Tacitus, when by the death of Tiberius the
Romans were freed from the excitement of
immediate danger, but knew not what was next to
be looked for. One question, however, shortly
arose, and one to which it was not easy to give
an answer.  What was to be the fate of
Garibaldi and his soldiers? It was taken for granted,
and was soon understood to have been confirmed
by the French general, that the Lombards and
the National Guard of Rome would be looked
upon as regular soldiers, entitled to all privileges
which the laws of war accord to a surrendering
garrison. But with respect to the irregular corps
no such assurance was proved, or stated; nor,
although various efforts were made (chiefly
through the kind intervention of the American
minister), could any answer be obtained on the
subject. The French general was as
uncommunicative as ever has been the great mystery
from whom he derived inspiration. " The oracle
was dumb;" a circumstance less to be regretted,
seeing that Milton's verses and our own experience
of the individual case had taught us to
expect from its voice only " words deceiving,"
or even a " hideous hum!" The fact was
tolerably patent; the French were heartily ashamed
of their own work; and although their orders
forbad any formal recognition of the Garibaldisti,
they knew that to treat three thousand
armed men as brigands, would be at once
barbarous and impracticable.

Towards sunset the gallant chief gathered his
men from the various outposts, and collected
the main body of his followers near S. John
Lateran, it being understood, rather than,
absolutely promised, that, if they retreated quietly,
no pursuit would be attempted by the French.
The Corso, that evening, bore a strange aspect.
The foot-pavements crowded with gazers, and
the carriage-way kept clear by dragoons, were
not altogether dissimilar to the arrangements of
a Carnival day; but here the likeness ended.
No tapestries hung from the windows; of
banners none were visible save the faded tricolour
in front of the Caffè Nuovo —the same which
was afterwards sent to Paris to do duty as a
captured standard— and a few English flags,
whose protecting influence might, in the event
of a street contest, have proved but as a broken
reed. Of any fighting, however, there was no
danger. All who were disposed to resist had
fought their best and their last—as the corpses
round the Villa Spada and the Fontana Paolina
clearly showed —and the prevailing expression
traceable in the features or the Corso crowd was
rather one of weariness than of resentment.
Among Garibaldi's men, however, there was no
lack of activity. The infantry were already
marched to the Lateran Gate; and the chief
portion of the cavalry soon rode down the street in
good order, save where some individual trooper
fell out of the ranks to replace a damaged lance
or carbine from cartfuls of these weapons which
had been placed in the openings of the side-streets.
A few of the old Papal dragoons, the
only really good soldiers in the army, had cast
in their lot with the guerilla chief; and their
dark-green uniforms and brazen helmets
contrasted picturesquely with the scarlet blouse
and wide-awake, which was even in those days
the badge of Garibaldi's soldiers.

The interest of the scene became more vivid
as the videttes were recalled from the more
remote outposts, and rode in parties of three or
four rapidly after their comrades; for, as
previously mentioned, nothing could be learnt with
certainty of the French general's intentions, and
many glances were directed anxiously towards
the Porta del Popolo, in expectation of the
advancing French columns who, it was
supposed, would immediately occupy the city. All,
however, remained silent; and, when far behind
the rest, one single scarlet horseman galloped
wildly down the Corso, his handkerchief (worn
under his hat like an Arab's kefiah) fluttering
about his shoulders; and when, after checking
for an instant his little Corsican pony, and
choosing a new lance, he dashed away in the
direction of Trajan's Forum, the street was
empty of troops.

We drove off, therefore, past the Colosseum
to the Lateran Church. Most visitors to Rome
know how beautiful is the prospect from the
steps of S. Giovanni Lateran, stretching away
in every direction to the foot of the mountains
which enclose the Campagna. For those who
enter the city from the south, it would be hard
to find a more suggestive scene than here
presents itself. A massive preponderating church,
crowned with gigantic statues far too heavy
for the pediment, all fluttering stonework in
front, mere masonry, brickwork, and iron bars
behind; how different from the refined taste,
the heart-labour of Phidias! Some mosaics of
early Christian artists, far superior in honesty of
purpose to the marble mob on the church-top;
a sham relic from Jerusalem; and all the rest
of the landscape filled by the walls and
aqueducts of the old imperial city in every stage of
picturesque ruin, ranging far away to the
blue Apennines! Of commercial prosperity, of
modern civilisation, there is literally no trace
whatever, unless the custom-house at the gate
may elicit from some enthusiastic traveller, the
pious ejaculation once excited by a gallows,
"Thank God! We are in a civilised land!"
The fact is, this quarter of Rome, once the most
thickly peopled, has never recovered the great
conflagration made by the French under Robert
Guiscard, in the replacement on his throne of
the pope of their time.

The ordinarily deserted green sward was
now crowded, but the sceue, though bustling,
was by no means riotous. All along the edge
of the public road, from the Lateran Gate to
the Triclinium of Leo, were ranked, in triple
file, the infantry—upwards of two thousand
men, mostly young fellows, dusty, tired, weather-
beaten, while the yellow cheek and frequent
bandage told clearly of disease and of stern
work. There they stood in good order, downcast,
yet not apparently disheartened; and
though their weapons were by no means first
rate, and though their scarlet blouses were