stayed, and at last seemed to give it up. The banks and vicinity of the
river are very bare and uninviting, as I then saw them; no shade, no
verdure,--a rough, neglected aspect, and a peculiar shabbiness about the
few houses that were visible. Farther down the stream the dome of St.
Peter's showed itself on the other side, seeming to stand on the
outskirts of the city. I walked along the banks, with some expectation
of finding a ferry, by which I might cross the river; but my course was
soon interrupted by the wall, and I turned up a lane that led me straight
back again to the Porta del Popolo. I stopped a moment, however, to see
some young men pitching quoits, which they appeared to do with a good
deal of skill.

I went along the Via di Ripetta, and through other streets, stepping into
two or three churches, one of which was the Pantheon. . . . .

There are, I think, seven deep, pillared recesses around the
circumference of it, each of which becomes a sufficiently capacious
chapel; and alternately with these chapels there is a marble structure,
like the architecture of a doorway, beneath which is the shrine of a
saint; so that the whole circle of the Pantheon is filled up with the
seven chapels and seven shrines. A number of persons were sitting or
kneeling around; others came in while I was there, dipping their fingers
in the holy water, and bending the knee, as they passed the shrines and
chapels, until they reached the one which, apparently, they had selected
as the particular altar for their devotions. Everybody seemed so devout,
and in a frame of mind so suited to the day and place, that it really
made me feel a little awkward not to be able to kneel down along with
them. Unlike the worshippers in our own churches, each individual here
seems to do his own individual acts of devotion, and I cannot but think
it better so than to make an effort for united prayer as we do. It is my