should mistake the wild surging of the waves, and the sighing of the winds among the rocks, and the caverns of a lofty sea-beaten shore, for the roaring of lions and the howling of wolves, and raging beasts of prey.

Leaving Terracina at midnight, we entered the Pontine Marshes. They are twenty-four miles in length, and vary from six to twelve miles in breadth. Composed as they are, of a deep, rich vegetable mould, saturated with water, and covered with a rank and luxuriant growth of wild plants and grass, they have ever been the abodes of pestilence and death. Appius Cæcus began to drain them, and the Roman Emperors and the Popes have pursued the work. Vestiges of one of the ancient canals, nineteen miles in length, may still be seen along the road. It was made by Augustus Cæsar, and enlarged by Nero. The great defect in these works has been, that instead of digging ditches at the foot of the surrounding mountains, thus conveying away the waters which descend, each one has labored near the road, that thus his works, and the monuments on which were inscribed his name and his glory, might not be concealed from public view. In the midst of these marshes, we passed the wretched villages of Appii Forum, and the Three Taverns, where the Christians from Rome came to meet Paul, when on his first journey thither. The former is nearly fifty, and the latter forty miles from the city, and their coming such a distance to meet and to comfort him, though wearing the chains of a criminal, shows how high was his reputation, and how widely his fame was diffused abroad. No wonder that when the venerable Apostle saw the brethren who had come thus far on an errand of kindness and love, he "thanked God and took courage." At the Three Taverns, a church and a convent have been built to commemorate this visit of Paul, but they are now in a state of decay.

I will not here stop to describe a number of romantic towns, known to classic fame, which lay among the mountains on our right, but, leaving the marshes behind us and ascending the hills beyond, let us enter Velletri. This town was one of the capitals of the ancient Volsci, and boasts of having been the birth-place of the Emperor Augustus. Some authors say, indeed, that he was a native of Rome, but, be this as it may, his family once resided at Velletri, and a painting of his head now graces the sign-board of one of the village hotels. From the hills which the road crosses, there were

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beautiful views of the distant sea, of mountains shaded with forest trees, and hill-sides, and valleys richly covered with vineyards and fields of grain. The people, too, had the healthy hue, and the wild, free air of mountaineers, thus presenting a striking contrast to the sallow, listless, and indolent wretches who vegetate in the lowland towns and villages, through which we had just before passed.

At a short distance from Genzano, the next place at which we stopped, is Lake Nemi. Like lakes Avernus, Albano, and others in the south of Italy, it seems to occupy the crater of an extinct volcano. In some cases, the entire banks are more than 100 feet high, and they have no natural outlet. On Lake Nemi, the Emperor Trajan built a splendid floating palace. It was five hundred feet in length, three hundred in breadth, and two hundred in height. The materials were wood, fastened with iron clamps, with an outside covering of lead, and lined within with marble. It was moored in the centre of the lake, and supplied with water by conduits from the fountain of Egeria, which gushes from the side of the adjacent hill. The shores around were adorned with walks, and thus was formed a romantic and elegant retreat. It was permitted to sink, and when examined two or three centuries ago, by means of a diving-bell, was found to be in a good state of preservation.

On Mount Albano, I visited the lake of the same name. It reposes in a basin more than 100 feet in depth, and all its banks are overhung with wild plants, vines, and forest trees. In the beautiful solitude of the surrounding summits, are a number of convents, the tinkling of whose bells is almost the only sound which breaks in upon the sacred stillness of the scene. The situation of one or two of these abodes of luxurious indolence, is most enchanting. Below sleeps the quiet lake, enclosed by romantic heights, on one of which, was that temple of Jupiter, where Rome and her allies used to meet for worship, and to which so many a victorious general had marched, in proud triumphal procession. Beyond, in the distance, lay what once was Rome; yes, proud Imperial Rome, the mistress of the world, now Rome no more. Around her desolation reigns. The wreck of empire, and the mouldering ruins of other and far nobler days, now meet the eye, wherever it turns. To one at home in history, there were enough within the view to teach him wisdom, and give him food for thought and feeling for

years, nay, ages. There was pagan Rome, the heart of all the world, from whence there flowed those healthful or corrupting streams, whose influence was felt in the extremest parts of distant empires. There, too, was Christian Rome, the thunder of whose power had made the mightiest monarchs tremble on their thrones, and brought them from afar, as humble suppliants, for favor and forgiveness. There, had mighty armies fought and conquered; or, being vanquished and subdued, were trampled in the dust, and wore the chains of slavery. There had marched triumphant generals, and kings, and emperors, with long processions, and with proud. and gorgeous show. But now, alas, all, all had passed away, and sunk to rise no more. And all had been forgotten too, but for the lasting monuments of art, and those, more noble and enduring far, which genius rears to give undying fame to great and godlike men. Beholding scenes like these, I almost wished to spend my days within those still retreats, which rise beneath the lofty oaks, and there learn wisdom and improve the heart, by musing on the brief and sad estate of man, and all the vanity of human greatness. But then I thought, that man was made for action; and he but half fulfils his being's end, who does not labor to improve his fellow-men. None should desert the post of active duty but such as cannot work, or those whom deadly peril drives to flight. That weak and sickly piety, which needs the shade, and will not bear the frown of power, nor dare the wild and angry waves of human passion, as seen in those who hate their God, will never do for such a world as this, where every soldier of the Cross should gird his armour on, and fight till death overtakes him.

Its Emisa

Lake Albano is seven miles in circumference. rium, or artificial outlet, is one of the noblest works of ancient Rome. It is a tunnel cut through a mountain of solid rock, and is five or six feet broad, ten or twelve high, and more than a mile in length. The whole was completed in a single year. After tracing its course on the surface, pits of one or two hundred feet deep were sunk, at given distances from each other, by which means several parties of laborers were able to work at the same time. The massive stone work at the entrance and outlet of this canal, and the whole interior walls, though they were erected more than two thousand years ago, are as firm and perfect as when first completed.

In the village of Albano is a "Caffe Americano," (Ameri

can Coffee House,) so called in honor of our country, or rather to secure the custom of Americans who pass that way. From thence, as from every point within sight of Rome, the dome of St. Peter's is the most prominent object, and may often be seen as a far off landmark, to guide the traveller, while the city below is concealed from the view by the smoke and mists which rest upon it. As we passed along the gradual descent of Mount Albano, the wide-spread Romana Campagna lay before us, in the centre of which rise the Seven Hills on which the "Eternal City" was built. This large space, which is more than one hundred miles in circumference, and covers an area of fifteen thousand square miles, is now little else than one vast and melancholy desert, retaining barely enough of the ruins of its former magnificence to remind one that he is moving amid the wreck of a mighty empire. Here and there a low and filthy post-house, forced into existence by the wants of those who travel; together with scattered herds of goats, swine, and domestic buffaloes, present almost the only exceptions to the deathlike solitude and desolation, which reign everywhere around. A few fields of grain dot the surface of this verdant desert, but most of it is covered with grass, and with wild plants and weeds, growing in all their untamed and native luxuriance. And yet, in beholding this scene, how often is one forced to exclaim, Whence is all this mighty change? Once, upon every little mound and hillock, rose the splendid villa of some old Roman, surrounded by its park, and pleasure-grounds; and gardens, and the wealth and industry of assembled millions, made what is now a lone and wide-spread desert, to bloom and blossom like the rose. And still the soil is deep and fertile, and everywhere there rise those gentle waves and swells which fit it, in perfection, for easy and successful cultivation. The whole area, too, except where the ocean washes it, is enclosed by a beautiful amphitheatre of hills and mountains, which shut out the cold and chilling breeze. Cattle may graze there throughout the year, and the snow and ice, which there used to be at Rome in the days of Horace and Lucretius, are rarely seen there now. The soil is rather dry than moist, and surely I have never seen such a large and fertile tract of country so free from those marshes, lakes, and stagnant pools, which are apt to engender disease. The prevalence of the deadly malaria in a region so well fitted to become the garden of the world, was a matter of mystery to us; and though we often speculated

and conversed upon the subject, yet the medical gentlemen of our party, as well as the rest, were wholly at a loss as to any adequate natural cause for the fact. It seems, indeed, as if the Almighty, in order to effect his purposes, had spread over it the breath of the pestilence, like the besom of destruction; thus, by a silent and resistless influence, sweeping away man from the face of the earth, and changing what was once a crowded city, into a lone and unpeopled solitude. The malaria has for a long time been advancing to the very heart of Rome itself, and often great numbers die of it in a single season. So well defined are its ravages, that in some cases a part of a block of buildings, or the lower story of a house, have been unsafe, while the other parts were healthy. Rome, and portions of the country around, have suffered so much from earthquakes, volcanos, the inundations of the Tiber, and the ravages of invading armies, that the surface has been greatly changed, so that in digging, columns, statues, fragments of edifices, and even pavements of the ancient city, are often found twenty or thirty feet beneath the present level of the soil. If Rome is indeed to perish, one who visits her is at no loss to perceive the traces of those elements of destruction which, though now slumbering beneath the surface of the earth, need but the breath of the Almighty to kindle them, in order to present the scene of which the prophet speaks, when he says, "The streams thereof shall be turned into pitch, and the dust thereof into brimstone, and the land thereof into burning pitch. It shall not be quenched night nor day; the smoke thereof shall go up for ever: from generation to generation it shall lie waste; none shall pass through it for ever and ever."

The most prominent objects in the Campagna di Roma are the tombs and the aqueducts. These aqueducts were employed to convey water from the mountains, for the use of the city. They are commonly ten or fifteen feet high, three or four feet in diameter, and supported by a succession of stone piers and arches. The aqueducts of ancient Rome were eleven in number, and were sufficient to convey to the city 800,000 tons of water every day. Of these the ruins of the Claudian, Tepulan, and Martial are most extensive and magnificent. The Claudian aqueduct conveyed three streams of water to Rome; two from a distance of forty-five miles, and the third more than sixty miles. One of its arches is now used as a gate of the city. There are three principal aque