National Republican. (Washington City (D.C.)) 1872-1888, 1874-11-27
AT YLRGTL,S TONE.

Charles Warren StOddard writes to the San
Francisco Chronicle: ''The chief novelty of Ma
pies is the Grotto of Posilipo, and the mouth
of this grotto is the tomb of Virgil. The car
rage drew up at a small door in the solid rock,
out of which the grotto is hewn. 4 ring at
this door summoned a grimy fellow from
blacksmith shop, also hewn out of the rock
the shop, not the man. l entered and found a
long fight of steps that led into vineyard
full Of grapes and sunshine, lovely spot. A
narrow path wound through this Eden, and
the -harvesters, brown, stalwart fellows,
directed me from time to time, so that after
many turns that brought ME deeper into the
dense green grapeTy, I came at last to rock
OyeThanging the mouth of the grOtto, and here
l entered an ancient columbarium, entirely
oyergrown with grass. 4 temple on an island
could not be more completely separated from
the turmoil and traffic Of the town.
"The one chamber, about fifteen feet square,
held many vacant Fecesses which probably
once contained cineTary urns, and in front of
one of the unglazed windows stood a marble
slab erected to the memory of the poet and
bearing lengthy epitaph, not quite so long,
however, as the Kneid. It is not surprising
that a tomb, even though it shelter the re-
mains of so distinguished a parsonage as Vigil,
should have fallen to decay in the course of
nineteen centuries. Many have doubted that
his dust reposes here; yet Petrarch, with the
poets easy faith, planted a laurel on the roof
Of the columbarium, which fOurished until its
yitals had been gashed by the knives of those
who make practice of rObbing every shrine
they visit. While | stood in that secluded
spot, flooded with green and amber light that
siitcd through the vine-screens at the windows,
l thought of long gothic hall filed with
desks, and at every desk young head bowed
over 4 wcllthumbed and puzzIing textbook.
The green amber light of the summers after
neon stole in there also, and through the half
open window was heard the chant of summer
birds.
"There was a busy silence in that last half
hour Of school, and after it came the hour of
delTerance, the tramp of triumphant feet, and
the shout of joy into which entered all the
suppressed physical vitality Of the day. Then
there was a silence deeper than before, while
the light faded from green to brown and from
amber to gray. At the far end of the hall sat
him who was at once tutor and tormentOr,
under whose rule we grew apaCe, but groaned
the while we grew. All. many an hOnr, when
my heart was elsewhere, have my eyes sought
the fascinating pages of him who sang Of wars
and hero in tongue that then seemed TO me
n mistake. Through all these centuries his
enchanting verse has caused the youthful heart
TO quicken and to quake. The chant that
came to us before the gospels yet is still as
fresh and clear as the lark's first song in the
spring. What have VIC to thank thee for, o
Virgil though for thy sake we have lost many
a halEhOliday, and borne the taskmaster's
retributiYe stripesi did not imagine in those
troublous days that the time would come
when, with uncovered head, should enter the
mausOleum where thy reyered dust repOses,
and there, with food of tender and half re-
gretful memories rushing upon me, 1 should
honestly say, in the fulluess of my heart, 80
Virgil, l forgive you for having sung in Latinr"