Still Another Leaf in History.
At the time when public meetings were rife in our cities, and, with inexplicable inconsistency, American statesmen were delivering addresses in behalf of the restoration of the pope in the place he had so long abused in the Quirinal, William Cullen Bryant made this statement:— "An American lady, an acquaintance of mine, a resident in Rome for several years, was summoned one morning to appear before the police of that city. She went, accompanied by the American consul. 'You are charged,' said the police magistrate, 'with having sent money to Florence to be employed in founding a Protestant orphan asylum. What do you say?' 'I did send money for that purpose,' was the lady's answer. 'I did not ask for it; it was brought to me by some ladies, who requested me to forward it to Florence, and I did so; and I take the liberty to say that it is no affair of yours.' 'Of that you are not to judge,' replied the magistrate. 'See that you never repeat the offense.' Such was the government, which, to the joy of the Roman people and the satisfaction of liberty everywhere, has been overthrown. Was such a government worthy to subsist even for an hour?" That lady you and I knew very well. Her name was Mrs. Emily Bliss Gould. It was in her house, corner of the Plaza di Spagna and the via Babuino, that, at her husband's request, the writer of this preached what he believes to have been the first Protestant sermon in Rome after the explosion of the pope and his "incarceration" in the Vatican "prison," the finest palace in Europe. Mrs. Gould told the whole story of that strange persecution. The pope's policemen presented to her a paper to sign, and thus give a written pledge that she would in future abstain from the atrocious crime of sending contributions to the orphans of Florence, and she was told that she would be kept in durance until she had signed the pledge. But the pope found that he had not now to deal with one of those half-and-half Americans who are not ashamed to put the lip to the toe of his holiness, but with a true woman. She replied to the threat of detention, "You may get my apartments ready. I shall spend the rest of my days here rather than sign any such paper." The policemen had found their match, and they at last allowed her to go unpledged. Mr. W. L. Stillman, of Plainfield, N. J., United States consul at Rome from 1861 to 1865, on his return told the world through the public prints, that the government of the pope was "the most atrocious in existence, excepting that of Louis Napoleon." "The brother of one of my most intimate friends was arrested in his bed at night, and carried off by the officers of the Holy Office, the Inquisition, and never heard of again until years after, when a released prisoner came to tell the survivor that his brother had died in prison with him, and was buried in the earth of the dungeon." "The system of terrorism was such that liberal Romans dared meet only in public, and never permitted a stranger to approach them in conversation. I never dared to enter the house of a Roman friend, for fear of bringing on him a domiciliary visit." That Rome is unchanged and unchangeable is shown by the fact that while Monsignor Capel is saying soft things in the ears of the American people, Rome is killing American missionaries in Mexico. At Almoloya, a town some forty miles southeast of the city of Mexico, the blood is hardly dry, of two martyrs slain by Roman Catholic violence. The people were quietly worshiping when they were set upon by a furious mob and the congregation dispersed and two men slain. These things cannot be unknown to Rome, and not only are they not prohibited, but these murderers were hounded on by violent harangues from the pulpit of the Romish church. While Americans should treat with all kindness the victims of this foreign persecuting power, they should be very watchful of and very resolute to resist the stealthy but steady encroachment of this power in our Republic. —Rev. W. P. Breed, in N. Y. Observer.