difficulties are increased tenfold; and the scene presents anything
but a Sabbath-like appearance. Nor are the danger and difficulty over
when the gate is passed; for the Piazza del Popolo and the streets
that lead from it are crowded with carriages and pedestrians going to
or returning from the favourite promenade on the Pincian Hill. One
runs the gauntlet all the way; meditation is impossible; and the
return from church in the afternoon is as different as possible from
the morning walk to it. What pleasure can these people derive from the
beautiful walks and drives in the Borghese grounds, except perhaps
that of seeing and being seen in a crowd? There is no seclusion of
nature, no opportunity of quiet thought.

On week-days, at certain hours, one may enjoy the place thoroughly
without any distraction, and feel amid the lonely vistas of the woods
as if buried in the loneliest solitude of the Apennines. And truly on
such occasions I know no place so fascinating, so like an earthly
Eden! The whole scene thrills one like lovely music. All the charms
of nature and art are there focussed in brightest perfection. The
grounds are gay with starry anemones, and billowy acacias crested with
odorous wreaths of yellow foam, dark and mysterious with tall ilexes,
cypresses, and stone-pines, enlivened by graceful palms and tender
deciduous trees, musical with falling and glancing waters, and haunted
by the statues of Greek divinities that filled men's minds with
immortal thoughts in the youth of the world--dimly visible amid the
recesses of the foliage. The path leads to a casino in which sculpture
and painting have done their utmost to enrich and adorn the
apartments. But the result of all this prodigal display of wealth and
refinement is exceedingly melancholy. It would be death to inhabit
these sumptuous marble rooms when their coolness would be most
agreeable; and the witchery of the shadowy wood paths and bowers in