We found still some lingering flowers-forget-me-not, in great abundance and variety of tints, embroidered the Almo. In summer, it must be, indeed, a flowery vale, and justify the encomium of the poet.

"Fantastically tangled, the green hills

Are clothed with early blossoms; through the grass
The quick-eyed lizards rustle; and the bills
Of summer birds sing welcome as you pass.
Flowers, fresh in hue, and many in their class,
Implore the passing step, and with their dyes

Dance in the soft breeze, in a fairy maze;
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes,

Kissed by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its skies.”

Rising from the valley is a pretty knoll crowned with trees, pointed out to us as the favourite spot once shaded by the grove of Numa. As we walked on, strengthened by the breeze, and gathering the flowers, we almost felt as if Egeria reigned again in her valley.

Nature is always delicious, her very stones are beautiful. We were much gratified the other day by seeing a large set of Italian marbles, collected by the Avocato C., to which were added specimens from Asia, Africa, and America. The variety is surprising, as well as the tints. I hope to see them again at Oxford, as they have been, I understand, just purchased for that University. The Avocato is a very intelligent, amiable man, devoted to science, and a living proof how little this contributes to fill the pocket in Rome. He has a fine voice, suited for Marcello's beautiful strains. Leaving the Avocato's, we crossed the Piazza Barberini to the studio of Thorswalden: we did not see him, for he was too busily engaged with the statue of the late Pope Pius VII. I was sorry for it; one likes to look even at the outward manifestation of

genius. We were obliged to content ourselves with his works: his statue of Copernicus is thoughtful and philosophic; he certainly worked con amore upon that; it is for the University of Upsal. There is a curious entablature, representing one of the battles of Alexander of Russia; the horses have all the fiery living action of those of the frieze of the Parthenon, and the men look irresistible warriors; two of the spectators are likenesses of Thorswalden and his friend.

There is a noble horse for the palace of Prince Poniatowski, and a fine bust of the Emperor Alexander crowned with laurel. Alas! the laurel wreath soon withered on that brow, and very many wondered as the dried leaves fell strewing the ground. We were amused with the head of Baron Faustenburg; it so exactly resembled a head of a German baron, with whom we had dined in the neighbourhood of Faustenburg, near the source of the Danube. A sale of Cupids we thought, at the moment, an original subject, but have since observed the same idea in an old painting from Pompeii. In one corner of the entablature is a little winged being, just drawn out of a cage, and turning from an old woman, who stands eager to catch him: another is secured by his wings, as you have seen a goose; some are winging their way from decrepitude. One middleaged man is sitting in a mournful attitude, with Cupid running from him: another is springing into the arms of a beautiful female with delight; the whole is executed with great skill, the characters are so plainly told. A Mercury, in Carrara marble, treads hard upon the excellence of Canova's Perseus, which it much resembles.

Il Salvatore, for a church in Denmark, expresses true dignity and great compassion, but a group in the back

ground fixed us all the subject, John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness; next to him is a thoughtful Jew, adorned with the Urim and Thummim. He seems considering whether there can be any other manifestation “of the brightness of the Father's glory," than that of the Urim and Thummim: he is pondering with the greatest attention; a soldier is seated listening with perfect astonishment, and his looks say, "Should a soldier fear the wrath to come?" A youth, men and women, and children, appear to wonder what this man, clothed in camel's hair, and with a leathern girdle about his loins, can tell them of remission of sins!

The bust of Catalani was being prepared for the finishing hand of Thorswalden. These figures partake more of the ease of the Greek statues found in Herculaneum, than any I have seen. It is a curious sight to observe a block of marble chiselled and measured out by brass pins into the human form; and as I stood gazing at the labour, and musing upon the praise bestowed upon the artist, I could not help feeling for myself, 'and all the lovers of the arts, the deep reproach, that He, the great Creating Power, was so little praised with our lips, and adored in our hearts— He who spake us into being with his word, when God said, Let us make man after our image," so God created man in his image. What a power do we forget! which "alone spreadeth out the heavens, and treadeth upon the waves of the sea! in whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind."

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Tiber-Mount Aventine, Porta della Marmorata, Santa Maria del Sole Santa Maria Egyptiana-The Tras-Tevere, Esculapius with the Serpent-"The Beautiful Shore"-Circus Maximus-Spring of Juterna-Baths of Caracalla-Canova.

December.

WITH a sun brilliant as that of summer, we took our first walk on the borders of the Tiber, round Mount Aventine. There is a powerful and peculiar interest felt upon a spot, of which one has heard much in the dawn of life: our first thought was to give our fancy wing, and localize the cave of Cacus, and the grove of Hercules.

"To see his altar in the sacred shade,

To see a double wreath Evander twine, and
Poplars black and white his temples bind;
To see the sun descending from the skies,
And the bright evening star begin to rise;
To see the priests, Potitius at their head,
In skins of beast, the long procession lead,
Who hold the flaming tapers in their hands;
As custom had prescribed their holy bands;
To hear the Salii sing, and 'cense his altars round
With Saban smoke, their heads with poplars bound;
The lay records th' immortal acts of Hercules."

Having by fancy's magic power beheld the scene, and fixed the cave, and witnessed his triumph over the monster, and the later temple erected to his glory, we proceeded to the top of the mount, but, to our great disappointment, the

most delightful spots are occupied by convents, to which there is no entrance for women. These buildings are placed upon the site of the temples of Juno, Diana, and Minerva. The church of "La Santa Sabina" is divided into three naves, by twenty-four very ancient pillars of white marble, fluted, and with Corinthian capitals. That of S. Alexirio, de la Santa Maria del Prioría di Malta, stands boldly on the brow, and commands Rome, the Tiber, and the view of the setting sun over the dreary ruins of the Campagna. It is a fine situation for contemplation: it is much easier to understand the enjoyments of monasticism than the austere solitude of the hermit; but no one who studies the history of the wretched persecutions of the Cæsars, can be at a loss to imagine that even the company of the beasts of the desert was preferable, for Christians, to that of the Romans.

We are told that, in the reign of Decius, Fabius, the Christian bishop, suffered; that persecution seemed to be the whole business of the magistrates: swords, wild beasts, pits, red hot chairs, wheels for stretching human bodies, and talons for tearing them, were their mild instruments of persuasion. Paul (afterwards the hermit) living in the Lower Thebais, being informed against, retired amidst the desert mountains; habit at length made solitude agreeable. He found a pleasant retreat, and lived there during fourscore and ten years; he died at the age of one hundred and thirteen, and he was the first recluse of the Christian church distinctly stated to be so. Notwithstanding that, I believe the observation of Cyprian to be strictly true, who says, "He is no exile who has God in his heart." Yet our Lord himself, in his beautiful prayer for his disciples, has for ever set at rest the question of the necessity of monasticism, or the still more solitary habits of the anchorite,