Marius, in his exile, sitting amongst the ruins of Carthage, must have been an affecting spectacle. Napoleon, amongst the ruins of Rome, would perhaps afford as striking a picture:-but Napoleon never was in Rome. If he had returned victorious from Russia, it is said that he had intended to make a triumphal entry into the eternal city, and to be crowned in St. Peter's.

The Palace of the Cæsars. The whole of this region, comprehending all that remains of the residence of the emperors, and the golden house of Nero, is now a desert, full of ruins, and fragments of temples, and baths-presenting an awful picture of fallen greatness. The spot is beautiful, and commands a fine view of Rome. The soil seems rich, if one may judge from the crops of cabbages and artichokes, which it is now made to produce. Great part, however, of this vast tract is covered with wild brushwood, where you may easily lose yourself, if you will. In my last stroll through this wilderness, I encountered a Fox, who paused for a moment to stare at me;-as if he were doubting which of the two was to be considered as the intruder. This Fox seems to be the genius of the place, and delights to show himself to all travellers. There are some remains of

terrace, overlooking the Circus Maximus, from which the emperors gave the signal for the commencement of the games.

In another quarter are three rooms, discovered about forty years ago. These chambers are in good preservation, and afford a sample of the ancient Roman taste in the construction and proportions of their apartments. They seem to have received their light, like the Pantheon, from a hole in the ceiling; and instead of the formal square which so much prevails in modern rooms, each of the four sides in these is broken into a circular recess or bow. The same accumulation of soil seems to have taken place here, on the Palatine Hill, as elsewhere; for these chambers, which must have been once on the surface, are now thirty feet below ground. These rooms appear to me to be models of proportion, and the effect of the loose flowing outline, produced by the hollowing out of the sides into recesses, is much more pleasing than the harsh angular preciseness of a parallelogram.

Dec. 20th. The more I see of Italy, the more I doubt whether it be worth while for an invalid to encounter the fatigues of so long a journey, for the sake of any advantages to be found in it, in respect of climate, during the winter. To come

to Italy, with the hope of escaping the winter, is a grievous mistake. This might be done by alternately changing your hemisphere, but in Europe it is impossible; and I believe that Devonshire, after all, may be the best place for an invalid. during that season. If the thermometer be not so low here, the temperature is more variable, and the winds are more bitter and cutting. In Devonshire too, all the comforts of the country are directed against cold; here, all the precautions are the other way. The streets are built to exclude as much as possible the rays of the sun, and are now as damp and cold as rain and frost can make them. And then, what a difference between the warm carpet, the snug elbowed chair, and the blazing coal-fire of an English winter evening, and the stone staircases, marble floors, and starving casements of an Italian house!—where every thing is designed to guard against the heat of summer; which occupies as large a proportion of the Italian year, as the winter season does our own. The only advantage of Italy then is, that your penance is shorter than it would be in England; for I repeat that, during the time it lasts, winter is more severely felt here than at Sidmouth, where I would even recommend an Italian invalid to re

pair, from November till February—if he could possess himself of Fortunatus's cap, to remove the difficulties of the journey.

Having provided myself with a warm cloak, which is absolutely necessary, where the temperature varies twenty degrees between one street and another, I have been proceeding leisurely through the wonders of Rome. In travelling round the circuit of the antiquities, it is curious to remark how the scale of buildings gradually increases, from the little modest temple of Vesta, to the temple of Fortuna Virilis, and the other works of the republic, till they swell out into colossal magnificence, in the vast works of Nero, Vespasian, and Caracalla.

The same remark may be extended to the tombs; and the same growing taste for ostentation may be traced from the earlier days of the republic to the tomb of Cæcilia Metella, the wife of Crassus. Augustus carried this taste further in his mausoleum ;-though he was at least social enough to admit his family. Adrian, at last, outdid all former outdoings, and constructed that enormous pile, which is now the Castle of St. Angelo, for the exclusive accommodation of his own single carcass.

Dec. 21st. The Tiber has been very differently described by different writers. Some have degraded it to a ditch;-while others have exalted it to an equality with the finest rivers in Europe. There are those again, who, admitting its pretentions in other respects, find fault with its colour -"fluere hunc lutulentum." The first sight of it has, I believe, generally occasioned a feeling of disappointment. But when we come to admeasurement, we find that at the Pons Ælius, now the Ponte S. Angelo, the breadth is about 212 English feet. This is the narrowest point;-and certainly if we apply to this part of the river Horace's prescription for a good night's rest

ter uncti

Transnanto Tiberim, somno quibus est opus alto"

even less accomplished swimmers than Lord Byron and Leander might object to it as inadequate. At the Pons Milvius however, now the Ponte Molle, the breadth increases; and two miles above Rome, the river is nearly twice as broad as it is within the walls. This contraction of the stream within the town, will be a sufficient explanation of the destructive inundations which have taken place at various periods.