The Palazzo Vaticano may well close this list of Roman palaces. Its exterior architecture is neither imposing nor beautiful. It is not even uniform and symmetrical; but looks like a cluster of buildings huddled together without much regard to appearance or propriety. This is easily accounted for by the fact that its several parts were erected by different architects, at different periods, and for different purposes. Begun early in the sixth century, the work has been continued under successive pontiffs, with frequent alterations and enlargements, reparations and improvements, down to the present time. All the great architects that Italy has produced since its commencement have been employed on one part or another of the edifice; and Bramante, Raffaello, Fontana, Maderno, and Bernini, successively displayed their respective talents in its embellishment. It is of immense extent, covering a space twelve hundred feet in length and a thousand in breadth. Its elevation is proportionate, and the number of apartments it contains is incredible. Its halls, saloons, galleries, and porticoes are on a grand scale, and give an idea of magnificence truly Roman. The walls are neither wainscoted, nor hung with tapestry; but animated by the genius of the sublimest of modern artists. It is entered at the north side of the Grand Basilica of Saint Peter, by four successive flights of marble steps, called the Scala Regia, adorned with a double row of marble pillars-probably the most superb staircase in the world. Through its galleries of painting and statuary, its hall of inscriptions, its museum of antiquities, and its unrivalled library, I wandered again and again for many hours together; but to enumerate their contents were to write a volume, and to speak critically of a hundredth part of what I saw were to furnish matter for a library.

I must mention a few of Rome's suburban villas, interesting, so many of them, for their fine situations, beautiful gardens, extensive prospects, elegant casini, and numerous works of art.

The Villa Farnese, seated on the crest of the Palatine, covers, with its gardens, the vast substructions and scattered fragments of the imperial palace; and commands a full

view of the Forum, the Capitol, the Coliseum, and most of the ancient city.

'Hence the seven hills, and hence is seen,

What'er great Rome can boast, the world's triumphant queen.'

The Villa Negroni, once the favourite retreat of Sixtus Quintus, encloses an immense area on the Esquiline and the Viminal, covered with groves of evergreens, containing two spacious and handsome buildings, and the remains of the celebrated rampart raised by Tarquinius Priscus. Its most valuable marbles, however, have been removed, and part of its grounds converted into vegetable gardens.

The Villa Pamfilidoria is supposed to occupy the same ground as the gardens of the Emperor Galba. It is remarkable for its extent, magnificence, and valuable antiquities. It was on this elevated spot that Porsenna pitched his camp more than two thousand years ago; and Marshal Oudinot planted his batteries here in 1849. The grounds. are laid out with great regularity, after the French manner; but the luxuriance of nature is constantly counterworking the formal art of man; and the profusion of foliage and water renders it a delightful resort in the bright mornings of May.

'Here many a cool retreat is found,
Far raised o'er all the heights around.'

Nowhere did I see a finer cluster of stone-pines; and oh, how sweetly sang the nightingales among the cedars!

The Villa Madama, on the side of Monte Mario, is now interesting chiefly for its historical associations. In its gardens is a rural theatre, formed by the natural windings of a little dell, and delightfully shaded with trees and shrubbery. In the golden days of the Medici, this sylvan scene was crowded by the polished Romans, who assembled to listen to the compositions of rival poets, and decide the priority of contesting orators. After these literary exhibitions, the spectators were regaled in lofty halls, planned by Raffaello, and painted by Giulio Romano, with all the delicacies of the orchard and the garden, amid strains of the sweetest music. But those days are no more, the Medician

line is extinct, and the villa is hastening to decay. The view from the hill above it is charming: the Tiber winding through its green meadows, spanned by the memorable Pons Milvius, with its arched tower; the plain consecrated by the victory of Constantine; the Campus Martius, covered with the buildings of the modern city; while the seven hills beyond, and the Campagna stretching away to the mountains,

'Make great display of Rome's immortal ruins.'

The Villa Borghese, four miles in circumference, covers the brow of a hill behind the Pincio. Its noble vistas, numerous fountains, ornamental buildings, and interesting collection of antiquities, entitle it to be regarded as the first of Roman villas, and worthy of comparison with the luxurious retreats of Sallust and Lucullus. Portions of the grounds are laid out in parallelograms, whose walks are adorned with temples, shaded with laurels, and refreshed with sparkling cascades; but here and there a winding path allures the visitor into a wilderness of plants and flowers, abandoned to their native luxuriance, and watered by streamlets murmuring through their own artless channels. The interior of its spacious casino is lined with the richest marbles, supported by the noblest pillars, and filled with the finest productions of the pencil and the chisel. Here is the famous reclining statue of Pauline Buonaparte by Canova, a work of wondrous beauty. Such, indeed, is the splendour of these apartments, and the preciousness of their contents, that no sovereign in Europe can boast a gayer residence, or a richer gallery. The gates of this paradise are always open to the public; and whenever the weather is good, especially on Sunday, multitudes of people of all descriptions, from the redshanked cardinal down to the rag-screen contadine, are to be seen moving in every direction among the trees, or sitting in picturesque groups around the fountains. Frequently, through these delightful groves, fragrant with blossoms and musical with singing birds, I ranged for hours together, and never wearied of their varied beauty.

The Villa Ludovisi, famous for the Aurora of Guercino on the ceiling of its casino; and the Villa Abani, with

its two huge columns of alabaster, and its numerous pillars of granite, porphyry, serpentine, verd antique, and other precious marbles; with all the rest, I pass by, lest I should weary the reader with the similarity of detail. In describing a few of these charming seats, one virtually describes them all. They may differ in extent and magnitude, but they are nearly the same in their principal features, their natural graces, and their artificial decorations. All of them enclose some of the same ancient ruins, contain some of the same interesting antiques, and present some of the same delightful views of the Historic City

6

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood!'

CHAPTER XXV.

ANTEMNE AND FIDENE.

Solitary Ramble on the Campagna-Interesting View-Fierce Dogs -A Ruin-Walk to Antemne-Charcoal Sketch-A Soldier Artist-Site of the City-Great Battle Ground-Ponte Salaro-Scene of Nero's Suicide-Necropolis and Citadel of FideneHistorical Sketch.

THERE is nothing I enjoy more than a solitary ramble in the country. Even at home, I love to wander at leisure through the grand old woods,' or sit down in the shade by some rippling brook, and give myself up to reverie. But in Italy, where every hill has borne a city, and every stream reddened with battle-blood, and every foot of soil entombed its hero-where every rock is a history, every ruin an epic poem, and every ivy-mantled tower a sermon for the heart-there is an indescribable pleasure in such an excursion, and the soul, communing with the past, learns something of her own littleness, sees the vanity of man and all his works, and looks away from the perishable to the eternal.

One charming morning, with Dennis's 'Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria' under my arm, I sauntered along the old Flaminian Way, little knowing, and as little caring, whither I went, till I found myself on a lofty precipice overlooking the Tiber, eight miles above the city. Here I seated myself upon a block of tufo, which Etruscan hands two thousand years ago had hewn into its quadrangular form, unfolded my map, and for two full hours feasted eye and soul with the strange beauty of the scene around me.

Below me, visible for many miles, flowed the classic Tiber, in many a graceful curve, through a rich valley, bounded with gently sloping hills, and here and there a bold promontory looking down into its golden current. On my left, between romantic cliffs, brilliant with in

S