ducts by which Rome is now supplied with water for her hundred fountains, and for private use. These are old ones, which have been repaired from time to time by the Popes. The longest is that built by Trajan, and repaired by Pope Paul the Fifth. It extends thirty-five miles from the city.

The present walls of Rome have been erected at different periods, almost from the first foundation of the city. From the time of Romulus, when they were little more than the enclosures of a fortress, they continued to be enlarged, until, in the reign of Valerian, they are said to have been fifty miles in circumference. These, of course, embraced the suburbs, in which were the splendid villas of the wealthy and the noble. Dionysius says, that it was difficult to tell where Rome ended, as all the great roads branching off from the city were lined with buildings. The present walls are about fifteen miles in extent. Many of the old gates have been walled up, and twelve only are now used.

Though the classic fever was strong upon us as we approached the walls of Rome, yet with some of our party the spirit of sleep was still stronger. We had continued our

journey during the whole of the previous night, and the heavy and pestilential air of the Pontine Marshes had produced upon us its usual effect of causing a deathlike drowsiness and slumber to rest, like an incubus, upon us. We entered Rome by the gate of St. John, where the delay and vexation caused us by the custom-house, the thought that we were within the walls of the Eternal City, and the scenes which opened on our view, all roused us from our stupor, and inspired us with new life and energy. The emotions which rush upon the mind of the scholar when he first finds himself in such a place as Rome, can be more easily conceived than described. Long, long years, it has been the subject of his daily studies, and his nightly dreams. The eloquence of her historians and orators, and the splendid fictions of her poets, have fired his youthful fancy, and roused within him a high and noble admiration of the wisdom and valor of her heroes, statesmen, and philosophers. A halo of glory rests on all around him, and scarce an object on which he fixes his view, but recalls to his mind some passage in history, or some fairy and poetic scene, made sacred by the genius of Virgil or Horace, or some other of the bards of olden time. Perchance he thinks, too, of those in a far off land, the companions of his youthful studies, and all the scenes through which they passed

together. And what within his power would he not give, could he but have some of those congenial spirits to roam with him there. In a few brief hours, the thoughts and feelings of years pass in quick succession through the mind, producing a wild and delightful excitement, resembling, not in kind, indeed, but in vividness and power, that which sometimes cheers the soul of the dying saint, when, as at a single glance, he sees with clear, unclouded vision, the bright scenes of his past enjoyment, and the more brilliant glories of his future bliss. If there be on earth a place where such emotions fill the ardent soul, it is, and must be, Rome; and there is truth and reason in the description which Gibbon gives of his own feelings on first arriving there. He says,

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My temper is not very susceptible of enthusiasm; and the enthusiasm which I do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But, at the distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and entered the Eternal City. After a sleepless night, I trod, with a lofty step, the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot where Romulus stood, or Tully spoke, or Cæsar fell, was at once present to my eye; and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could descend to a cool and minute investigation."

We took our lodgings in Rome, at the hotel “Ville de Paris," near the Piazza del Populo, and directly at the foot of the Pincian Mount. It was formerly a palace, and its luxurious apartments, its beautiful garden with its fish-pond, and its statues, and Latin inscriptions, almost made one fancy himself amid the sumptuous splendor of old and classic times. But as we sallied forth and moved about the city, a deathlike apathy and decay seemed everywhere to meet the eye. This impression was owing, in part, to the fact that we were there when most of the foreigners who spend the winter at Rome, and those whom Holy Week convenes, had left the city. But still, much of it was cold and stern reality. Along the streets were scattered broken fragments of statues and fallen columns, the remnants of other and better days, while nothing new or fresh was to be seen. The wealthy citizen, or stranger, rolled along the fashionable rides, in his showy carriage; but excepting this, the only vehicles in motion, were here and there the rude cart of a peasant from the mountains, dragged slowly along by a single tall and gaunt white ox, or a team of buffaloes, or an ox with a little shrivelled donkey

by his side. The tradesman was lounging or sleeping at his shop door, or on his counter, and nothing of the activity and busy hum of commerce was either heard or seen. There was in Rome, with a population of one hundred and fifty thousand, far less of life and motion than in many a town in the United States, of eight or ten thousand inhabitants. The artists and the poorer classes, depend almost entirely for support, on the wealth from abroad which is lavished there by visiters; and thus we have the singular spectacle of a large and populous city, where there is little else than consumption, and with nothing of that energy and enterprise excited by a vigorous pursuit of trade and commerce. Hence, the listlessness and inactivity within the walls well comports with the wide-spread solitude and desolation without.

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A large part of the modern city is surrounded by the Seven Hills, and is built upon the Campus Martius, or Field of Mars. In ancient times this was an open place, without the walls, adorned with statues and porticos, where the people met for public elections and some of the games, and where the Roman youth engaged in warlike and athletic sports and exercises. The Palatine, Aventine, and Cœlian hills are almost entirely destitute of buildings, while the Esquiline, Capitoline, Viminal, and Quirinal, are either wholly or in part occupied by the modern city. The most prominent object on the Pincian Mount, is the Villa Medici; the Pope's palace is on the Quirinal; and the Esquiline, Cœlian, and Vatican are crowned with the three principal churches of Rome. These hills are all much lower now than in ancient times. This is owing to the fact, that their summits have been removed by tillage, by levelling them for the purpose of building, and by the rain, which has swept down the soil to the valleys below. By these and other causes, the present surface between the hills has been elevated twenty, thirty, and even forty feet above the pavements of the ancient city. The Aventine hill, which rises from the banks of the Tiber, is the highest, and has most of the rough and untamed grandeur of nature.

There is much in the immediate vicinity of Rome, which gives it quite a rural and picturesque appearance. The Pincian Mount, which rises with the abruptness of a precipice, from the very heart of the city, and is covered with beauti. fully shaded walks, and rides, and pleasure-grounds, together with the large and deeply-wooded park in front of the Villa

Borghese, and the circuit made by going out at the Gate of the People, crossing the Milvian bridge, and passing along the further banks of the Tiber, till you enter the city near the Vatican, - all delight the eye, and tend to divert the mind from the wide-spread solitude and desolation which. reign around. There are also a number of villas just without the walls, belonging to the oldest and wealthiest families of Rome. Of these the Dorian Villa has most pretensions to taste and beauty, of any that I saw. The grounds are quite extensive, with broad gravel walks, lined on each side by a thick growth of trees, twenty or thirty feet in height, with the top and sides cut perfectly smooth, thus forming a square and compact wall of green. There are also fine gardens, a park of lofty pines, and a stream passing through a grove, wrought into artificial waterfalls and spouting fountains, and emptying into a smooth and peaceful lake below. These, with numerous statues and other works of art, serve to please the taste indeed, but then they have been so tortured into lines, and angles, and shape, and order, as to lose that air of wildness and of nature which is the highest charm of rural scenery. The effect produced upon the mind by such a scene, was less than nothing, when compared with those emotions which have filled the soul, when, in my early days, I sat or strolled beside some swollen mountain stream, which, shaded by dark and lofty forest trees, and fiercely rushing down its rocky gorge, sent forth upon the winds its wild and spiritstirring melody.

Rome may not unaptly be styled the City of Fountains, as one or more of these adorn each of her numerous public squares. Some of them are very beautiful, resembling a natural stream pouring over moss-grown rocks, and forming neat and picturesque cascades. Others flow from lions' or from serpents' mouths; or some water-deity or huge monster of the deep spouts the pearly liquid far upwards in the air. It is greatly to be desired, that fountains should become common in the towns, villages, and cities of the United States. They are so useful in promoting cleanliness and health, while at the same time they may be made objects of such taste and beauty, that one who has seen them abroad cannot but wish that they were added to the other numerous delightful objects of nature and of art, whose charms so strongly bind his best affections to his native land.

Another interesting class of objects at Rome, are the

Egyptian obelisks and triumphal pillars which grace the public squares, in various parts of the city. The former are the most numerous, and some of them date back as far as a thousand years before the Christian era. They consist of a long square shaft of solid granite, slightly tapering towards the top, and resting on a pedestal of the same material. Their height varies from thirty to one hundred and twenty feet, and their sides are commonly covered with hieroglyphics. They were brought from Thebes, Heliopolis, and other parts of Egypt, by the Roman generals and emperors, and were used to adorn the amphitheatres and public squares. They were made at first to record the exploits of heroes, and grace their temples and their tombs. The obelisk in front of St. Peter's' church was brought from Heliopolis, by order of the Emperor Caligula, in a vessel constructed for the purpose, and placed by Nero in his circus. There it lay buried in ruins for ages, until, by order of Pope Sextus the Fifth, it was raised from the earth by means of forty-one machines, with strong ropes, and iron rollers. The power of all these was applied at once, by means of eight hundred men, and one hundred and sixty horses, and yet eight days were required in effecting it. To transport it three hundred paces, to the place where it now stands, cost four months' labor. It was elevated on its pedestal by means of fifty-two powers, all applied together. It is a single shaft of red Egyptian granite, and is about one hundred and twenty feet in height.

There are two triumphal columns now standing in Rome. The oldest and best executed is that of Trajan. It stands in what was once his Forum, which was the largest and most splendid in Rome, containing, among other things, a Basilica, a temple, a triumphal arch with four fronts, and the celebrated Ulpian library. Part of its site is now occupied by two churches, while around the base of the column are strewed fragments of pillars, and other remains of ancient magnificence. The column, or, as it is commonly called, Trajan's Pillar, is of the Doric order, and composed of thirtyfour blocks of white statuary marble, fastened together with bronze cramps. Its diameter is ten feet, its height one hundred and twenty, and it is now surmounted by a statue of St. Peter. The pedestal is twenty feet high, and is covered with figures of trophies, eagles, wreaths of oak, and other similar things. The shaft is covered with figures in bass relief, of warriors, captives, horses, triumphal processions, and battles,