d that coarse, but wearable stuff woven by the ages,— Common Sense.
In accordance with this discipline in heroic common sense, was the influence of those great Romans, whose thoughts and lives were my daily food during those plastic years.
The genius of Rome displayed itself in Character, and scarcely needed an occasional wavecause, probably, why I have always felt that man must know how to stand firm on the ground, before he can fly. In vain for me are men more, if they are less, than Romans.
Dante was far greater than any Roman, yet I feel he was right to take the Mantuan as his guide through hell, and to heaven.
Horace was a great deal to me thr in date know not yet, but must learn.—
My attention thus fixed on Shakspeare, I returned to him at every hour I could command.
Here was a counterpoise to my Romans, still more forcible than the little garden.
My author could read the Roman nature too,—read it in the sternness of Coriolanus, and in the varied wealth of Caesa<
ring in that great field near the tomb of Cecilia Metella, which is full of ruins.
The effect was noble, as the band played the Bolognese march, and six thousand Romans passed in battle array amid these fragments of the great time.
to R. F. F
Rome, Oct. 29, 1847.—I am trying to economize,— anxious to keep the Roman expenses e they could not make their wishes known.
Some are French, some German, and many Poles.
Indeed, I am afraid it is too true that there were comparatively but few Romans among them.
This young lady passed several nights there.
Should I never return,— and sometimes I despair of doing so, it seems so far off, so difficult, I am pitals, and was the assistant of the Princess Belgioioso, in charge of dei Pellegrini, where, during the first day, they received seventy wounded men, French and Romans.
Night and day, Margaret was occupied, and, with the princess, so ordered and disposed the hospitals, that their conduct was truly admirable.
All the work was<