overshining presence of the living and true God. That flame-shaped
obelisk was the link between Egypt and the Holy Land. The divine
effigy of it in the sky of the desert--like the manna as the link
between the corn of Egypt and the corn of Canaan--marked the
transition from the false to the true, from the old world of dark
pagan thought, to the new world of religious light. I need not say
with what profound interest such a thought invested the obelisk in the
Piazza del Popolo. I was never weary of looking up at its fair
proportions, and trying to decipher its strange hieroglyphics--figures
of birds and beasts in intaglio, cut clear and deep into the hard
granite, and all as bright in colour and carving as though it had been
only yesterday cut out of the quarry instead of four thousand years
ago. It was my first glimpse into the mysterious East. It made the
wonderful story of Joseph and Moses not a mere narrative in a book,
but a living reality standing out from the far past like a view in a
stereoscope. Every time I passed it--and I did so at all hours--I
paused to enter into this reverie of the olden time. The daylight
changed it into a pillar of cloud, casting the shadow of the great
thoughts connected with it over my mind; the moonlight shining upon
its rosy hue changed it into a pillar of fire, illumining all the
inner chambers of my soul. Every Sunday it was the cynosure guiding me
on my way to church, and suggesting thoughts and memories in unison
with the character of the day and the nature of my work. No other
object in Rome remains so indelibly pictured in my mind.

From the Piazza del Popolo, three long narrow streets run, like three
fingers from the palm of the hand; the Via Babuino, which leads to the
English quarter; the famous Corso, which leads to the Capitol and the
Forum; and the Ripetta, which leads to St. Peter's and the Vatican.
These approaches are guarded by two churches, S. Maria di Monte Santo