autumnal atmosphere, though elsewhere it was a day of poisonous Roman
chill.

At the end of the garden, which was of no great extent, was an edifice,
bordering on the piazza, called the Casino, which, I presume, means a
garden-house. The front is richly ornamented with bas-reliefs, and
statues in niches; as if it were a place for pleasure and enjoyment, and
therefore ought to be beautiful. As we approached it, the door swung
open, and we went into a large room on the ground-floor, and, looking up
to the ceiling, beheld Guido's Aurora. The picture is as fresh and
brilliant as if he had painted it with the morning sunshine which it
represents. It could not be more lustrous in its lines, if he had given
it the last touch an hour ago. Three or four artists were copying it at
that instant, and positively their colors did not look brighter, though a
great deal newer than his. The alacrity and movement, briskness and
morning stir and glow, of the picture are wonderful. It seems impossible
to catch its glory in a copy. Several artists, as I said, were making
the attempt, and we saw two other attempted copies leaning against the
wall, but it was easy to detect failure in just essential points. My
memory, I believe, will be somewhat enlivened by this picture hereafter:
not that I remember it very distinctly even now; but bright things leave
a sheen and glimmer in the mind, like Christian's tremulous glimpse of
the Celestial City.

In two other rooms of the Casino we saw pictures by Domenichino, Rubens,
and other famous painters, which I do not mean to speak of, because I
cared really little or nothing about them. Returning into the garden,
the sunny warmth of which was most grateful after the chill air and cold
pavement of the Casino, we walked round the laguna, examining the
statues, and looking down at some little fishes that swarmed at the stone