TO W.H.C.

Rome, March 29, 1848.—­I have been engrossed, stunned almost, by the public events that have succeeded one another with such rapidity and grandeur.  It is a time such as I always dreamed of, and for long secretly hoped to see.  I rejoice to be in Europe at this time, and shall return possessed of a great history.  Perhaps I shall be called to act.  At present, I know not where to go, what to do.  War is everywhere.  I cannot leave Rome, and the men of Rome are marching out every day into Lombardy.  The citadel of Milan is in the hands of my friends, Guerriere, &c., but there may be need to spill much blood yet in Italy.  France and Germany are riot in such a state that I can go there now.  A glorious flame burns higher and higher in the heart of the nations.

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The rain was constant through the Roman winter, falling in torrents from 16th December to 19th March.  Now the Italian heavens wear again their deep blue, the sun is glorious, the melancholy lustres are stealing again over the Campagna, and hundreds of larks sing unwearied above its ruins.  Nature seems in sympathy with the great events that are transpiring.  How much has happened since I wrote!—­the resistance of Sicily, and the revolution of Naples; now the fall of Louis Philippe; and Metternich is crushed in Austria.  I saw the Austrian arms dragged through the streets here, and burned in the Piazza del Popolo.  The Italians embraced one another, and cried, miracolo, Providenza! the Tribune Ciccronachio fed the flame with fagots; Adam Mickiewicz, the great poet of Poland, long exiled from his country, looked on; while Polish women brought little pieces that had been scattered in the street, and threw into the flames.  When the double-headed eagle was pulled down from the lofty portal of the Palazzo di Venezia, the people placed there, in its stead, one of white and gold, inscribed with the name, ALTA ITALIA; and instantly the news followed, that Milan, Venice, Modena, and Parma, were driving out their tyrants.  These news were received in Rome with indescribable rapture.  Men danced, and women wept with joy along the street.  The youths rushed to enrol themselves in regiments to go to the frontier.  In the Colosseum, their names were received.

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Rome, April 1, 1848.-Yesterday, on returning from Ostia, I find the official news, that the Viceroy Ranieri has capitulated at Verona; that Italy is free, independent, and one.  I trust this will prove no April foolery.  It seems too good, too speedy a realization of hope.

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Rome, April 30, 1848.—­It is a time such as I always dreamed of; and that fire burns in the hearts of men around me which can keep me warm.  Have I something to do here? or am I only to cheer on the warriors, and after write the history of their deeds?  The first is all I have done yet, but many have blessed me for my sympathy, and blest me by the action it impelled.