breadth, and occupied his fruitful mind and skillful hand almost seven entire years; while the paintings on the side walls represent the life of Mary and the life of Christ. Through the Loggia of Raphael, terminating the royal staircase, and consisting of three tiers of most beautiful porticoes surrounding an open court, where "Raphael's Bible" is laid before the beholder in fifty-two pictures on the vaults of the arches, representing facts from the Old Testament; the one over the entrance, of the Eternal Father, was executed by Raphael's own hand, the remainder were designed by him and executed by his pupils. Through the gallery of pictures, where, among the choice collection, is the Transfiguration on Mount Tabor, wet with the colors of the artist when, only thirty-two years of age, the Angel of Death transported him to regions where, we trust, he paints with heavenly dyes,- fit production of the illustrious master to lead the funeral procession to his tomb in the Pantheon, and to occupy henceforth its position at the head of all paintings, fresh throughout the ages. Through the Stanze of Raphael, consisting of four halls which, it is said, have not their equal in the world in extent, composition, color, and general execution; one, called the Hall of Constantine, representing incidents in the life of that emperor - his baptism, the appearance of the fiery cross, and his victory over Maxentius. Through the various museums, where everything old and curious is seen, with the Torso Belvidere, fragment of a statue of Hercules, and the celebrated group of Laocoon, a statue dug up with the seventy thousand about Rome which come from the ages of the past, taking us back to the days of Virgil, when we read that the serpents, "ardentes oculos suffecti sanguini et igni," destroyed Laocoon and his two sons, days when the wooden horse was brought into Troy; a statue which is a remnant of Greek sculpture, carried to Paris in 1797 by Napoleon, and returned when his reign was finished.

ILLUSTRATIONS.-1. Raphael. 2. The Transfiguration. 3. The Sistine Madonna. 4. St. Cecelia in Ecstacies.

We would linger long, but must needs break away, for we have seen but a small part of the Eternal City. We might go out through a subterranean passage by which the Pope escaped when Rome was sacked in the sixteenth century, and took refuge in the castle which we find at the other extremity. This castle or fort, which has many times seen bloody service, was raised for an entirely different purpose and one far more peaceful as a tomb for the Emperor Hadrian and his family and successors. It is said to have been covered with marble and adorned with colossal groups of men and horses, the statue of Hadrian crowning the whole. But War regards not the sacred resting-place of the dead nor the beautiful creations of the artist or sculptor, and in 537, when the Goths besieged the Greeks here, the beautiful statues were hurled down upon the besiegers and trampled under foot of man and beast. Now it is a castle instead of a mausoleum, and bears the name of St. Angelo, from the bronze statue of St. Michael, the archangel, which rises from the summit. Walking through this interesting fort down into the dismal dungeon where Beatrice Cenci (Beatreechy Chenchy the Italians call her,) wept away the weary weeks, we understood why one sad face looks down upon us everywhere in Rome. We seemed to see the sad face of this maiden so young, as it was painted by the artist within her prison walls in the Castle of St. Angelo the evening before her execution the sorrowful face which looks out from so many of the windows of Rome, with great beseeching eyes of brown that tell their tale of weeping and of woe; that face which is radiant in its turban of white, and which haunts the observer from palace to garret; the same face, the original of which, fresh from the artist's hand, looked upon us from the walls of the Barberini Palace, now like a spectre seemed to look down from the grim walls of the old nameless palace and repeat its story of patricide (almost justifiable) and execution upon the block.

ILLUSTRATIONS.-1. Castle of St. Angelo. 2. Beatrice Cenci. 3. Hilda's Tower. 4. Fountain of Trevi,

As we entered the large, bare room where, our guide informed us, her trial was conducted, we saw at the farther extremity a half-opened door and a face peering intently upon us. We walked quietly and spoke low as we were led in that direction, but what was our astonishment to find it was only a portrait on the wall- the portrait of Beatrice's Judge, who, listening breathlessly to the testimony of the witnesses, was sketched by the artist, and lives with the prisoner and painter-Beatrice Cenci and Guido Reni. We walked between the statues of the twelve Apostles out over the bridge of many a century, the Ponte St. Angelo.

One sunny day in February we three walked forth to see we knew not what, only something to wonder at. Of a sudden we stopped. Was it? Yes, it must be - Hilda's Tower! "Square, massive, lofty, battlemented," with the Virgin's shrine and the image before which the light has been burning many centuries. Hawthorne could not pause in his story to tell you the legend connected with this shrine; we give you merely the outlines. In the days when Rome was younger and her palaces were newer, the lord and lady who dwelt in elegance here left their babe, which was as dear as all babies are to the hearts which beat for them, in the care of a faithful servant. The watchful nurse placed the babe on the floor and stepped in, as was natural, to sympathize with one of kindred employment. When the visit was ended the child was gone where! oh, where! The frantic woman sought everywhere, and finally learned that a mischievous monkey had undertaken the care of the forsaken little one, and had borne it to the highest point of this palatial residence. Crazy with fear, she prostrated herself and made vows which moved the heart of the Virgin to save the beloved child. The delighted parents raised this shrine, and this is the light which Hilda is represented as tending so faithfully, and this the dovecote where the American artist girl dwelt among the doves.

As we stood there in the dirty streets, and looked wishfully up to the