as we all know, and these flights of steps make short cuts for foot-passengers, while vehicles have often to go a long way around.

From the top of the Pincian Hill, a portion of which is laid out as a pleasure-ground, we have a view of a large part of the city, and, far off in the distance, we see a great dome rising against the sky. This is the dome of St. Peter's, the largest church in the world; and now we will go down into the piazza, take a carriage, and ride there. Most of us have seen pictures of the church, and are not surprised at the magnificent square in front of it, and the great pile of buildings on one side, called the Vatican, where the Pope lives. This palace contains eleven thousand halls and apartments, and there is a great deal in it that we must see, but we will go there some other time. I think that most of us will find the interior of St. Peter's even larger than we expected; and, indeed, it is so vast that it takes some time to understand how big it is. The great central space, or nave, is large enough for a public square or parade ground, while in the aisles on each side of it, in the various chapels, in the transepts, and in the choir or chancel, there is room enough for seven or eight ordinary city congregations to assemble without interfering with one another. There are pictures and statues, grand altars, gorgeous marbles, and a vast expanse of mosaic work in the dome and other places. But, after we have seen all these, the size of the church will still remain its most interesting feature. The interior is so big that it has an atmosphere of its own and at all seasons the temperature remains about the same. If you enter the church in the summer-time, you will find it pleasantly cool; and if you come in the wintertime it will be warm and comfortable. As a rule, the churches of Italy are cold and damp at all times, but this is not the case with St. Peter's. In regard to its permanent temperature, it resembles the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. It ought to be a large church, for it took one hundred and seventy-six years to build it; and, although in that period the workmen took one good rest of fifty years, the building went on quite steadily the rest of the time.

An excellent way to get an idea of the size of St. Peter's is to walk around the outside of the church. The entrances to some of the great art galleries of the Vatican are only to be reached by going around the back of St. Peter's, and as the cabmen of Rome do not like to drive around there, our drivers will probably put us down at the front of the church if they think we do not know any better, and tell us they can not go any further, and that all we have to do is to just step around the building and we shall easily find the doors of

the gallery. But if we do this we shall step, and step, and step, under archways and through courtyards, and over an open square, and along a street, all the time walking upon small rough pavingstones, until we think there is no end to the circumference of St. Peter's. It is like walking around a good-sized village; and the next time we come, we will make the drivers take us all the way to the door of the galleries or they shall go without their fares.

If we happen to be at the church on Thursday morning, when the public is allowed to ascend to the roof and dome (or, if we have a written permission, any day will do), we will all make this ascent. A long series of very easy steps takes us to the roof, which is of great extent, and has on it small domes, and also houses in which workmen and other persons employed in the church have their homes. Above this roof the great dome rises to the immense height of three hundred and eight feet. Around the outside of it we see strong iron bands which were put there a hundred years ago, when it was feared that the dome might be cracked by its own enormous weight. There is an inner and an outer dome, and, between these, winding galleries and staircases, very hard on the legs, lead to the top, which is called the Lantern, where we can go out on the gallery and have a fine view of the country all around. Those of you who choose can go up some very narrow iron steps, only wide enough for one person at a time, and enter the hollow copper ball at the very top of everything. When we look at this ball from the ground it seems about the size of a big foot-ball, but it is large enough to hold sixteen persons at once. On our way down, before we reach the roof, we will step upon an inside gallery and look down into the church; and, as we see the little mites of people walking about on the marble floor so far beneath us, we may begin to wonder that is to say, some of us-if those iron bands around the outside of the dome are really very strong; for if they should give way while we are up there But, no matter, we will go down now.

In returning from St. Peter's, we pass an immense round building, like a fortress, which is now called the Castle of San Angelo, but was originally known as Hadrian's tomb. It was built by the Emperor Hadrian in the second century as a burial-place for himself and his successors. It is now used by the Italian government as a barracks and military prison. For hundreds of years it was occupied as a fortress. An old soldier will take us about and show us everything. But, just as we are about to start on our rounds, we are obliged to wait while a large body of soldiers march out; platoon after platoon, knapsack and gun on shoulder, they

"I am going to walk," answered Miss Sophia. "Would you like to come with me, Letty?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Letty. "I should like to go very much indeed! Only wait, please, while I get my bonnet!" And Letty danced into the house and danced out again with her brown poke bonnet over her sunny hair. "Here I am, Miss Sophia!" she cried. "Now, where shall we go?" "Down the lane," said Miss Sophia; "and through the orchard into the fields. Perhaps we may find some wild strawberries!"

So away they went, the young lady walking demurely along, while the little girl frolicked and skipped about, now in front, now behind. It was very pretty in the green lane; the ferns were so

under their feet. The trees bent down and talked to the ferns, and told them stories about the birds that were building in their branches; and the ferns had stories, too, about the black velvet mole who lived under their roots, and who had a star on the end of his nose.

But Letty and Miss Sophia did not hear all this; they only heard a soft whispering, and never thought what it meant.

Presently they came out of the lane, and passed through the orchard, and then came out into the broad, sunny meadow.

"Now, Letty," said Miss Sophia, "use your bright eyes and see if you can find any strawberries. I shall sit under a tree and rest a little."

Away danced Letty, and soon she was peeping

"Why, what is the matter, Miss Sophia?" cried Letty, in alarm.

Miss Sophia's face was very pale, and she trembled; but she seized Letty's arm and bade her walk as fast as she could.

66

Moo-00-000!" said the cow, which was now following them at a quicker pace.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Miss Sophia. "I shall faint! I know I shall! Letty, don't faint, too, dear! Let one of us escape. Courage, child! Be calm! Oh! there is the fence. Run, now- run, for your life!"

The next minute they both were over the fence. Letty stood panting, with eyes and mouth wide open; but Miss Sophia clasped her in her arms, and burst into tears.

"Safe!" she sobbed. 66 My dear, brave child! we are safe!"

"Yes, I suppose we are safe," said the bewildered Letty. "But what was the matter? it was Uncle George's cow, and she was coming home to be milked !"

"Moo-00-000!" said Uncle George's cow, look

CHAPTER V.

ON THE LAMPASAS.

FOR weeks and months, affairs at the ranch on the Lampasas pursued the even tenor of their way, until, as Bessie declared one morning, it seemed as if they had always lived there; and she added: "If only Waldo and Uncle Cyrus were with us, I should not care if we never lived anywhere else for ever and ever!"

"What I like best," said Hessie, "is to go to bed so early as to be able to rise before the sun does. There never was anything, I am sure, so perfectly lovely as the breaking of the morning upon those green hills and these sea-like plains!" But before even Hessie or Bessie were up of a morning, Old Jock was astir, and with his faithful collies, Scotty and Laddie, was far away with his flock upon the dewy hill-slopes. At noon the sheep would seek of themselves the shade of the live-oaks; and Jock, leaning against a broad treetrunk, would drift into a waking dream of "bonnie

Scotland," while his dogs kept zealous watch and noted every prairie-hen, or prairie dog even, that dared to show itself. Long ago the rabbits had learned that they had nothing to fear from Laddie and Scotty. The dogs would prick up their ears at sight of these long-eared visitors, but would never stir- as if to say, "Oh, we could catch you, but we 've no time to waste on such ninnies as you; our business is-sheep."

Toward four o'clock, the flock would be up and grazing again, nibbling away as if for dear life, in that hurried way of eating, peculiar to sheep. As night drew on, Old Jock trudged slowly in advance, the sheep following, the dogs in the rear or upon either flank, until home was reached and the flock was folded in for the night. There are scarcely any wolves in Texas, the miserable coyotes not being even worthy the name; and only an occasional eagle would pounce down from the blue sky upon some wandering lamb. So few were the foes of the flock, that its care was seemingly the easiest of tasks.

Ruthven was always busy. He, too, gave all