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forded. Their tails much resembled the cues of the last century; and a single rope tied about the small of the neck was the only helm to their stubborn dispositions.

With such an outfit, we crossed the bridge of the Anio in grand procession and stumbled over the circuit, looking alternately at the hills above, and the waters foaming below, talking all the while of Horace, Mecænas, Quintilius Varus, et id omne genus, whose houses we passed on the route. The credulity of my classical friend was somewhat severely put to the test, and his logical deductions not very satisfactorily answered by the positive assurances of the cicerone. My mode of arguing led to less scepticism--thus: these great men must have lived somewhere: tradition says they lived here in the absence of better evidence, let tradition be followed: so let us make ourselves comfortable with the belief, that the lyric poet and his patron here dwelt, elevated upon the brow and nestled in the shades of the Apennines, soothed by the murmurs of the Anio, and peeping out occasionally upon the distant city, which their genius and taste had embellished.

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The Cascades of Tivoli, technically so called in contradistinction to the falls already described, consist of six or seven streamlets, gushing out from the foundations of the town, through which they have been made to pass, and descending in silver threads down a green declivity of 80 or 100 feet. We rode into the depth of the vale, which is rural and quiet, and took a view from every possible position. The epithet pretty is the very highest that can be applied to these hackneyed waters, divested of their native freshness and purity in passing through a dirty town. Crossing the lower bridge of the Anio, we climbed a high hill on the old Valerian Way, constructed in the same manner as the road already described. Classical as ancient Tibur was, it seems to have worshipped strange gods. A ruin was observed on our way, which goes by the name of Tempio della Tossa-the temple of Cough. Who was she?--a new divinity in the calender. But the cicerone contended that the shrine of the goddess of Cough was not to be sneezed at—and so we gave it a cursory examination. It very nearly resembled the temple of Minerva Medica at Rome; and as colds were prevalent in the Apennines, it was perhaps consecrated to the healing deity. But I have no time to waste on conjec

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tures, and no wish to stop at the Cathedral, which occupies the site of the temple of Hercules.

After dining on fish from the Anio, at the hotel of the Sibyl, (a double hit at the classics,) we descended rapidly to the Villa of Adrian, on the left of the road, situated upon another spur of the mountains, commanding a view as wide as that of Tivoli. The ruins are very extensive, and so perfect, that the construction and style of the buildings may be distinctly traced. Adrian was an Emperor of boundless wealth, (ex officio,) fond of luxury, of some taste, a great traveller, enamoured of the Greek philosophy, and the religion of Egypt. All these traits of character have been exemplified in the ornaments of his Villa, which covers many acres. A poor old man, who is the last and sole tenant of the ruins, save the wild beasts and birds from the hills, con⚫ ducted us through theatres, amphitheatres, and naumachiæ; through Porches and Academies, the imperial walks of philosophers; through the temples and shrines of Serapis and Isis, Egyptian divinities; through Baths and Libraries of colossal dimensions; through palaces, halls, and saloons, still exhibiting traces of their gilded ceilings and splendid frescos; and last, though not least in extent, through the stables of the Emperor.

Extensive excavations have been made among the ruins; and the innumerable statues here disinterred now fill the galleries of Italy. It must not be forgotten, that the peerless goddess of the Arno was found entombed among the meaner rubbish of the Villa. Nature is fast resuming her sylvan empire over the wreck of buried splendour. A luxuriant growth of woods, consisting of pine, cypress, and ilex, now shades the ruins. Among these wild trees, a beautiful shrub was observed, the name of which has escaped my memory. Our old guide said, that Adrian brought it with him from Egypt and it still lingers in the deserted gardens, hanging its white and fragrant blossoms, as if out of respect to the memory of its former protector.

On our return across the Campagna, we narrowly escaped a tremendous tempest. The rain descended in torrents, and the thunderbolts fell fast and heavy. A scene of so much grandeur called to mind one of Virgil's finest descriptions, which my classical friend repeated to us, while the peals were rattling round the domes and echoing among the

ruins of the Capital. Sublime as the imagery of the poet is, it did not transcend the grandeur of the reality.

Thus have I finished all that will be said of Rome at present. The palaces and churches, with the innumerable works of art they contain; the Villas and Gardens; the galleries of modern artists; religious ceremonies and public amusements, with a hundred other topics, must be postponed till my return from Naples-a respite to which my readers will doubtless have po objection.

LETTER LXI.

DEPARTURE FOR NAPLES-ALBAN MOUNT-ARICIA-GENZANO -VELLETRI-PONTINE MARSHES-TERRACINA-ENTRANCE OF THE NEAPOLITAN DOMINIONS-FONDI-ITRI-MAUSOLEUM OF CICERO-MOLA DI GAETA.

May, 1826.-From Rome to Naples, a distance of a hundred and fifty miles, we made an experiment of another kind of conveyance. Our friends and fellow-travellers, contrary to their previous arrangements, and in search of a milder climate than had been found upon the banks of the Tiber,* concluded to accompany us to the South of Italy; and with the double view of economy and of sociability, a coach with four horses was engaged to take us to Naples in two days and a half. The vetturino promised, that he would send on word in advance, for every thing to be in readiness, to prevent any unnecessary delay; but this stipulation proved to be all a sham, as will every other agreement with these contractors, which is not reduced to writing.

At one o'clock on the afternoon of the 8th, we made our exit through the Neapolitan Gate, (the Porta di San Giovanni,) and not without many lingering regrets, saw the domes and towers and ramparts and ruins of the city rapidly receding from our view. There is a charm about Rome which

* The weather was colder at Rome than it had been found three weeks before in the vale of the Arno. A fire was kept up in our chambers every night during our stay. Much rain fell, and the winds were frequently chilly and piercing. On going out one morning, about the first of May, the hills about Tivoli and Mont Albano were observed covered with a coat of newfallen snow, and the air was so keen as to drive some of our party back to the comforts of the fire-side.

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no other place in an equal degree possesses; and its locali ties, so far from tiring, grow daily upon the heart of the tra veller, notwithstanding the slight deductions that are frequently to be made from his pleasures.

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The aspect of the Campagna, between the gates of Rome and Mont Albano, over the brow of which the Neapolitan road passes, very nearly resembles that of the two routes from the heights of Baccano and to Tivoli, already described. possible, it is more desolate than the former, and certainly more sterile than the latter. A post-house is almost the only settlement to break the solitude, or furnish a refuge to travellers in cases of necessity. Fortunately none was needed by us, in a ride of two or three hours. Soon after leaving the gates of the city, the road joins the old Appian Way, and thence pursues it to Capua, within fifteen miles of Naples, though few or no traces of it are visible in the first part of the journey.

At the foot of the Alban Mount, we passed an old tower on the left, which antiquaries call the Tomb of Ascanius, and others that of Clodius. It is very doubtful to which it belonged, if indeed to either. The latter in his return to Rome along the Appian Way, near this spot was met and murdered by Milo and his party. They pretend to show the very house into which Claudius was carried, and where he died of his wounds. Such a tradition outrages belief. If few of the most substantial and conspicuous works of the Republic have been preserved, and are now discernible, it is wholly incredible that a private dwelling, celebrated by an event of comparatively little importance should survive.

Beyond the gates of Albano, close to the path, there is another ambiguous monument, by some considered the mausoleum of the Curiatii, and by others, the cenotaph of Pompey. The former were born on the Alban Mount, and the latter there had a Villa, which seem to be the strongest circumstances in favour of either opinion. Some have pretended to discover traces of Egyptian architecture in the turrets, which crown the monument, contending that they were designed to convey an allusion to the death of the Triumvir on the sands of the Nile. But I leave these nice points to be settled, or more properly to be discussed, by antiquaries. It is certain that the mausoleum, to whomsoever it belonged, is fast sinking into decay, notwithstanding all the attempts to prop its tottering age; and it appears to be equally certain,

that the site of the combat between the Horatii and Curiatii was on the Campagna, about five miles from Rome, not far from the tomb of Cecilia Metella, where tradition says they were buried.

As it is our intention to linger a day or two about the Alban Mount, on our return from the south, for the purpose of examining its villages and antiquities, I shall say little on the subject at present, reserving my remarks till its interesting objects have been more fully examined. We made no stay,

But even

and our only views were taken from the carriage. in passing hastily over the Mount, its magnificent scenery could not escape observation. Rome seated in majesty upon her hills, and girt with her eternal solitudes-the little lake of Turnus slumbering and gleaming in the depth of the Campagna-the scene of the last six books of the Æneid spreading to the right-the sea and its lonely borders beyond-the woody top of Mont Algidum on the lett-with the natural, rich, and rural scenery which skirted the road, formed features in a landscape too bold not to arrest attention and give delight to the imagination. Much of the territory on the declivities of Mont Albano has returned fully to a state of nature, and the luxuriance of the foliage affords a grateful relief to the eye, accustomed to the waste of the Campagna. The Arician groves looked as fresh, as if the spirit of some modern Hippolytus* forbade the brute creation to intrude upon the sacred precincts, and the copses were as tangled and green, as when they shaded the shrine of Dian, or formed the sylvan retreat of Egeria.

=Aricia is a small town, pleasantly situated upon a round swell of the mountain, fifteen miles from Rome. It keeps up the formality of walls and gates, as certain noblemen wear their titles, in the midst of poverty and degradation. A Convent of Benedictines and a very stately new church, yet in an unfinished condition, cover nearly half the area of the town, which appears to be as full of mendicants, as it was in the age of Juvenal. But the period has long since gone by, when beggary can be set down as a characteristic pecu

* Horses refused to enter the ancient forest of Aricia, because Hippolytus, the founder of the town, after his resurrection by Esculapius and his transportation by Diana, had been dashed to pieces by his frightened steeds. See the amusing, though absurd fable of Hippolytus in the 7th book of the Eneid. Virgil makes Aricia the parent city. The nymph Egeria seems here to have had her country seat.

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