Mrs. Barfleur was most kindly and industrious in her explanations. She told me that in riding down this Via Nazionale we were passing between those ancient hills, the Quirinale and the Viminale, by the Forum of Trajan, the Gallery of Modern Art, the palaces of the Aldobrandini and Rospigliosi, and a score of other things which I have forgotten. When we reached the open square which faces St. Peter’s, I expected to be vastly impressed by my first glimpse of the first Roman Church of the world; but in a way I was very much disappointed. To me it was not in the least beautiful, as Canterbury was beautiful, as Amiens was beautiful, and as Pisa was beautiful. I was not at all enthusiastic over the semicircular arcade in front with its immense columns. I knew that I ought to think it was wonderful, but I could not. I think in a way that the location and arrangement of the building does not do it justice, and it has neither the somber gray of Amiens nor the delicate creamy hue of the buildings of Pisa. It is brownish and gray by turns. As I drove nearer I realized that it was very large--astonishingly large--and that by some hocus-pocus of perspective and arrangement this was not easily realizable. I was eager to see its interior, however, and waived all exterior consideration until later. As we were first going up the steps of St. Peter’s and across the immense stone platform that leads to the door, a small Italian wedding-party arrived, without any design of being married there, however; merely to visit the various shrines and altars. The gentleman was somewhat self-conscious in a long black frock coat and high hat--a little, brown, mustached, dapper man whose patent leather shoes sparkled in the sun. The lady was a rosy Italian girl, very much belaced and besilked, with a pert, practical air; a little velvet-clad page carried her train. There were a number of friends--the parents on both sides, I took it--and some immediate relatives who fell solemnly in behind, two by two; and together this little ant-like band crossed the immense threshold. Mrs. Barfleur and I followed eagerly after--or at least I did, for I fancied they were to be married here and I wanted to see how it was to be done at St. Peter’s. I was disappointed, however; for they merely went from altar to altar and shrine to shrine, genuflecting, and finally entered the sacred crypt, below which the bones of St. Peter are supposed to be buried. It was a fine religious beginning to what I trust has proved a happy union.