sparks ; for from below each lijjfht seemed like a spark ap- proacliiug nearer and nearer to its sunnnit. Tlioy flashed on. They reached tlio sunnnit. They climbed np tlio lantern. They sparkled on tho ball. Higher yet they flamo forth from the very uppermost point, and make the very cross itself a sign of glory. And so at last tho groat illumination is complete ; and St. Peter's, with all its colonnades, and all its mighty front, and all the colossal statues that keep vigil on its roof, with all its lesser domes ; and high over all, tho towering majesty of the great dome itself, up to its highest point, stood revealed, with every outline marked by a line of light, and every curve and every eminence indicated by a track of flame. There were wonder and hush among the crowd of spectators. They looked on in silent admira- tion. The matchless spectacle blazed before them, and sight was so occupied that there was no room for voice. At lengtli tho lights began to expire. First, the colonnades faded out of sight; then the front of the cathedral ; then the lines of the roof; then the lower cupolas ; then the great dome. Last of all, the lights flickered about the cross ; but at lengtli even those flickered away, and over all the scene darkness once more resumed its sway. The crowd still waited. FIBEWORKS. 807 Suddenly rockets flashed into the air, Bucceeded by a great display of fireworks. These all came from the Castle of St. Angelo. Finally, from the same castle came the report of a gun. At this the crowd began to disperse, and with the crowd Ludlow, and the boys, and Uncle Moses returned to their lodgings. All was over. 308 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER XXV. A Discussion. — Holy Week versus the Glorious Fourth.— St. Peter's and Boston State House. — Patriotism.— Sudden Interruption. — Painful Discovery. — Most embar- rassing Situation.- Perplexity of the .Boys. ^ Despair of Uncle Moses. NCE more in their lodgings, the boys all began to discuss the great illumination, and to compare it with all the other things of the same class which they had ever seen. In the course of their experience they had witnessed fireworks of a very excensive character, and the patriotism of Bob was too sturdy to yield a point without a struggle, for he rather sought to main- tain that som3 of the Fourth of July fireworks which he had seen at home were equal to this. " Pooh ! " said David, " that is all fudge. Leaving aside the fireworks, where can you find such an- otlier building as St. Peter's? " " But it isn't St. Peter's," said Bob, " it's the illumination that I speak of. i won't leave aside fireworks, for that's the whole point." " Where did you ever before see a million lamps hung out at once ? " said Clive. A DISCUSSION. 309 "Lamps ! " said Bob; " what are lamps ? They're not equal, after all, to good old-foshioned rockets." " They had rockets at St. Peter's." " Yes, a few.' But do you mean to say that you liked them as much as one of our first-class fire- works, where they have rockets, and Koman can- dles, and serpents, and roses, and all that sort of thing? The fact is, this illumination was done with lamps. Now, I prefer them done with powder." " If I had such taste, I should be ashamed to confess it," said Clive, somewhat contemptuously. "There's nothing in all the world equal to the illumination of St. Peter's." " But that's the very point that we were ar- guing," said Bob. " You're begging the whole question." " These Fourth of July fireworks are so terribly vulgar," said David. "I deny it," said Bob. "They're not vulgar. They're tip-top. Now, ain't they, Frank ? " Upon this appeal, Frank at once sided with Bob, not because he actually thought as he did, but on the principle of siding with the weaker party. " Of course they are," said he, " first rate. It's all very well for them to sneer, bat I've seen the time when they've been ready to jump out of their skins with excitement over those very fireworks that they now call vulgar. Now, for my part, I don't feel at all inclined to sneer at the iilumina^ 310 THE SEVEN HILLS. tion of St. Peter's. I think jt was all very well of its kind ; but to compare it with one of our first- class Fourtli of July affairs, is quite out of the question, quite." " I should think it was/' cried David, indig- nantly. " Of course it is," said Frank. '' You might as well compare an oil lamp with a sky-rocket." "Why, what's the use of talking?" said Clive, ' impatiently. " You might as well compare St. Pe- ter's with the Boston State House. Yes, I dare say Bob and Frank would each stick up for Boston." " Well," said Bob, " even the lamps were not much. Why didn't they use gas, or even parafine ? They're a slow set here ; they can't think of any- thing better than oil." " And then," said Frank, " to think of comparing it with powder I " " Why, it's absurd," continued Bob ; " you might as well compare cold tea with soda water." " Yes, or hard cider with champagne." " D, go on, go on," said David. " Keep it up. For my part, I think it's the worst sort of cockneyism for a fellow never to admire anything that he sees in other countries, and to think that his own home surpasses the rest of the world in everything." " There are some things, Dave," said Frank, " in which Italy certainly surpasses the United States. One of them is old ruins ; another is churches HOLY WEEK AND FOURTH OF JULY. 311 and cathedrals ; but "v^liy any one should try to make out tliat Italy surpasses us in everything 7S more than I can understand. For my part, I main- tain that we beat Italy in several particulars, and among them are sewing-machines, mowing-ma- chines, and fireworks." " Yes, boys," said Uncle Moses, in an amiable voice, taking part now in this discussion for the sake of officiating as peacemaker. " That's it ; each country has its own specialty. Italy has its old bones and old stones ; America has its machines and inventions ; and so, boys," he continued, ris- ing from his chair, " perhaps we'd better let this discussion die out here, more especially as I'm beginning to feel kin o' worried about a matter that's been on my mind ever since we got home." As he said this, he looked scrutinizingly all about the room, and felt all his pockets. " That's jest what I ben a doin ever since I left St. Peter's," said he, still feeling his pockets. "I've gone through them all, an I can't find nary sign of it." " Find what?'^ asked Bob. "What have you lost, Uncle Moses? Your handkerchief?" " Handkerchief! " exclaimed Uncle Moses ; " no, sir. I only wish it was. It's my purse." " Your purse ! " " Yes, my purse ; it's a wallet of brown leather — I s'pose none of youns have seen it lyin around in some odd corner." 312 THE SEVEN HILLS. " Your purse ! " exclaimed Frank. " Why, no. Do you really mean that you've lost it? Did it have much inside of it ? " " Much inside of it 1 " cried Uncle Moses, mourn- fully. '* Why, it hed every cent of money that we've got to travel on." " And do you mean to say that you really lost it?" said David. " Wal, railly," said Uncle Moses, timidly, " that's the very thing that I'm afeard on just now." At this alarming intelligence the boys forgot everything else, and stared at one another with faces full of grave concern. " When did you first miss it ? " asked Frank, at length. " Wal, I missed it from my pocket fust up in the crowd at St. Peter's." " In the crowd at St. Peter's I " repeated Frank. " Why didn't you say something about it? " " Wal, you see, 1 kin o' thought that I might have left it home here on the table." " Where did you have it last in your hands?" " In this here room. I had it in my pocket, an then I had it on the table to look at the papers, an after that I don't mind exactly whether I put it back again in my pocket or not." " Well, if you put it back in your pocket, and then went up into the midst of that crowd, your pocket was probably picked." ''That thar's just about what I'm afeard on," said PAINFUL DISCOVERY. 313 Uncle Moses, with a sickly smile. " It was a pooty thick crowd, an I dar say thar were lots of pick- pockets thar. That's the very fust thing I thoiiglit on. Ye see, as soon as I felt myself inside that thar crowd I recollected my purse, and felt anxious for fear I'd lose it. So I clapped my hands over my pocket so as to guard my pocket-book, an suddenly found it was gone. It wan't thar. I declar, I never felt so cut up an taken aback in all my born days. I couldn't bar to thhik of it. I didn't dar to speak of it. I don't remember seein a thing of all that happened after I found the purse was gone. The wust of it was, my handkerchief was left." " Your handkerchief! " exclaim.ed Frank. " Why, Uncle Moses, do you mean to say that you carried your purse and your handkerchief in the same pocket ? " " Yes," said Uncle Moses ; " in my coat-tail pocket." " Your coat tail 1 " cried Frank. " Why, it's tempt- ing Providence. It's throwing your money away." " Wal, I've alius done it all my life," said Uncle Moses, " an it comes kin o' natral to keep my wal- let thar. Tain't easy to change a habit when you get as old as I be." "Well, it's gone, any way," said Frank. "There's no doubt of it. Your pocket was picked by some one in the crowd." " That's what I'm afeard of," said Uncle Moses, mournfully. "I did hope for a time that I might 314 THE SEVEN HILLS. find it lyin on the table here when I got home, but it ain't here, an I don't seem to see it any. whars around." " 0, it's gone, it's lost I " said Frank ; " and now what are we to do ? " " I rather think," said David, " that this will make some diflference in our plans." " We certainly won't be able to leave Rome to- morrow," said Clive. " My idea," said Bob, " is to go to the police at once and see if they can't put us on the track of the thief." " 0, that won't be any use," said Frank. " The police can't do anything." " Don't you believe the half of that," said Bob. " The police have their spies everywhere, and know everything that's going on." "We've got to do something," said Uncle Moses, " and pooty soon too ; for the landlord'll be bringin in his bill, an I hain't the smallest idea how I'm goin to pay it." " How was the money ? " asked Frank. " It couldn't all have been coin. Some of it was in drafts, of course." "O, yes." " Well, can't payment be stopped on the drafts?" " I don't know. I dar say it might if I only knowed how to go about it, an if I only had money to go about on." PERPLEXITY OF THE BOYS. 315 " It seems to me that the fust thing for ns to do is to have the payment of the drafts stopped." " The fust thing that I want to do," said Uncle Moses, in a dismal voice, *'is to pay this here hotel hill that's impendin over us. That's the fust thing; and the next thing is to pay our fare to Florence. I don't see but what we'll have to wait somewhars for money. I'll write home at once for more, but I can't wait here in Rome. I'm sick of the place. We must go on as we decided, an I s'pose Florence's the handiest place for our pur- poses." " Well, but that's the very thing that we can't do," said Frank. " If we've lost our money, how can we leave Rome and reach Florence. No, we'll have to wait here, and in the hot weather too : that'll be rather hard. For it's going to be hot after this, and everybody's leaving." " How long'll it take to write home and get an answer?" asked Bob. " 0, about eight weeks," said Frank. "And do you mean to sny that we'll have to stop here all that time, — eight weeks, — eight weeks here, in Rome ? " Bob's voice v/as full of horror, as if the idea was too much for him. "I don't see how we can help it." said Frank. " I don't suppose that we can get any money ad- vanced by any one. This difficulty is one in which even the almighty American minister can't be expected to help us." 316 THE SEVEN UILLS. '' I should think ho might/' said Bob. "How?" " 0, wo can tell him who we aro, and all that, and perhaps he'll lend us tho money." " Pooh I " said Frank. " Well, for my part," said David, " I can't say I object to the idea of staying longer in Rome. I should like to spend a year here if I could, and I feel disappointed at the idea of leaving so soon. Of course I'm sorry about the money, and the trouble that you all are in ; but as to staying longer in Rome, I should like it above all things." " So should I ! " exclaimed Clive. At this Bob shrugged his shoulders, and made a grimace in the Neapolitan fashion. " Well," said Frank, " there's every probabihty that you'll be gratified, For my part, I've had enough of it, and should prefer to get on to Flor- ence and Venice ; but if I have to stay here, why, all I can say is, that I'll try to put up with my hard lot. Only, I must say, I wish that it was a little earlier in the season than it is." " Well, boys," said Uncle Moses, "I'm dreadful sorry for this unfortunit casoolty. Seems to me it's the wust that's happened to us yet among all our troubles hitherto, for money's the sinoos of war, an the one thing needful in travel. Without money we are stopped short, an come to a dead stand. I think, too, that I quite agree with Bob, an don't feel overly fond of Rome. Tain't my DESPAIR OF UNCLE MOSES. 317 style. I ain't felt altogether to liomo here, an don't feel to set much store by it. In fact, I want to clear out for g ^d, never to see it again, an the sooner the better. I can't bar the idee of havin to v/ait. I feel as though I should die. I hope yet to hit upon some way of gettin money enough to go to Florence, even if I can't find my purse. 1 don't mind waitin ^h a new place for remittances." " Perhaps your bankers might let you have some money," said Frank." Uncle Moses shook his head. " 'Taiu't likely," said he. " People ain't so very apt to accommodate strangers, and of all men the least accommodative air bankers — that's so." " 0, 1 don't know about that," said Frank. " Your bankers have had advices, of course, that a draft is coming to them in your name, and they will, no doubt, be inclined to believe your story, and accommodate you." " Don't believe it," said Uncle Moses, in a posi- tive tone, shaking his head decidedly ; " don't be- lieve a word of it ; never heard anything like it." " And so we can't tell what we're going to do," said Bob. Uncle Moses shook his head. " At any rate, we can't go to Florence to- morrow." Bob gave a groan. " Another day in Rome," said he ; " what will be- come of us ? Can't wo raise money enough to get 318 THE SEVEN HILLS. out of this? I'll sell all I have — my watch, my breastpin, yes, the very clothes off my back." " Come, Bob," said Uncle Moses, " don't fret. Cheer up. I tliink we'd best all get off to bed. It's dreadful late. P'aps somethin'll turn up in the night. P'aps we'll dream of somethin, or tiiink of some way of gettin along At any rate, there ain't much use a frettin our lives out at this late hour of the night." With these words Uncle Moses took a light, and throwing a last parting glance around, he heaved a melancholy sigh, and departed to his virtuous couch. Frank and Bob followed soon after. Da- vid and Clive still lingered. " Queer, too — isn't it ? " said David. " What is ? " " Why, this loss of the wallet." • "Yes." .'' Well, I don't regret it." " No, nor I." ^' We'll have some time longer, and there are a dozen places that I want to see." " So do I." " Have you any choice ? " "Well, no, not in particular. The fact is, I want to see them all equally. Perhaps the old barracks of the Praetorian Guards would be about the most to my taste." " The very place. We'll go there. Let^s set out early." FURTHER VISITS. 319 " Well." " Why, I wouldn't miss visiting that placo for anything. The walls there are said to bo most interesting." " Yes, the most ancient too, and best pro- served." " I suppose we'll have plenty of time." " 0, yes. W e may really have to wait hero eight weeks yet, you know ; and oven at the very shortest Uncle Moses will have to spend two or throe days more." " Well, I don't caro : the more the better, say I." " And I too." " Well, come. Let's be off to bed, for wo ought to be up early to-morrow, and do our walking in the cool of the day." With these words these two retired, and fol- lowed their friends to bed. 320 THE SEVEN HILLS. CHAPTER XXVI. An early Wakentnf^. — The Pra;torian Barracks. — The friendly Cicerone. — The Chamber full of Kclics. — Won- derful Souvenirs of the Past. — An extensible Purchase. — A Discovery. — Grand Explanation. — Farewell to the Seven Hills. AVID and Clive awaked early on the follow- ing morning, and their first thoughts turned to the events of the evening before. Tliey found that Uncle Moses had passed a sleepless night, in which the time had been passed between fruitless efforts to conjecture what had become of the money, and speculations as to the best way of grappling with the present difficulty. All these, however, were fruitless, and the dawn of another day found the unfortunate man exhausted by his night's vigil, and quite at a loss as to his future proceedings. Pie was already dressed and shaved when David and Clive made their appearance. " Where are you going to, uncle? " they asked. Uncle Moses looked sad. " Well," said he, " I don't know as I can say that I'm goin any whar in partiklar. I ben tryin to think whar I could have lost the wallet, an I THE PRAETORIAN BARRACKS. 321 thought I'd kin o' meander round, and p*ap8 I'd turn it up somewliar. Ef I ain^t back in time for break- fast you boys needn't wait for me." " Have you any idea yet about it? " asked Clive. " Wal — not to say an idee," replied ITncle Moses, "but I've got p hope that somethin may turn up if 1 keep muvin about." This was certainly a very frail ground for re- liance in such a difliculty as their present one, but there was nothing else, and so Uncle Moses turned away in melancholy silence. David and Clive remained in the house a little longer. Uncle Moses went off on his hopeless errand. Frank and Bob were still sound asleep. " Well," said Clive, " we are up in good time, and if you still feel inclined .for the Prtetorian Barracks, we may as well start." " 0, I feel as eager to go as ever." " So do I ; but don't you think we're a little too early?" " 0, no, I guess not ; I dare say we'll find the place open, and we'll only have to look around by ourselves. It isn't as though it was some church or museum." , " Shall we get something to eat now, or wait till we get back ? " " 0, we'll wait ; we'll enjoy it better. It's too early yet by far." "Very well ; let's be off, then." With these words the two set forth for the 322 THE SEVEN HILLS. Praetorian Barracks, and after about an hour's walk found themselves at their destination. The Praetorian Barracks are in the line of the wall of the city which was made to enclose tjiem. All that remains of them at this day is this en- closing portion of the city wall. This wall is undoubtedly as old as the time of the Emperor Severus, and perhaps may reach back to that of the twelve Ctesars. Other portions of the city wall have been demolished at different times, and rebuilt during different ages, but the fame of this enclosure is so peculiar that it is beyond a doubt the same wall unchanged that was first erected here under the emperors. The wall is built of those small biicks peculiar to many ancient edifices in Rome. It is between thirty and forty feet high, and in it there are arched chambers resembling the bomb-proof casemates of modern fortifications. These chambers once formed the barracks of the Praetorian Guards, and there were, undoubtedly, other edifices in the neighborhood giving larger accommodation. This was the place which David and Clive had wished to visit and inspect. The sight of it in part disappointed them, while it in part gratified them. They were disappointed at finding no ves- tiges of barracks, except such chambers as had been built in the city wall itself, while they were gratified at finding so many of these chambers in that enclosure. THE FRIENDLY CICERONE. 323 It was early morning on their arrival here, and consequently no visitors were there besides them- selves. It was not, however, too early for those people who gain a living by acting as guides to places of interest, or exhibiters of buildings and monuments. On account of their voljubility and eloquence they are called by the name of tht greatest of Roman orators, and the Italian Cicerone is one of the most familiar of Italian institutions. One of these was already in the place as Clive and David reached it, and after a few approaches he accosted them. It was not their practice to avail themselves of the services of guides except on special occasions, but the present instance seemed to justify them in engaging the Cicerone before them. He spoke English very well, and poured forth his information with all the volubility and fulness which distinguishes his tribe. He led them all about the place. He gave them the fullest possible information as to the exvent of the wail, the number of chambers, and the size of each. He gave a brief outlliio of the history of the Prcetorian Guards, and their connection with the rise and fall of several emperors, and men- tioned many interesting relics which had been ex- humed in this spot and transferred to the chiof museums of Rome. Finally he informed them that he himself, in the course of a lifetime spent among these ruins, had found a large number of most in- teresting relics of the past, which he was willing to dispose of on the most reasonable terms. 324 THE SEVEN HILLS. This intelligence gave the highest satisfaction to the two boys, who, as has been seen, were always very eager to procure relics of all kinds, from all directions, ana had more than once run some consid- erable risks in the endeavor to gratify their taste. The appearance of a man like this, who had him- self exhumed treasures of the past from the dust of Rome, seemed to each of them to be a most fortunate thing, and they at once expressed the utmost eagerness to see what he had. Upon this the Cicerone took them to a cell in the line of chambers, the front of which was rudely boarded up. Here there was a door, which he .proceeded to unlock. Then entering, he motioned to the boys to follow. On doing so they found themselves inside of a chamber, which was pre- cisely like all the others in this place, except that its front was boarded up. Around the walls were some rude shelves, upon which stood vases and busts, some of bronze, and some of discolored mar- ble< There were also boxes and barrels about the chamber, all of which seemed to be well filled. About all these objects there seemed to Clive and David to be the unmistakable air of antiquity — the bronzes were all discolored, the marbles were of a dingy brown, the earthen vases were covered with mould, and they thought that they could per- ceive on every object the stamp of twenty cen- turies. The Cicerone now proceeded to display hia stores. SOUVENIRS OF THE PAST. 325 " Dis," said he, pointing to a bust of discolored marble, " is de head of Constantine ; and dis is Cicero, and dis is Virgil, and dis is Nero. Here," he continued, lifting up a vase of terra cotta with antique drawings upon it, " is an Etruscan vase, an dey all found in dis place. Dis," he continued, pointing to a bronze tripod, " is from de Temple of Jupiter Stator ; and dis is said to be a censer, an was found near de Temple of Vesta. All dese are autentic. You see dat basso relievo ; dat was took from de foot of de Column of Phocas in de Roman Forum, an dat little lump of marble dere is from de Arch of Titus. Here is an urn from de Mausoleum of Augustus, an may have had de dust of some near relative of de emperor. Dese in dis drawer are coins, mostly copper, of all de ages of Rome ; and here in dis oder drawer are ornaments of all kinds, some for children, some for ladies, all found by myself and picked up out of de ground. An dere never was in all dis world such a beauful and sheep collezione of souvenirs as I haf to show you here, all pick up by my own hand out of de ground — busts, vases, coins, in- taglios, basso relievos, censers, tripods, and every- ting else dat you wmt for souvenirs." The Cicerone grew more and more animated and eloquent as he went on, and this eloquence, accompanied as it was by the impressive sight of the relics around them, produced the strongest possible effect upon the boys. They only regretted 326 THE SEVEN HILLS. that it was not in their power to buy up the whole collection on the spot, a thing which they would most gladly have done if they only hcd been able. "What is this?" asked David, lifting up a pe- culiar coin out of a drawer which the Cicerone had thrown open. "Dat?" said the Cicerone; " dat is a coin of great rarity; only two or three more in de world like it ; it is of de time of Marcus Aurelius Anto- ninus. I pick him up myself in dis place in de ground near dis chamber." David looked at the coin more closely, and was ablo to see the name of the emperor mentioned by the Cicerone, and his head, which was very plainly visible. The coin itself was of copper, and was green in color from the action of mould and rust. " Here is another coin," said Clive. " I can't make out the name." *' Dat," said the Cicerone, taking the coin from Clive and looking at it, " dat is a coin of the Em- peror Trajan ; you can read his name quitb plain." '' Trajan ! " exclaimed Clive, in deep emotion. " Is it possible ! " " 0, I do assure you," said the Cicerone, " dere is many more relics more wonderful as coins ; now here, you see dis," and he picked up a fragment of something carefully wrapped in paper, ♦* here is one of de greatest curiosities. Look. You see. Ha ? " AN EXTENSIVE PURCHASE. 327 He unrolled the paper as he spoke, very care- fully, displaying its contents to the boys. Nothing appeared but a fragment of pottery, on which was the drawing of a head. " Do you make dat out? " asked the Cicerone. The boys looked carefully at it, and* shook their heads. The Cicerone drew a long breath. "Not make him out? Ha? No. I s'pose not. Well, I tell you. Dis is a fragment from a vase found out on de site of de Sabine Farm of de poet Horace." " Horace ! what, the Sabine Farm 1 " cried David in a transport. " Do they know where it was sit- uated ? " " " All about it," said the Cicerone, with a grand air; "an dis was one of his wine vases." " His wine jar 1 " cried Clive ; " the four year old wine, the Falernian. Hurrah! Why, Dave, this is the greatest thing we've seen yet: we must have it. What is the price ? " The Cicerone informed them that he would let them have it at the low price of two piastres, which the boys at once gladly paid. Although the loss of the wallet by Uncle Moses should have made them a little more careful about the remaining funds of the party, yet in this case neither David nor Clive exercised any economy whatever, but fre jiy spent all the money in their purses on the attractive objects around them. 328 THE SEVEN HILLS. The Cicerone learned very quickly in what direc- tion their tastes lay chiefly, and what things were most attractive to them, and sought to produce such things, itis efforts were successful, and when at length the boys took their departure, they carried with them the following treasures : — 1 Fragment of Wine Jar from the Sabine Farm of Horace, about , . . . $2.00 1 Coin of Antoninus, 50 1 Small Vase, supposed to have belonged to Cicero, 2.00 1 Handle of Dagger, supposed to have been owned by Brutus, .... 2.50 6 Coins of different Emperors, at 50 cts., 3.00 1 Miniature Terra Cotta Bust of Scylla, 3.00 1 Do. of Regulus, 3.00 1 Medallion of Hannibal, 2.00 Coins of each of the Seven Kings of Rome, 5.00 1 Vase of Coriolanus, '. 2.00 Miscellaneous Articles, 5.00 Making a total expenditure of about $30.00 With this in their possession they returned to their lodgings. On reaching the place they found Ludlow present, full of sympathy, and pouring forth torrents of good advice to Frank and Bob. The unhtippy Uncle Moses was in his bedroom, still searching wildly about. A DISCOVERY. 329 " The best thing your uncle can do, boys," Lud- low was saying, " is to hurry off at once to the bankers, and have payment of the draft stopped. He can't expect to get back his loose change, but he can save his bills of exchange if ho only makes haste. The trouble is he won't move. Don't any of you know some way to influence him? " " Well, he isn't generally difficult to manage," said Frank, "but just now he's so troubled that no one can do anything with him." " Well, lads, where have you been ? " said Lud- low to David and Clive as they entered. " Off to the Praetorian Barracks." " 0, and what have you got there ? " " Relics ; vases, coins, &c.," said David, proudly. " What ! " exclaimed Ludlow, in amazement, " not all that bundle ! What do you mean ? You didn't pick them up, did you ? " *' Pick them up ? 0, no ; we bought them. We've got a splendid lot. Just look ; " and David care- fully unrolled the bundle on the table, and proudly gave the name and description of each one. Before he was half through he was interrupted by a loud cry from Ludlow, followed by a peal of laughter. " 0, you innocent youths ! A wine jar of Horace 1 Scylla ! Hannibal ! Coriolanus ! Wouldn't anything else do ? Ha, ha, ha I " This unexpected reception at once destroyed all 330 THE SEVEN HILLS. the exultant feelings of the two boys, and filled them with vague suspicions. " Why, what's the matter ? " they asked. For some time Ludlow did not answer, so amazed was ho at this credulity of David and Clive. He turned over each article in succession, and sur- veyed it with an eloquent Tace. " So you paid for them ? " « Yes." « How much ? " " About thirty dollars." « Thirty I Thirty dollars I What, not dollars ! You mean cents, not dollars ! " David and Clive were silent. " Do you know what these really are ? " asked Ludlow. "No." " Well, they're manufactured articles, made to sell to tourists. They make coins and vases here of any age, and cover them with rust and mould, and make them of any tint you like. Unfortu- nately you've paid an exorbitant price for them. If you'd given a half dollar for the lot it mightn't have been so bad, though even that would have been a waste of money, for these wouldn't be worth carrying home." Before the crest-fallen boys could make any re- mark, a loud yell was heard from the adjoining room. All started. It was the voice of Uncle Moses. But they were not left long in suspense, FAREWELL TO THE SEVEN HILLS. 331 for tho next instant the venerable man danced into the room, holding something in his hand which he waved in I riumph around his head. It was the lost wallet I A shout of joy greeted him, followed by innu- merable inquiries. It was soon explained. Uncle Moses, it seems, had changed his coat before going to the illumination, and had packed his other in the trunk, with the wallet in the tail pocket. A final search, in despair, over the trunk, had brought this to light. The joy which all felt over their escape from a most painful and embarrassing situation counter- balanced the vexation of Clive and David, and made them bear with meekness the merciless teas- ing of Frank and Bob. The remainder of that day was taken up with further preparations for depar- ture, and on the following morning they bade adieu to the Seven Hills. r^fQAT^ niAt imn«>iow LEE AND SHSrARD'S NEW JUVENILE BOOKS. WONDERLAND STORIES. To be completed in six vols. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25; cloth, gilt edgef, S1.50; cloth, full gilt, $1.75. Alice's Adventures In fVonderland. The House on Wheels. lietters Everywhere. The Inn of the Guardian Angel. (In Press.) The Russian cgy^ ^/X9a^ I MISS LOUISE M. THURSTON S CHARLEY ROBERTS SERIES. To be comp'eted in six vols. Illustrated. Pur volume, fii. iilow Charley rtoloerts Be- How Kva Roberts Grained Her KJclvioation. Charley and PTlva's Home in the AVest. . , (OtherH in Preparation.) In prospntinp; the above n>"" i»(Tie» the puhliflh- ern believe thiit tliey ure at .iiik to that claHX of iiiveiiile literature whone iiitrinnic; worth ih re(!Oij(- \\\n't\ by thoHe who liuve at heart the good of the yoiiiiK- "They are pleasantly written hooks, dcseriptive of the HtriiKKleH utid ditticiiltieH of Charley and Kva in attuiiiiiif; to luaiihood anil woinanhixxl, and they are well adapted to Rtinndate a noble ambition in the hearts of young perHona.'* LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Hoston. ">TatifU anti aUrnclitor." VACATION STORY-BOOKS. Six vols. Illiist. Per vol., 80 cts. "Worth not Wealth. Country Life. y The Charm. .; - , Karl Kei^ler. f • ^ Walter Seyton Holidays at Chestnut Hill. ROSY DIAMOND STORY-BOOKS. Six volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., 80 cts. The Great Rosy Diamond. Daisy, or The Fairy Spectacles. Violet, a Pairy Story. Minnie, or The Little Woman. The Angel Children. Little Blossom's Beward. These arc delightfid r. orks for ehildren. They are all very popular, and have had a wi^ stories are all amusing and instructive, ex- hibiMng human niiture in ehildren, and teaching some very important practical leBsona. d^Xcfi^ LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. M)QJ MAY MANNKRING S HELPING HAND SERIES. Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, $t. Climbins the Rope. Rilly GJ-riines's favorite. The Cruise of the Daaha- way. '^l . e Ijittle Spaniard. Salt ^Water Diok. Ijittle Mlaid of Oxbow. " 'May Mannering' is the nom de plume of an agreeable writer for the young folk« who possessei more than ordinary ability, and haa a thorough einnprehension of the way to interest children." — Philadelphia Item. " We like the spirit of these hooka exceedingly, and cordially commend it to the notice of Sabbath School Libraries." — LadieM' Jiefository. LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. " Jasrinattna anli Inatructifae." THE PROVERB SERIES. By Mrs. M. E. Bradi.kv and Miss Katk J. Nhely. Six vols. Illust. Per vol., ^i. Birds of a Feather. Fine Feathers do Not make Fine Birds. Handsome is that Handsome does. A W^rong Confessed is half Re- dressed. Actions speak louder than Words. One Good Turn deserves another. " Each volume is complete in itaelf, and illus- trates, witli a story of most fUscinating and in- structive interest, the proverb taken for its title. These are just the kind of books that we like to see in a family or .Sunday-school library. They will be read by persons of all a,-»"s with deep interest, and afRird instructive and entertaining conversation with the children."— .9. S. Journal. LEE & SHEPARD, Publighers, Boston. trnui. c