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been omitted; both because it is a disagreeable subject for a picture, and because it does no honour to Apollo. Marsyas unquestionably was an object of contempt and ridicule, on account of his presumption ; but the punishment said to have been inflicted on him exceeds all bounds, and renders the inflictor more detestable in our eyes than the insolent Satyr himself. This story is so very much out of character, and so unlike the elegant God of Poetry and Music, that I am inclined to sufpect it is not true.

There is a report, equally incredible, which has been propagated by malicious people, concerning his sister Diana; I do not mean her rencounter with Adxon, for the Goddess of Chastity may, without inconsistency, be supposed cruel, but it is quite impossible to reconcile her general character with the stories of her nocturnal visits to Endymion.

The villa Ludovisi is remarkable for its gardens and water-works. The hills on Vol. II.

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most virtuous citizens of Rome, and who, without the talents, reaped the fruits of the labours and vast projects of Julius. Lepidus the Triumvir, Cæcilius Metellus, Quintilius Varus, the poets Catullus and Propertius, and other distinguished Roo mans, had villas in this town or its environs; and you are sewn the spots on which they stood: but nothing renders Tibur fo interesting, as the frequent mention which Horace makes of it in his writings. His great patron and friend Mæcenas had a villa here, the ruins of which are to be seen on the south bank of the Anio; and it was pretty generally supposed, that the poet's own house and farm were very near it, and immediately without the walls of Tibur ; but it has been of late asserted, with great probability, that Horace's farm was situated nine miles above that of Mæcenas's, at the side of a stream called Licenza, formerly Digentia, near the hill Lucretilis, in the country of the ancient Sa

bines. Those who hold this opinion, say, that when Horace talks of Tibur, he alludes to the villa of Mæcenas; but when he mentions Digentia, or Lucretilis, his own house and farm are to be understood; as in the eighteenth Epistle of the first book,

Me quoties reficit gelidus Digentia rivus, Quem Mandela bibit, rugosus frigore pagus ; Quid sentire putas, quid credis, amice, precari* ?

the seventeenth Ode of the first book,

Velox amænum sæpe Lucretilem

Mutat Lycæo Faunus ti

and in other passages. But whether the poet's house and farm were near the town of Tibur, or at a distance from it, his writings sufficiently show that he spent much of his time there; and it is probable that he which Frescati is situated, afford great abundance of water, a circumstance of which the owners of those villas have profited, all of them being ornamented with fountains, cascades, or water-works of some kind or other.

* When retired to the cool stream of Digentia, which supplies the cold village of Mandela with water; what, my friend, do you imagine, are my sentiments and wilhes? + Pan from Arcadia's heights descends, To visit oft my rural feat

FRANCIS. composed

The villa Taverna, belonging to the Prince Borghese, is one of the finest and best furnished of any in the neighbourhood of Rome. From this you ascend through gardens to Monte Dracone, another palace on a more lofty situation, belonging also to that Prince, and deriving its name from the arms of his family. The ancient city of Tusculum is supposed to have stood on the spot, or very near it, where Frescati now is built ; and at the distance of about a mile and a half, it is generally believed, was the Tusculan villa of Cicero, at a place now called Grotta Fer

Some Greek monks of the order of St. Basil, flying from the persecution of the Saracens, in the eleventh century, were permitted to build a convent on the ruins

of

rata.

of Cicero's famous house. They still perform the service in the Greek language.

before you.

Whichever way you walk from Frescati, you have the most delightful scenes

I passed two very agreeable days, wandering through the gardens, and from villa to villa. The pleasure of our party was not a little augmented by the observations of Mr. B--, a lively old gentleman from Scotland, a man of worth, but no antiquarian, and indeed no admirer of any thing, ancient or modern, which has not some relation to his native country ; but to balance that indifference, he feels the warmest regard for every thing which has. We extended our walks as far as the lake of Nemi, a bason of water lying in a very deep bottom, about four miles in circumference, whose surrounding hills are covered with tall and shady trees. Here

Black Melancholy fits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose ;

Her

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