'Yes, in the days when three million pilgrims visited Rome in a year. But would you believe it? within thirty miles of this city I have seen enough timber lying rotting on the ground, to half warm the Eternal City? The country people, in the commune where I lived one summer, had the privilege of gathering wood in the forest that crowns the range of mountains backing up from the sea, and separating the Pontine Marshes from the higher lands of the Campagna: but the trunks of the hewn trees, after such light branches as the women could hack off were carried away, were left to rot; for there was no way to get them to Rome--an hour's distance by railroad. Cold? The Romans are numbed to the heart: wait until they are warmed up; wait until they have a chance to make money--there will be no poets like Casti in those days--Casti, who wrote two hundred sonnets against a man who dunned him for--thirty cents! Talk about knowing enough to go into the house when it rains! Why the Roman shopkeepers of the poorer class don't know enough to shut their shop doors when they are starved with cold: you will find this to be the fact. Look, too, at the poor little children! do they ever think of playing fire engine, and thus warming themselves in a wholesome manner? No! One day I was painting away, when I heard a poor, thin little voice, as of a small dinner bell with a croup, and hoping at last I might see the little ones having a good frolic, I went to the window and looked out. What did I see? A small boy with a large, tallow-colored head, carrying a large black cross in the pit of his stomach; another small boy ringing a bell; and five others following along, in a crushed, despondent manner--inviting other boys to hear the catechism explained in the parish church. Meat for babes! I don't wonder the Roman women all want to be men, when I see the men without half the spirit of the women, and, such as they are, loafing away the winter evenings for warmth in wine shops or cafes. Poor Roman women, huddled together in your dark rooms, feebly lighted with a poor lamp, and hugging _scaldine_ for better comfort! Would that the American woman could see her Italian sister, and bless her stars that she did not live under the cap and cross keys.' 'The cold has one good effect,' interrupted Caper; 'the forcible gesticulation of the Italians, which we all admire so much, arises from the necessity they have to do so--in order to keep warm. I have, however, an idea to better the condition of the wood sawyers in the Papal States, by introducing a saw buck or saw horse: as it is, they hold the wood in their hands, putting the saw between their knees, and then fairly rubbing the wood through the saw, instead of the saw through the wood. How, too, the Romans manage to cut wood with such axes as they have is passing strange. It would be well to introduce an American axe here, handle and all.' 'We have an old, old saying in France,' spoke Rocjean: