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nine miles from Albano. Midway between the two places, we reached Grotto-Ferrata, so called from the massive iron gate, by which it was once guarded. It is situated in the midst of a wild and romantic district, girt with the striking scenery of the Alban Mount. A pretty brook, supposed to be the ancient Crabra, descends in cascades from the decli vity, murmuring through a deep and finely wooded glen. An hour was occupied in examining the Convent of St. Ni lus, which is said to stand upon the site of Cicero's Tuscu lan Villa. Such a conjecture rests on no better authority than a vague tradition, which says that in the 11th century St. Nilus, a Calabrian monk of the order of St. Basil, demolished the Villa and built the monastery on its ruins. A few fragments of bas-relief, friezes, and statues have been found in the vicinity; but in the general revolution, they might have been brought thither, and furnish no traces what ever of the splendid retreat of the Roman Orator, where se veral of his most celebrated works were composed. The evidence of identity is almost too feeble to awaken the train of association.

In the chapel of St. Nilus are several frescos by Domeni chino-the finest I have ever examined. The most cele brated of these pieces is the Demoniac Boy, which is above all praise. It is one of the boldest, sublimest, and most vi gorous productions of the pencil, and no one can survey it without an emotion. The figures in the group are nume rous, and the strong and varied expression of their faces is admirable. But the maniac himself is one of the highest conceptions of a wild and poetical imagination, which this artist in a pre-eminent degree possessed.

Frascati is a pretty village, but of itself presents few ob jects of interest to the traveller. After taking such refreshment as a small coffee-house afforded, we mounted donkeys, and set out for the ruins of Tusculum, at the distance of several miles towards the summit of the hill. On our way thither, a short visit was paid to the villa lately owned and occupied by Lucien Bonaparte, who sold it to a Sicilian Countess, whose name it now bears. Its situation is en chanting, commanding a full view of Tivoli and the moun tains beyond, Soracte, Rome and its environs. The apart ments are tolerably neat, but present a waste of stucco. Among the ornaments is a long gallery of old family portraits. The garden affords the only attractions. Its groves are

luxuriant and beautiful. It is said, that on one occasion the whole family residing at this villa were made captives, while at dinner, and the house pillaged by a band of robbers from the neighbouring hills.

The ascent from this point to Tusculum is arduous, leading along unfrequented paths, through pastures and woodlands enriched by the charms of nature, but wild and solitay. Every step extends the traveller's horizon, till he arrives at the ruins of the old town, scatterred over the summit of the hill. After traversing the streets of Pompeii, nothing of his kind can surprise: otherwise, Tusculum would have excited our admiration. On several accounts, the latter is less interesting than the former. The village was destroyed at a much later period than the town, and by a fate less calculated to awaken feelings of sympathy. Extensive excavations have been made, and the remains cover a wide area. Fragments of marble columns, capitals, and entablatures strew the field, half buried in matted grass, and overgrown with bushes, which it is necessary to thrust aside to read the nutilated inscriptions. We left our mules at the entrance of the disinterred village, and walked up the main street, laid bare to the pavement, composed of large blocks of stone. The amphitheatre is hidden by a coronet of verdure; and enough of the theatre exists, to show it was once a handsome building.

On the brow of the hill, at a little distance from the ruins, stood a villa, which is the rival of Grotto-Ferratta, in claiming the eclat of Cicero's name. For aught I know, the pretensions of the former may be as well grounded as those of the latter. The location is worthy of the taste of the great orator, statesman, and philosopher; suited to that elevation of thought and to that love of elegant retirement, for which he was celebrated. In front of his house rose Mont Albanus, surmounted by the temple of Jupiter Latiaris, already alluded to; and farther to the east, the sylvan heights of Mount Algidum looked down into a deep rural vale, opening into the Campagna. On the other side his eye could rest upon Rome, the scene of his renown, and the object of his paternal cares. Such may have been the favourite retreat of the Father of his Country. The ruins of the house are extensive, and bear the marks of having been once splendid. It is said, tiles have been found, inscribed with the name of Cicero; but the evidence in this instance, as in the

one mentioned above, is extremely vague and unsatisfactory. The name of old Cato is also associated with the hill, and the Porcian Meadows form a part of the flowery field in the environs of Tusculum.

In returning to Frascati, we visited the Villa Belvedere, belonging to the Prince Borghese, who married the celebrated Paulina, sister of Napoleon. He is one of the most wealthy of the Italian nobility, his income amounting to something like half a million of dollars per annum. He is the proprietor of two of the most splendid villas in the vicinity of Rome; of the largest palace in the city; and of much real estate in Tuscany and other parts of Italy. His chateau on the Alban Mount is an extensive and showy pile of buildings. A group of pretty little girls met us at the gate, and presented to each of the party a bunch of red and white roses an image of their own sunny cheeks. The guardian of the mansion, in the absence of the prince, was courteous in his demeanour, and conducted us through the apartments, which are neat, but contain few ornaments except some good prints and frescos. Among the latter, Judith with the head of Holofernes is admirably executed. In the grounds back of the palace are fountains and waterworks, much in the style of those at Chatsworth in England. They were put in motion for our amusement. The concert

commenced with the blowing of a horn by a Triton in a grotto. In another alcove is a representation of Parnassus, with musicians seated upon the cliffs, who produce “a con cord of sweet sounds," as the flood-gates are hoisted and the fountains begin to play. The contrivance is rather bungling, and the eye readily perceives, that the music is ground out by an organ, placed under the mountain, the crank of which is turned by a water-wheel. It is fit only to amuse children, and gratify vulgar curiosity. The stale trick of wetting persons, by decoying them into a grotto, from the pavement of which streamlets suddenly spirt, is here resorted to; but in this instance, a troop of rustics, who gathered round to witness the concert, were the only dupes.

Having visited all the objects of interest upon the Alban Mount, we returned to Frascati and commenced our flight across the Campagna late in the afternoon, making the fifth time that this desert had been traversed by four different routes. The road is equally solitary with those which have already been described, and the tract as susceptible of be

ing reclaimed. Passing under the Aqueduct denominated the Aqua Felice, the principal source whence the city is supplied with water, we re-entered the gates of Rome at sunset, and were happy to recognize many old acquaintances, if not in the faces of the inhabitants, at least in the Coliseum, the Triumphal Arches, and the ruins of the Forum, after an absence of a little more than a month.

LETTER LXXI.

SKETCH OF ROME RESUMED-DESCRIPTION OF ST. PETER'S CHURCH.

June, 1826.—On the day after our arrival, we resumed an examination of Rome, and an unremitted round of observations was continued for three or four weeks. I shall select from the number of objects examined such as are deemed the most interesting, and be as concise in my notices, as the relative importance of the several topics will permit.

St. Peter's Church is among the first objects which the traveller will visit, and among the last which he will wish to attempt to describe. I have seen it perhaps a hundred different times since my first entrance into Rome-at morning, evening, and noon-day; by moonlight, and in the blaze of two illuminations. To catch its different aspects, I have been round it, and over every part of it, from the vaults to the ball; but after all, it may be extremely difficult to convey an adequate idea of the structure; as it is sui generis, wholly beyond the limits of comparison.

The location of St. Peter's is pre-eminently beautiful, though little except the Dome can be seen from other parts of the city. It stands on a gentle eminence, the brow of the Vatican Mount and the site of Nero's amphitheatre, a few rods from the right bank of the Tiber. From a point near the Castle of St. Angelo, two comparatively narrow, crooked, and dirty streets, with a block of mean buildings between them, terminate in the Piazza in front of the church, of which nothing is seen till you enter the square.

The view on entering the Piazza is certainly magnificent, though not sufficiently imposing to strike the mind with awe or astonishment. From the entrances of the streets to the

porch of the church, spreads an area of about a thousand feet in length, and in the widest part eight hundred in breadth, handsomely paved with large flags, bordered by lofty porticos and galleries on both sides, ornamented with an Egyptian obelisk in the centre, and refreshed by two noble fountains, throwing their silver sheets of water to a great height. The moderate acclivity of the area; the triple flight of steps mounting to the porch; the front of the church; the dome; the lantern; the ball and the cross, form an ascending series, extremely agreeable to the eye. Had Michael Angelo's plan of St. Peter's been adopted, which would have brought the dome to the centre of the edifice, and rendered the whole of it visible above the contemplated portico, like that of the Pantheon, the view from this point could scarcely have been equalled in architectural grandeur. As it is, the high front, surmounted by a balustrade and by colossal statues, effectually conceals some of the boldest and finest features of this glorious temple. The Sacristy, which may be denominated the Folly of Pope Pius VI. on the left, and the monstrous pile of the Vatican, on the right, also obtrude themselves upon the eye, and interrupt the unity of the prospect. Notwithstanding the panegyrics, that Eustace has lavished on the beauty of the Travertine stone, of which the church is constructed, its complexion appeared to me to detract much from its dignity. Its hue is a pale, sickly yellow, without any of the richness of the Coliseum, or even the sober grandeur of St. Paul's at London. With these deductions, the coup d'oeil is less striking, than one might imagine from a description of the constituent parts.

The porticos, bordering the sides of the Piazza form segments of an ellipsis. They are composed of four ranges of Doric columns, sixty feet in height, including the Ionic entablature by which they are capped. This mixture of the orders of architecture, the work of Bernini, has been severely censured. The three hundred enormous pillars, forming these colonnades, stand at sufficient distances, to leave three avenues between the rows, of which the central one is wide enough for two carriages to pass abreast. In continuation of the porticos, covered galleries, with arcades looking into the square, rise with a slight inclination to the vestibule of the church. The tops of these magnificent avenues, extending on either hand about a thousand feet in length, are

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