Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1862-04-17
NOrtester @a1lp Syn.
LETTER FROM ROME.

started early for the old Porta Appia. Just
before reaching it, we climbed into a vineyard
hard by, and with lighted tapers in hand, en-
tered the tomb of the Scipios. Hannibal could
not have designed anything more gloomy and
inglorious than this dungeon hole tor the sep.
ulchre of the ancestors OF his ungeneroUs con-
queror. The only thing really remarkable
about il is the tremendous blocks of peperino
out of which it is built. For the splendid
sarcophagus, and all the inscriptions have
been removed to the Vatican. In neighbor
ing garden we visited an interesting COLUMBIA
rum. A pigeOn-house you ask. Yes, and
a curious one too. co!umbarum is nothing
more or less than a compact heather grave
yard, looking for all the world, like an Under
ground dove.cote. Descending solid stair
case, you find yourself in little space about
the size OF an editors back office, surrounded
on ali sides by pigeon,holes, in which are
thrust little urns OF all sorts and materials
Some were alabaster, elegantly carved, and we
could easily decipher the inscriptions on all of
them. The ashes and charred bones of the
dead, were remaining in nearly all, and al
though the inscriptions told us that the de.
parted had once belonged to the house of Cse-
sar, yet the custode made no objections when
several of the party pocketed few of the
bones.
We now passed under the arch of Drusus,
magnificent ruin, and hurried on. A little
church on our left soon attracted our attention.
Entering, we saw a rude tresco on the left.
with the unmistakable face and keys of St.
Peter, and beneath the question, Domino quo
vedIs 9 Opposite is trescO Of our Savior,
with the reply, "ViviO Roman i!erum cruel
hgl." monk assured us that this was the
precise spot where Peter once met our Lord.
and received this answer. "But," l urged,
our Savlorsconld at least speak better Latin
than that The old man seemed immensely
disguised that | would dare to mix up gram.
mar with theology in that style. went on,
muslng over this custom of erecting monu.
mental churches on consecrated Spots. You
meet it at every step at Rome. The grave of
every martyr, the locality OF every hallowed
tradition, is the shrine of prayer 1t is beau
tiful thought. Why cannot we improve upon
it at home? What more fitting memorial to
Plymouth Rock, and Mount Vernon, and the
many spots which our brave men are now
making sacred forever, than the chapel at
whose altar the pilgrim may kneel, or pilgrims
in large numbers may hold meetings for
prayer, that the great principles consecrated
by their sacrifices, may ever uiumph through
the grace of him who was sacrificed once for
all.
These were fitting thoughts for the scene
which we entered. For nearly ten miles we
passed through street of tombs The Ro-
mans carried all their dead beyond the walls.
Their tombs lined every road that led
into the country. And on this famous
highway, these ambitious monuments of the
departed, must have been a gloomy comment
ON the grandeur of the ancient city. And
this gloom is deepened tentold by the ruins
into which all those proud piles are now tumb
ling. 1t seems to me no path on earth can
call up so many conflicting and thrilling i'm.
pressions as this. First Of ALL its solitude is
absolutely appalling. Suppose, upon crossing
the Charestown bridge, on your way to the
present site of Cambridge, you suddenly find
yourself in absolute stiffness. Not a iootstep
echoes to your own. Not a garden, or a
house to be seen. AS far as you can see on
either side, unbroken and uncultivated mead
ows. Not even a tree or a brush attracts to
your side the birds, but they fly shrieking
from the desolate path. To add to your desc
lation let all the tombstones of Noun: Auburn
be transplanted, and on either hand for miles
from the bridge in an unbroken straight line
far beyond Cambridge stare you CHASTITY in
the face. That would be nothing at all. 1t
would be stiffness and death, indeed but the
green mounds, and blooming flowers, and
freshly chseled stones, would still be link
with the living. Here is death and utter for
getfulness The shapeess piles bear no more
their inscriptions. And if they did, there is
no one to love and prize them now. Their
families, their nation, their very nature, have
utterly persisted from the earth. BY step,
we have bridged thousand years. From the
busy modern city, to the Christian calecombs
we are swept back, as fly magic fifteen CEN
turtles. From these, to the mounds of the Ho-
ratii and Curatii we hurry back thousand
years more. Sometimes l would pause, and
almost fear to go on. 1t seemed as If might
lose myself in the ages Their very weight
oppressed me and rooted me to the ground.
To those who think all this is merely a
trick fer "writing up" l can only say, hope
after such an evening as we all had last night
at the Yankee club, in which the most goa
head life of this age had free course, they may
suddenly find themselves early the next day
on this very spot. My words will seem as
tame them as they seem exaggerated now
The road Itself is one OF the most magnif-
cent monuments of republican Rome. 1t has
recently been eXcavated a long distance from
the city, and we had the best opportunity to
examine the solidity of its structure. 1t is
graded drained, AMI paved far more perfectly
than any street in New York or Boston. AL
though the most interesting treasures found in
the excavation, have been transferred to the
museums, enough remains to make every
step feast to the antiquary. think we
never paused moment where we could not
see a profusiOn of headess statues irag-
ments of inscriptions and broken urns. The
figures all retained majesty of proportion,
which showed the best style of art Or. the
best styles, ought to say, for every style,
from the solid Etruscan, to the graceful copies
of the Greek, marking the golden era of art in
imperial times, was here abundanty illustrat
ed.
We examined many excavations recently
made. At one place, in stumbling over pile
of rubbish that had been thrown up in dig
cling out single Columbarium we picked u
more than dozen varieties OF the most pre.
cious fragments of colored marbles the deep,
red porphyry the bright green travertine and
yerd antique pink and yellow OF every
shade. Some of these days perhaps my
old scholars in the high school will come
to see me, and find me at my big study table
with these very stones from the Via Appia ly.
ing around on my "thirdyo" and "tourthlyO"
to keep them from flying out of the window.
The urns OF this particular columbarum were
of immense size, and had been chiseed out of
a solid block or marble. The holes were now
full of water from the recent rains, and formed
admirable tubs for washing our marbles. The
ludicrous picture we made of it, scrubbing
away here in these heather graves, seemed to
strike us all of a sudden, and our merry peal
of laughter started the bats out Of neghbor-
ing tower.
But, spite of this CHASTITY attempt to get
jolly, the walk began TO get oppressive in its
gloom and when about ten miles out of the
city we left the old road and struck across the
fields. Except laborer or two at the exca-
vations, the only human being we met in the
whole distance was sharp, wicked-looking
follow " lO had hppn Watching us Mt our dir