and is of opinion that organized as the establishment is, morality is more likely to increase in the neighborhood than decline. No man or woman is allowed to work in it unless their family are employed, so that husband and wife, parent and child, may be constantly under the eye of one another.

Curiously enough, the ouvrières are all called dames and demoiselles by the overseers. They seem to me to be cheerful and contented, as they appeared flourishing and well-dressed. All of them said, in answer to some questions, that it was infinitely less fatiguing to work as they do, in a printing atelier, than to do sewing sufficient to support themselves, and expressed a belief that there was little danger of being out of employment during the summer months, as there is no chômage in the printing trade.

It is true that some complaints were made about the unhealthy effects of the antimony which is used in the types. But one woman remarked that its effects are very trifling when compared to those produced by ill-paid work, which is never given for more than nine months in the year. E. J.

LV.-NOTICES OF BOOKS.

Impressions of Rome, Florence, and Turin. By the Author of "Amy Herbert." Longman and Co.

THE anxiety with which a free people, satisfied with the stability of their own institutions, must ever watch the efforts of a neighboring State to obtain a freedom based upon similar foundations, renders every new work upon Italy a welcome addition to our current literature. The reign of Classic Italy is passed, and we no longer rest content with learned disquisitions upon the buried treasures of antiquity, with Eustace, Forsyth, and Gell, not even omitting Byron, though his burning strains might infuse warmth tion the cold relics of a bygone prosperity; but we look to modern Italy as destined to take no mean place amid the kingdoms of Europe. It seems but yesterday that Italy lay bound at the feet of Austria. At the great gathering in 1851 her sculptors were compelled to send their works for exhibition in conjunction with Austrian produce; and we can well remember how the choice of subjects indicated the feelings which agitated the unwilling exponents of their country's genius yet their country's bondage. In the present International Exhibition, Italy ranks as an independent state her sculptures, her paintings, her industrial arts, even to raw productions, machinery and agriculture, each and all are severally represented, while busts and statues of Victor Emmanuel occupy conspicuous positions in the building.

Italian progress is particularly observable in the architectural

designs, for which Florence is pre-eminent. Baths, Universities, Courts of Justice, Military Colleges, Public Libraries, take the place of renovated ruins and classic restorations.

Any work by the author of "Amy Herbert" cannot fail to be acceptable to a large class of readers, and it is with much pleasure that we recommend the book now under review. It does not, however, appear that Miss Sewell's visit to Italy included very definite objects; her reminiscences are rather the familiar descriptions of ordinary sightseeings than any minute investigations into the social conditions of the inhabitants. Indeed, she herself states that "the following reminiscences of a few months in Italy are published at the request of private friends, and for the possible amusement of such persons as may have somewhat of a personal interest in the writer. To the public generally, they can offer no information which has not already been given by other travellers." Nevertheless, with a writer at once so acute and full of so much tender sympathy, it were impossible but that allusions must drop from her pen bearing upon the topics of the day.

Our authoress entered Italy in the spring of last year, by the way of Civita Vecchia, across the Campagna-the dreary solitude of which she well describes: without villages, without cultivation, without life, yet in its way most beautiful-most poetic. Many pleasing extracts might be selected from the sojourn at Rome, but we must confine ourselves to a few only-the first relating to one of the most interesting relics of Christian antiquity.

"Another glimpse of very old Rome may be had in the Church of S. Clemente, which, tradition says, was built on the site of the house of St. Clement, the fellow-laborer of St. Paul; and which is, unquestionably, a very early church, for it is mentioned by St. Jerome as existing in his day.

"From the vaulted chambers underneath the church, which have been lately opened, you look down a dark passage which formed one of the streets of the ancient city, and perhaps this, almost more than anything else, impresses upon the mind the fact that old Rome is, for the most part, buried beneath the modern city. How it became so is a question which has never yet been clearly settled; but I suspect we have not the slightest idea of the dilapidation and decay of the city during the Middle Ages, caused by the fierce internal quarrels of the Roman nobles, and the invasions of foreign enemies. Buildings once allowed to become ruinous soon form an accumulation of soil and rubbish, and this would be increased by the débris brought down from the hills. A gentleman living in Rome said to me, when we were speaking upon this subject, that after watching the effects of a torrent of rain in Rome at the present day, he had no difficulty in comprehending how the level of the city had been raised.

"San Clemente is-like the Church of St. Ambrose at Milan-most instructive for persons who are at all interested in working out the customs of the first Christians from the architecture of their buildings. Dating, as it does, from such an early period, it must be a very fair exponent of the religious practices of those days. It has the atrium, or court, which was first used for the catechumens; and the enclosed choir, in the centre of the building, which, however, was by no means concealed, but only shut off from the rest of the church ;-at the side, by a low marble wall, and at the back

by a screen formed of panels of marble net-work. There are also two ambones, or pulpits, on the right and left of the choir, which are said to be, in form, like the heathen Rostra, and from one of which the Gospel was always read. Similar arrangements are to be seen in the Basilica of S. Lorenzo; and, in fact, these two churches were more interesting to me than any others in Rome. In both there are exquisite specimens of marble mosaic,-not meaning by this the mosaic pictures in the vaults of the Tribunes, or over the arches, which are more curious than beautiful, but the patterns worked out on the ambones and altar, and especially on the beautiful candelabrum in S. Clemente. The pavements of these churches, and indeed of many of the Roman churches, are remarkably handsome in themselves; but persons who, on hearing of rich mosaic floors, expect to see brilliant colors, will be greatly disappointed. The patterns are in themselves extremely good, but time has naturally left traces of its work,-the hues have faded, and the stones are worn."

The studios of Rome are still the favorite resort of visitors. The criticism which Miss Sewell passes upon some of the works of art which now adorn the International Exhibition has been endorsed by popular opinion.

"Modern sculpture is another very large subject of Roman interest Every one talks about it, and every one knows some one who dabbles in it Sculpture and the excavations seemed to me to be, in Rome, what law cases are to a barrister, and classes and degrees to an Oxonian; they formed the small talk of society, and though, as usual, they became after a time rather vapid, yet it is a sign of the charm which Rome possesses, above all other places, that even the little nothings which it suggests have in them the germs of really valuable information. The studios are open to every one, and are as necessary a part of sight-seeing as the Vatican or the Capitol; and people are less afraid of giving an opinion upon them than upon ancient art. It would be heretical to criticise the Apollo, but one may fairly be allowed to pass judgment upon Gibson's colored statue of Venus, or Pandora. I believe I am in the minority in saying that I admire them,-the Pandora especially. I should not like to see coloring commonly introduced into sculpture; it seems to require a delicacy of taste which must be very rare, and which, if wanting, would render the attempt a fatal failure. A colored statue which is not beautiful must be a monstrosity. It would be a represen tation, not a suggestion. But the charm in Gibson's statues is exactly this, that they are suggestive. Pandora is not a woman with a flesh-colored complexion and black eyes, but an exquisite creation of a being so human and life-like as to touch one's sympathies, yet so ethereal in the tint which is shed over her, that she is felt to be as yet unsullied by the evil to which ordinary mortality is heir. Only in the sweet sorrow of her most lovely face can be read the foreboding of the consequences of her own rashness. I saw two other very perfect statues in the studio of Mr. Storey, an American gentleman,-Cleopatra, and the Libyan Sybil. In both there was a careful observance of the Egyptian type of countenance and style of dress,—and I was surprised to see how extremely beautiful they could be. Cleopatra is generally represented as a Greek, and it is difficult to imagine her anything else; but the Egyptian features, and the low ornamental fillet—to an English taste, generally so destructive of beauty-certainly did not in this case in the least detract from her charms. The Sybil was wonderful,- -so earnest, thoughtful, sorrowful,-so impressed with the weight of her own powers, and so very beautiful-yet not in the least according to any regularly acknowledged type of beauty; exaggerate the features or the expression in the slightest degree, and she might be repulsive, even coarse.'

Yet to many there is inconsistency in representing Cleopatra of

Egyptian extraction. She was certainly by descent on her father's side a Greek, but equally probable it is that by intermarriage she may have derived through her mother the lineaments of the ancient race; and this is what the sculptor has been so happy in rendering, -just so much of the Egyptian type of feature as to accord with the dress and accessories, yet elevated and refined by admixture with the pure Greek ideal. In all respects this statue is a wonderful impersonation, and far in advance of that inexorable law of custom, which has hitherto cramped the powers of the imagination, and compelled the artist to abide by arbitrary rules and traditions. More daring still is the realistic attempt to tint the pure white surface of the marble. With Gibson's tender handling the art will not suffer by what, in less sensitive minds, would degenerate to vulgar imitation. The very mention of art, and the poetry of art, recals painfully to mind one who has passed away from among us, Mrs. Browning: there is something very touching in the following allusion to her memory:

"The pleasure which will ever stand out prominently in the retrospect of my last days at Rome is a visit the second I had made to Mrs. Barrett Browning. The short intercourse has now been rendered so sacred by death, that I only refer to it from the wish to express, not merely the admiration which all must feel for her great poetical powers, but the personal regard inspired by the charm of her winning manner, her cordiality and quick sympathy, her self-restraint and thoughtful consideration, when, in the course of conversation, any sentiments at variance with her own were brought forward. Mrs. Barrett Browning was the one person in Rome of whom every one who knew her spoke with respectful affection; and, slight as was our acquaintance, it has left an ineffaceable impression of the working of that spirit of Charity which, when all shades and differences of opinion shall be lost in the light of God's knowledge, will, we are told, last for ever."

Quitting Rome, Miss Sewell proceeded to Florence, on which she makes these suggestive remarks :—

"The great distinction between Florence and Rome seems to me to be that the former has, in comparison with the latter, no soul; which is a cant and somewhat sentimental mode of expression, but must be accepted as embodying a true meaning. The soul of a place is, of course, the aggregate of the deeds, and words, and thoughts of the men who have lived in it, or been connected with it. It is not only that a city which takes its rise from the Middle Ages cannot compete with one which dates from seven hundred years before the birth of Christ, but that all the associations and events connected with Florence are of a less ennobling character. Florence and the Medici are inseparable,—and what can be said of the Medici? what can be felt about them? how can they inspire enthusiasm ? All connected with them is luxurious and selfish-great vice, with a thin veneer of art. And it is quite strange how one feels this in Florence. The spirit of the Medici haunts the city to this day; and there is nothing before them,-no Palace of the Cæsars, no ruins of the Forum to carry the mind back to the wonders and speculations of antiquity, and nothing since, if one excepts the stirring associations of the great Cinque Cento Hall, in the Palazzo Vecchio, in which the Deputies met to vote the annexation of Tuscany to the kingdom

of Sardinia.

"You have no thought of mobs or poverty in Florence. It is the city of the 'upper ten thousand.' Giotto's most exquisite Campanile, with its inlaid

colored marbles, and delicately worked carving, is the perfect embodiment of its spirit. But is it severe to say?—it is all of the earth, earthly. Drive through the streets of Rome, and you return actually oppressed with the questions which have been suggested to your mind. You are not satisfied with anything, past, present, or future, but you must think; you must settle, or endeavor to settle for yourself, what the world's history means. Drive through the streets of Florence, and you do not think or wonder; you simply accept earth and its enjoyments, and that in the most tempting and delusive form of calm, dignified, artistic beauty. If mankind, as they are, were to be immortal upon earth, Florence might be (so far as satisfaction was possible) a thoroughly satisfying resting-place.

"For although thus earthly it is essentially different from Paris. There is nothing in the least frivolous about it; and it can scarcely be called gay—if by gaiety is meant brightness without depth. There is, indeed, some display of fashion in the Cascine, where carriages all meet in one central open space in front of the royal dairies; and where gentlemen loungers go from one to the other, talking to their acquaintances; yet this is but a small element in Florentine life-very little of it is seen in the streets. No doubt there has been a change since the Grand Duke's departure. Some friends of mine, living in Florence, told me they could perceive it, but Florence could never have been merely fashionable; and this to many persons must constitute a great attraction, since nothing is more wearisome than a fashionable social atmosphere, if you cannot throw yourself into it. What there is below this external prosperous surface, a stranger, spending only three weeks there, cannot be supposed to know. That it is essentially a respectable movement which has revolutionized Florence is evident, if it were only from the order and decorum of the streets."

While Florence may express the indolent enjoyment of Italian life, Turin is described as being the "very heart, containing the life-blood of Italy."

The institutions of the city express the national feeling. Even the Museum is no repository of curiosities, but of modern treasures. The account of a visit to the Parliament is interesting.

"We went between three and four, (for Italians do not hold their sittings, as late as we do,) and had some difficulty in finding our way through the halls and staircases of the strange old Palace, which is now the Chamber of Deputies, but we did at last reach the gallery of the Corps Diplomatique. The Chamber is handsome;-semicircular; the benches covered with crimson velvet, the desks in front green. There were about two hundred members present: grave, earnest, gentlemanly-looking men, with papers and writing materials before them; attendants in black, with tricolored scarves round their arms, were moving about amongst them continually. The Ministers

sat at a long table fronting the semicircle; the President, (Speaker, we should call him,) with the clerks, were on a raised daïs behind them. The President was Ratazzi, who was Prime Minister when Cavour retired after the Peace of Villafranca. An Italian gentleman who was in the gallery with us told us the names of some others: General Fanti, one of the Ministers, who took Perugia after the entrance of the Papal troops; Crespi, an ultraliberal; Farini, Lanza, Poerio-the Neapolitan who was so many years in exile-a pale, worn-looking man, with a face full of thought and quietness; and the Marquis de Cavour, the Count's brother, who sat alone, reading a paper, and left the House before we did. The discussion going on, it was impossible to follow, except once, when the Deputy who spoke was near us, so that we could catch his words. We learnt afterwards that it was an important one, though not what we should have been likely to understand easily. It referred to the funding and uniting of the debts of all the States: