pant of its rights. In my youth, I had read of the bloody persecutions of the Waldenses, those first protestants against the Romish Church. I supposed them to have been long since expelled, and to have vanished from the face of the earth; and behold, they lived, they flourished anew, flourished now as they have never done before, and that quite near to me! The little “light that shineth in darkness”—the device and type of the Waldenses,—had now come forth from the darkness and shone like the stars of the morning in the heaven of Italy.
Now all this affected and animated me! Italy, the celebrated museum of art; Italy, the home of beautiful ruins and palaces, of a singing, maccaroni-eating, far-niente-loving people, the admired land of the Pope, of artists, and tourists, had never so much interested me before.
But Italy—the Niobe of nations—defending with half-broken heart, the youngest child, hope, in her bosom; Italy, after long, dark centuries, awakened to new life, languishing after light, liberty, a higher humanity; longing to become herself, a pure harmonious note in the choir of free peoples—this Italy attracted me with irresistible power. I resolved to set out this very year to Italy, to search into its hidden life, to lay my hand testingly upon its heart.
“Spiranze d'Italia; Risorgimento d'Italia” were continually bright thoughts in my soul. These thoughts warmed me with an inner fire. There was need of it. The winter was very cold; I had never before suffered so much from the severity of the season. In Sweden, people have good rooms and fire-
