Antinous, in alto-relievo. The walls of the gallery are encrusted with precious materials, but do not display much taste. One of the frescos was done by Mengs. The image of Apollo is frightful.

This lodge belongs to a cardinal, and at some of its decorations we were not a little astonished. Hundreds of miniature pictures, in tawdry gilt frames, are suspended from the walls, like the votive offerings in a chapel. But these puerile embellishments are not the most exceptionable. There is a Venus seated in an indecent manner, imperfectly draped, with a Cupid endeavouring to remove the veil, while she half resists the voluptuous effort. It is the most licentious picture, which has met my observation in any of the public galleries of Italy, and forms a strange ornament for a cardinal's pavilion. In the rooms below are some fine specimens of alabaster, and a beautiful white basin, ten feet in diameter, sculptured with the labours of Hercules. It was found in Adrian's Villa. The same apartment contains several Caryatides and Canephora, or Roman females who bore baskets on their heads filled with articles for the sacrifice. They were disinterred on the Appian Way, and are supposed to be of Grecian origin.

Opposite the principal lodge, is another pavilion, with a circular porch in front, crowded with indifferent statues. One of them represents the dwarf and fabulist Esop, who is not here the monstrous, deformed lump, which the Phrygian philosopher is supposed to have been. Among the group is a Sappho, with whom no one would be likely to fall in love; a bust which has been christened Hannibal, and another, Amilcar his father. The collection at the Villa Albani is much more interesting to the professed artist and antiquary, than to an ordinary visitant.

At evening we made an excursion across the Milvian Bridge, and thence down the right bank of the Tiber, along the foot of Monte Mario, to the Porta-Angelica, near the Vatican—a circuit of four or five miles, affording many fine views of the hills, the river, the walls, and the distant towers of the city. For the greater part of the way, the path pursues the windings of the Tiber, the borders of which are rural and flowery. In the summer months this is the fashionable drive with the Romans. We met half a dozen cardinals, who had deserted their coaches, and were loitering along the shady road.

A severe thunder-storm confined us to our chambers for a considerable part of the following day. I have observed, that in Italy showers generally come in the morning, instead of the afternoon, as with us. When it does rain here, it rains in good earnest, and sufficient water descends in an hour, to keep the earth moist for weeks. There is no

cloudy, drizzling weather, such as is common in the north of France, Great-Britain, and the United States, exposed as all these countries are to evaporations from the wide surface of the Atlantic.

At noon the skies cleared, and we visited the Studio of Trentanove. He was closeted with an English lady, who was sitting for her bust; but he requested us to make ourselves at home in his study, if it could afford any amusement. We found it rich in statues, and exquisite specimens of sculpture. Copies of the Venus de' Medicis and the Apollino are worthy of the original in the Gallery at Florence. They were blocked out at Carrara, and have received the finishing touches of Trentanove himself. He has caught the expression with great accuracy, and the workmanship is admirable. Could these statues be buried for a time, till their snowy limbs had contracted the rust of antiquity, they might very easily be taken for Grecian models. I was delighted with a group of two children; one with a bird, and the other with its nest. The former is laughing, and the latter in tears. In attitude and expression, both are true to nature. It is a beautiful production, as well in design as in execution, and would form a fine decoration for a drawing-room. We here found a gallery, composed of the busts of our countrymen, from Washington and Franklin down to some of our personal acquaintances, whose faces were instantly recognized. Among the other articles, are the Loves sleeping; a fine head of Napoleon; a head of Madame Catalani, for whom the three Graces are now in hand; and a splendid bust of Mrs. Childers, an English lady, with whom the spectator is much more likely to fall in love, than with the Pope's figure of Justice in St. Peter's. In his general style, Trentanove adheres to the instructions of his great master, Canova, though not so rigidly as to copy his faults. He is an artist of discriminating mind and correct taste, with all the advantages which the galleries and schools of Italy can afford. In my opinion the day is not distant, if it has not already arrived, when the productions of his chisel will rival those of his illustrious predecessor. He possesses both the genius and industry, to reach the highest eminence in his profession.

In the afternoon I visited the Palazzo Borghese, the largest and one of the most magnificent palaces in Rome. It is situated on the left bank of the Tiber, above the bridge of St. Angelo. The porticos in the rear overhang and look out upon the river. A lofty and noble front ranges along the street. The apartments are both numerous and spacious. Some of them are extremely rich in decorations. The vaulted ceilings are highly gilt. Sheets of mirrors are half-covered with Cupids and wreaths of flowers. But a choice collection of

paintings furnishes the strongest attraction. The walls of ten rooms are entirely covered with some of the rarest pictures of the first artists. My remarks will be restricted to a very few of the number, though a hundred are worthy of particular notice. Perhaps the most inimitable in the collection, are the Descent from the Cross, and a portrait of Cæsar Borgia, both by Raphael. The former is a sublime effort, worthy of the subject and the fame of its author. In the latter, the head and hand are perfect. The ambitious Pontiff was taken when

young, in a black costume, with a cardinal's hat.

At a small head of the Saviour, and a Madonna, by Carlo Dolci, I gazed for half an hour, and even then my eyes were not satisfied with contemplating such exquisite productions. Diana shooting is one of Domenichino's most poetical and happy conceptions, expressed in his best manner. No artist excels him in originality of thought, and few in finish and colouring. Lot and his Daughters, by Gherado del Notti, are in the peculiar style of that artist, characterized by the depth of light and shade. He appears to have painted all his pieces in the night, by the aid of a lamp. A picture of Paul Veronese represents St. Anthony preaching to the fishes. In this gallery are Titian's three Graces; his sacred and profane Love; and the woman taken in adultery. Several oval pictures, by Albano, are much admired. Among the minor pieces, are landscapes by Potter, who is famous for his cattle; and some of Teniers' matchless comic scenes. In a word, it would be difficult to find a gallery, which contains a greater variety, or a more select assortment of paintings. Yet there is no tenant in the palace to enjoy them. Paulina, the sister of Napoleon, has gone to the tomb, and Prince Borghese, her husband, is a wanderer in France and England, leaving his Italian villas and palaces behind.

After dinner we made an excursion to Mons Sacer, whither the plebeian multitude retreated in rebellion, and gave origin to the office of Tribune. It is several miles from Rome, on the right bank of the Anio, in the depth of the Campagna. The only person we saw, after leaving the gates of the city, was an old man clad in goat-skins, with the hairy side out. He looked himself like one of the beasts of his charge, bearing a striking similitude to Pan and the fabled Satyrs. He has a rude hut by the margin of the headlong stream, and appears to live entirely alone. The hill, so renowned in history, is a green swell of moderate elevation, rising like a tumulus on the waste. We here witnessed one of the most splendid sunsets I ever beheld, transcending the boldest and richest tints of the pencil. The west was in a blaze of glory, and imparted to the clouds and to the distant mountains the most gorgeous hues of crimson, purple, and gold.

In the evening we went to the chapel of Capuchins, to witness the initiatory step towards making a new saint and entering him in the calendar. The whole process occupied three days, or more properly three nights; for all the exercises took place by candle-light, when it is much easier to make a great show than in the glare of sunshine. We found an immense multitude assembled to witness the ceremonies, which in themselves amount to nothing. The church, the squares, and the streets in the vicinity were brilliantly illuminated, and thronged to overflowing with both sexes in their best dresses. It was indeed a splendid spectacle. A rude image of the Saint was suspended over the high altar, with a circle of brass wire to form the rays of a glory about his head. A congregation of monks and priests, in their sacerdotal robes, gathered round the brilliant shrine and joined in high mass, after which some exquisite picces of music were performed in the finest style.

I have now an image of this saint upon my table, struck off for the occasion, on a small duodecimo leaf, with the prayer to be offered to him on the opposite page. He was canonized under the appellation of Beato Angelo d'Acri, and seems to have been a missionary some two or

three hundred years ago. He is represented in the guise of ́a monk, wearing a long beard, a coarse robe, with a girdle about his loins, a crucifix in his hand, and a death's head by his side. The supplication directed to be addressed to him begins with-"Oh Beato Angelo, che foste cosi propizio a vostri divoti," and concludes with an earnest prayer for his intercession. I inquired in vain for the peculiar claims of this monk to a place in the calendar. It is a rule with the Popes never to make a Saint of a person, with whose character the world is acquainted, and until the events of his life have become mere matter of tradition.

The act of canonization appeared to be a festival, rather than a solemn religious rite. There was no indication of seriousness in the audience. The street leading from the church to the Fountain of Trevi was kept in a blaze till midnight, and was converted into the Corso of the evening. It was constantly thronged with belles and beaux, promenading between these two points, occasionally pausing at the Fountain, to see the beams of a full moon and the glare of variegated lamps reflected from the silver sheet of waters, foaming over a rocky bed. I rested upon the rim of the marble basin, watching alternately the beauty of the cascade and the gaiety of the crowd. Madame de Stael here lays the scene of one of the most highly wrought passages in Corinne; and it is not improbable, that some of

the Roman multitude this evening whispered sentiments as warm and vows as tender, as were breathed by her impassioned lovers.

On Sunday we went to St. Peter's to attend mass and hear the music. By the side of the road, beyond the ferry of the Ripetta, several men were observed seated upon the grass, playing cards for money. This was a novel scene to be witnessed on the Sabbath, in the capital of his Holiness. In Italy as well as in France, Sunday is the great day of amusement. The theatres are open and the public places crowded. Religious services are performed at morning and evening. The lower classes go to mass at an early hour, and the higher orders, at 11 or 12 o'clock. We found St. Peter's filled with people; but there was nothing peculiar in the ceremonies. In one of the chapels, half a dozen females were observed, with a numerous group of pretty girls about them, engaged in a Sunday School. The peculiar doctrines of the Catholic faith are of course inculcated. I have one of the elementary books, put into the hands of children, now before me. It contains the catechism, and is full of what Protestants would call absurdities. The Catholic religion in Italy is essentially different from the same faith, as professed in the United States.

In returning from St. Peter's, a great crowd was observed in one of the public squares, and on approaching, we found a young priest earnestly engaged in preaching to the multitude. He was really eloquent, powerful in his elocution, and graceful in his gestures. His harangue appeared to be of a popular cast, adapted to a street audiFrom some he drew tears and from others sighs. We remained till the close of the exercises, when the whole congregation kneeled upon the pavement, and received a parting benediction.

ence.

At evening we walked to the Coliseum, to attend another religious meeting. The exercises were just closing at the time of our arrival. Another orator had been holding forth to an assembly, which filled the arena. They were now all kneeling upon the green grass, before the shrines erected round the podium, engaged in saying vespers. Presently they rose, and marched out in procession, chanting an evening hymn. A society of monks, in brown dominos girt with a cord, bearing the cross and lighted tapers, led the way. The scene was full of interest, associated as the ceremonies were with such a locality. The splendours of a full moon induced us to linger about the ruin to a late hour, watching its varying aspects, and musing in its desolate arches. There is a charming walk upon the brow of the Cœlian Hill, bordered with parterres of bright flowers, shaded with young elms, and furnished with embowered seats. It is within a hundred paces of the Coliseum, and commands a perfect view of the exterior.