thousands. In this hour of the New Resurrection of Italy, the people
sought the hearthstone of ancient Rome on the Capitoline. About the
pillars of the Cancelleria, which stands on Roman foundations, up the
long flight of steps leading to the Aracoeli, even under the belly of
the bronze horse in the center of the square, Italians thrust themselves.
Rome was never more beautiful than that afternoon. Little fleecy clouds
were floating across the deep blue sky. The vivid green of the cypresses
on the slope below were stained with the red and white of blooming roses.
In the distance swam the dome of St. Peter's, across the bend of the
Tiber, and through the rift between the crowded palaces one might look
down upon the peaceful Forum. The birthplace of the nation! Here it was
that the people, the decision having been made to play their part in the
destiny of the new world now in the making, came to rejoice. The spirit
of the throng was entirely festal. And these were the people, working-men
and their wives and mothers from the dark corners of old Rome, neither
hoodlums nor aristocracy, the people whose men for the most part were
already joining the colors.

The flags of the unredeemed provinces together with the Italian
flag were borne through the crowd up the steps of the municipal palace
to wave beside Prince Colonna, as he appeared from within the palace.
Mayor of Rome, he had that afternoon resigned his position in order to
join the army with his sons. Handsome, with a Roman face that reminded
one of the portrait busts of his ancestors in the Capitoline Museum
close by, he stood silent above the great multitude. The time for oratory
had passed. He raised his hands and shouted with a full voice--"_Viva
Italia!_" and was silent. It was as if one of the conscript fathers had
returned to his city to pronounce a benediction upon the act of his
descendants. The people repeated the cry again and again, then broke
into the beautiful words of Mameli's "L'Inno,"--"_Fratelli d' Italia._"