containing a good many not very remarkable pictures, and a few more
pieces of statuary. Among the latter, is Canova's statue of Pauline, the
sister of Bonaparte, who is represented with but little drapery, and in
the character of Venus holding the apple in her hand. It is admirably
done, and, I have no doubt, a perfect likeness; very beautiful too; but
it is wonderful to see how the artificial elegance of the woman of this
world makes itself perceptible in spite of whatever simplicity she could
find in almost utter nakedness. The statue does not afford pleasure in
the contemplation.

In one of these upper rooms are some works of Bernini; two of them,
Aeneas and Anchises, and David on the point of slinging a stone at
Goliath, have great merit, and do not tear and rend themselves quite out
of the laws and limits of marble, like his later sculpture. Here is also
his Apollo overtaking Daphne, whose feet take root, whose, finger-tips
sprout into twigs, and whose tender body roughens round about with bark,
as he embraces her. It did not seem very wonderful to me; not so good as
Hillard's description of it made me expect; and one does not enjoy these
freaks in marble.

We were glad to emerge from the casino into the warm sunshine; and, for
my part, I made the best of my way to a large fountain, surrounded by a
circular stone seat of wide sweep, and sat down in a sunny segment of the
circle. Around grew a solemn company of old trees,--ilexes, I believe,--
with huge, contorted trunks and evergreen branches, . . . . deep groves,
sunny openings, the airy gush of fountains, marble statues, dimly visible
in recesses of foliage, great urns and vases, terminal figures, temples,
--all these works of art looking as if they had stood there long enough
to feel at home, and to be on friendly and familiar terms with the grass
and trees. It is a most beautiful place, . . . . and the Malaria is its