of recollections and the crowd of sensations oppress you, so that your very soul is disordered at beholding the place-for it is Rome, which has twice inherited the empire of the world, first as the heir to Saturn, and secondly to Jacob.*

You will, perhaps, think, from my description, that nothing can be more frightful than the Roman environs; but in this conjecture you would be egregiously mistaken. They possess an inconceivable grandeur, and in contemplating them, you would be always ready to exclaim with Virgil:

Salve, magna parens frugum, Saturnia tellus,
Magna virúm ! +

* Montaigne thus describes the neighbourhood of Rome about two centuries ago.

"We had at a distance, on our left, the Appennines, and the prospect of a country by no means pleasant, uneven and full of gaps, which would render it difficult to range troops in regular order. The country is without trees, and a considerable part of it sterile, open on every side, and more than ten miles in circumference. Like all other countries

too of this description, it is very thinly inhabited."

† Hail, happy land, producing richest fruits,

And heroes of renown!

If you view them as an economist, they will displease you, but if you survey them as an artist, or a poet, or a philosopher, you will perhaps not wish them to be altered. The sight of a corn-field or a vineyard would not cause such strong emotions in your mind as that of a country, where modern culture has not renovated the soil, and which may be said to have become as purely antique as the ruins which cover it.

Nothing is so beautiful as the lines of the Roman horizon, the gentle inclination of the plains, and the soft flying contour of the termi nating mountains. The valleys often assume the form of an arena, a circus, or a riding-house. The hills are cut in terraces, as if the mighty hand of the Romans had moved the whole land at pleasure. A peculiar vapour is spread over distant objects, which takes off their harshness and rounds them. The shadows are never black and heavy; for there are no masses so obscure, even among the rocks and foliage, but that a little light may always insinuate itself. A singular tint and most peculiar harmony unite the earth, the sky, and the waters. All the

surfaces unite at their extremities by means of an insensible gradation of colours, and without the possibility of ascertaining the point, at which one ends, or another begins. You have doubtless admired this sort of light in Claude Lorrain's landscapes. It appears ideal and still more beautiful than nature; but it is the light of Rome.

I did not omit to see the Villa Borghese, and to admire the sun as he cast his setting beams upon the cypresses of Mount Marius or on the pines of Villa Pamphili. I have also often directed my way up the Tiber to enjoy the grand scene of departing day at Ponte Mole. The summits of the Sabine mountains then

appear to consist of lapis lazuli and pale gold, while their base and sides are enveloped in a vapour, which has a violet or purple tint. Sometimes beautiful clouds, like light chariots, borne on the winds with inimitable grace, make you

easily comprehend the appearance of the Olympian Deities under this mythologic sky. Sometimes ancient Rome seems to have stretched into the West all the purple of her Consuls and Cæsars,

1

and spread them under the last steps of the god of day. This rich decoration does not disappear so soon as in our climate. When you suppose that the tints are vanishing, they suddenly reappear at some other point of the horizon. Twilight succeeds to twilight, and the charm of closing day is prolonged. It is true that at this hour of rural repose, the air no longer resounds with bucolic song; you no longer hear the" dulcia linquimus arva," but the victims of sacred immolation are still to be seen. White bulls and troops of half-wild horses daily descend to the banks of the Tiber, and quench their thirst with its waters. You would fancy yourself transported to the times of the ancient Sabines, or to the age of the Arcadian Evander, when the Tiber was called Albula,* and Eneas navigated its unknown stream.

I will acknowledge without hesitation that the vicinity of Naples is more dazzling than that of Rome. When the blazing sun, or the large red moon rises above Vesuvius, like a body of

* Livy.

fire shot from its volcanic crater, the bay of Naples, and its banks fringed with orange-trees, the mountains of Sorrento, the island of Capri, the coast of Pozzuoli, Baiæ, Misene, Cumes, Averno, the Elysian fields, and all this Virgigilian district, present to the view a magic spectacle, but it does not possess the imposing grandeur of the Roman territory. It is at least certain that almost every one is prodigiously attached to this celebrated region. Two thousand years have elapsed since Cicero believed himself an exile for life, and wrote to one of his intimate friends: "Urbem, mi Rufi, cole, et in istá luce vive."* The attraction of the lovely Ausonia is still the same. Many examples are quoted of travellers, who came to Rome for the

purpose of passing a few days, and remained there all their lives. Poussin could not resist the temptation

you must live

my

dear Rufus ;

*It is at Rome, that it is that luminary which you must inhabit."

I believe the

passage occurs in the first or second book of the familiar Epistles; but as I quote from memory, I hope that any little mistake in this respect will be overlooked.