Italy. But it may be disarmed or not; Cavour is alike calm. He may be seen wandering along the promenades, whistling carelessly and playing with his cane, kindly greeting his acquaintances, and with an appearance as if he had nothing else in the world to do, but to go out and look about him. Such ought a statesman to be—if he can. Work, it is said, has always been his pleasure, and at this time it is his only love. Not even slander has been able to attack his morals or his character. His friends speak warmly of the goodness of his heart. His enemies have never experienced his hatred.
October 23d.—I had, last Sunday, the pleasure of hearing the gospel proclaimed to great and small, in the beautiful, newly-erected Waldenses church of this place. It was, in the morning, to the Sunday-school children; in the afternoon, to the public; and both times by M. Meille, and in the Italian language, which seems made on purpose to be the interpreter of that which is the most beautiful and inward in life. The service was somewhat disturbed by the Catholics, who went about staring and wondering at what was going forward in the church. One old man walked round the pulpit, examining it and the preacher, as if he were gazing at a strange animal. It is not long since the most absurd stories about the Waldenses were current amongst the lower Catholic population in Piedmont, and it was believed that their faith had no connection at all with Christianity. It was not until after the emancipation of 1848, and since the Waldenses pastors have been able to preach freely, and to baptize, and to bury their dead openly amongst the Catholics, that
