till, six months hence, this winter's chill will just have made its way
thither. It would be an excellent plan for a valetudinarian to lodge
during the winter in St. Peter's, perhaps establishing his household in
one of the papal tombs. I become, I think, more sensible of the size of
St. Peter's, but am as yet far from being overwhelmed by it. It is not,
as one expects, so big as all out of doors, nor is its dome so immense as
that of the firmament. It looked queer, however, the other day, to see a
little ragged boy, the very least of human things, going round and
kneeling at shrine after shrine, and a group of children standing on
tiptoe to reach the vase of holy water. . . . .

On coming out of St. Peter's at my last visit, I saw a great sheet of ice
around the fountain on the right hand, and some little Romans awkwardly
sliding on it. I, too, took a slide, just for the sake of doing what I
never thought to do in Rome. This inclement weather, I should suppose,
must make the whole city very miserable; for the native Romans, I am
told, never keep any fire, except for culinary purposes, even in the
severest winter. They flee from their cheerless houses into the open
air, and bring their firesides along with them in the shape of small
earthen vases, or pipkins, with a handle by which they carry them up and
down the streets, and so warm at least their hands with the lighted
charcoal. I have had glimpses through open doorways into interiors, and
saw them as dismal as tombs. Wherever I pass my summers, let me spend my
winters in a cold country.

We went yesterday to the Pantheon. . . . .

When I first came to Rome, I felt embarrassed and unwilling to pass, with
my heresy, between a devotee and his saint; for they often shoot their
prayers at a shrine almost quite across the church. But there seems to