Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1872-02-22


sky was clear and beautiful, and we told
our vetturino to drive little further ont
on the Appian Way. The road was
lined by walls that shut off the view in
many places. But mile or SO beyond
the catacombs we found n slight emf
nence, and upon it an opening through
the wall into the field. We drove in
and from little knoll had one of those
views of the campagnc which one can
not forget in a lifetime. In front were
the Alban Mountains, and the site of the
Al5a L0nga Of Virgil At the left were
the Sabine Mountains and Tiyoi, the
country seat of the EmperOrs and OF
Horace and Cicero and behind us were
the seven hills of the ancient city, its
churches and its ruins-the dome of St.
Peters standing out above the whole,
while all around were the level plains of
the campagna In the distance were
long lines Of bridge-like arches reaching
for miles across the plains. They were
immense old Roman aQueducts. Clos"
by was a Roman shepherd with his rich
black eyes, bushy black hair, broad
brimmed hat. short blue coat, and sheep
skin pants, with the shaggy wool, max
ing the costume dOubly picturesque, and
a coumtenance that by no means belicd
his character. for we knew that if he
had dared he would have summoned
cOmradc or two and would have robbed
or kidnapped us as numerically as the
other banditti that infest the mountains,
the plains, and even the very streets Of
Rome. But We were too many for him.
so he cast stray glances at us from be
meath his shaggy eyebrows and wandered
among his flock Of sheep that were
quietly grazing around us.
And so we gazed quietly and peace
fully on the scene; watched the rich
coloring of sky and mountain and plain;
thought Of the times and the men that
had built the edifces whose ruins lay
about us of Paul who had passed by
this same road prisoner into Rome; Of
the emperors who had gone over it in
triumphal procession, or on gay oECur-
sions between their splendid villas on
the sides of those blue mountains in
front, and their gorgeous palaces in the
city behind us: of the dead whose very
tOmbs, splendid as they had been, had
gone to decay centuries before. But it
was getting to be late in the afternoon,
the thought of the miasmatie air of the
campagna after sunset warned lis to
turn about and return to the healthier
regions within the walls of the city.
But we had time to stop on the way
a few minutes at the old church of st.
Sebastian, celebrated for two footprints
of the feet of the Savior in a block of
marble preserved inside the church.
find in my notebook the following re-
marks written, as I remember, in the
church: "a tall, slim, blaclz-haired,
shorn and shaven, and nasty young
Monk, with long brown mantle, cowl,
and sandals, stOckingless and shirtless,
as appears from his arms that the cloak
fails to cover, comes up with solemn
air and long reed, to the end of which
is attached wax taper.
With an impressive gesture to the
flock of eager observers, who are wait
ing to see the imprint of the feet of Him
who walked about doing good-for
number of them are of the priest-ridden
race who live there and believe the
legend-he raises the reed and points
toward sort of glass case in the wall,
darkened with curtains; and the dim
light of the taper reveals a block of
white marble on which are imprints of
two feet. The crowd look on with
mute wonder and holy awe, while we
wonder too, at the superstitions of these
people, and the force which these Monk
ish pictures have upon them.
W. 0. A