mausoleum; whose solid circle of masonry still firmly stands beneath the ruder battlements which have transformed it into the castle of St. Angelo.

The Ponte Molle, which I passed on my first entrance to Rome, possesses but little of its purely ancient work, and the single-arched Ponte Salaro, which spans the Anio, a short distance before it falls into the Tiber, is perhaps the most ancient bridge about Rome; its most recent restoration of any extent being that of the Exarch Narses, whose somewhat grotesque additions still remain nearly perfect. I would now quit the subject of ruins; but how can I do so without noticing the wondrous baths, perhaps the greatest monuments of Roman refinement, where thousands could be gratuitously accommodated at one time in separate apartments, with all the luxuries of the bath, administered with such magnificence as the most profuse expenditure could produce? The precious metals, and the richest marbles, were used with the utmost prodigality in the accessories and utensils of these famous baths; and to the mere physical gratification of the bathing room were added the intellectual pleasures to be derived from the contemplation of the most noble works of art, collected in superb galleries; or among the books of libraries, where luxurious couches, and silence, disturbed but by the cooling murmur of gently playing fountains, invited to agreeable study. But of all this splendour little remains of the great baths of Diocletian nothing is left but two circular buildings with pannelled ceilings, somewhat resembling in miniature the Pantheon-one used as a church, the other as a granary, and the great hall, whose stupendous granite columns, above six feet in diameter, and of one entire block, are still erect. This hall has been adapted to church for the Carthusian convent, with much grandeur of conception, by Michael Angelo.

The other portions of the vast ruins have been concealed, destroyed, or used by the convent which has sprang up among them, whose cloisters, though built by Buonarotti, but poorly replace what they have destroyed. Yet it is a spot worth a visit, if but to look at the gigantic cypresses in the centre of the court, which would give solemnity and grandeur to any scene. Such is all that remains of a monument that cost the labour of 7000 Christian slaves seven years to erect, whilst near 5000 died in the works.

The baths of Constantine, or the Temple of the Sun, or the female Senate Elagabalus, or whatever else the ruins may really be, possess but little interest to the general observer. Nor do the relics of the baths of Agrippa at the back of the Pantheon; but the baths of Caracalla, in their majestic ruins, form a picture that few can look upon without emotion: its vast hanging masses appear

as mountains, forming glades between, whose flower-studded turf is soft and sweet to tread, for the wild thyme and odoriferous flowers exhale perfumes as they are pressed. The soft air of Italy's delicious climate seems still softer there, and the deep blue sky looks brightly down through "the dizzy arches.” The tints of the main are of rich and glowing colours, and their wild forms cut sharply against their are background; yet the general character is that of deep Mlemming. Eere is that he siastic Shelley loved to lie stretched on the ir basin varrei straction, dreaming into being his wonderful

3.

relies mer 1 ffe power and perseverance of the Aor items memesi Eto the situation of a Roman ཙྩ a ut vere puncm transported to Italy, to adorn ze se of the welisks if not prevent their removal; ve onsier te smail size of the Euman ships, and their comparaPrestres "reettanti kowledge, ve must wonder at the persevering detervid Raspored rose normous masses ass the Mediterranean; walut & Deast: vist the Tansport of accelsk to Paris, and its lem s megy mei he heads of the Frisians, as one of the Tveite of these vast masses of ante found their way a loam, de dose of via is 39 feet high. It was removed from its original & Copsantine, with the intention of rearing in his new Thracian Na his lead prevented the fulfilment of the design, and his son Jusas much tv Some, and erected it in the Cres Maxis opposite one

at apaisevich had been placed there by Angasts. These were Not very Zured in the ruts of the Ciras Maxis where they remained NOOR KÅ been Sarus V. Eistemed them and placed coe opposite the < Lean and the other of the Piazza del Pi He likewise A wit of St. Peter's to be extraned from a mass of ruins •otta, and evened 1 is present position. It is the only one that porno ang Reming one unbroker shaft of seventy-eight feet in length.

à te te banken, is just now emulating the Rhamses's the Augustus', NC - A used I delisks to be cut from the quarries on the ALON PAUS DEResing the Pe to the Adriatic, have made nearly the

The sey entered the Ther, and being landed at the Ponte ON PARK & his vila nee the Porta Salaria. They are above

Neure among the ruins of the baths of Caracalla.

thirty feet high. Rome has again seen the arrival of an obelisk after the lapse of fourteen hundred years.

After all the wonderful remains of Roman greatness, I mention that last which should perhaps have stood first. The wonderful sewerage of the Tarquins is still as perfect as when constructed. The Cloaca Maxima is the most gigantic work of those Romans-they never surpassed in true greatness the gigantic efforts of their early energy. This Etruscan monument is highly interesting, as being the earliest known application of the arch; and here we see the type of that architecture, which in the great days of the republic and the empire, uniting itself with the imported style of Greece, formed the most grandiose and imposing combination that the history of the art can record.

CHAPTER VI.

OPERA, THEATRES, AND MUSIC.

In Italy, the land of music-operas and opera singers, an amateur is always anxious on arriving in a town to know whether its opera is in a state of activity; and whether or not a tolerably efficient company is mustered. But with the exception of Milan and Naples, operas are poorly got up, excepting at the Carnival, when most of the principal towns manage to enlist a tolerable set of voices. This season is indeed the harvest time of soprane, contralte, tenore, and bassi; even third-rates, of any of the above denominations, then assume a consequence which (having so little opportunity of indulging in), sits as awkwardly upon them as the Sunday-suit of a mechanic, or a sword upon a citizen. They can now answer managers' invites, with, "Very sorry"-previous engagements, &c. &c.; and as antiquarians have declared the carnival to be but a relic, or rather a continuation of the saturnalia of the ancients, when servants played the masters, during the reign of misrule, so the manager, a hard master enough in the slack season, is now obliged to bow to the buffo, cringe to the primo basso, be content to accept any terms from his tenore, and as for the prima donna, why he is a fortunate man if he gets one at all; and then she will sing in no operas but those of her own selection, and in no parts where she may not interpolate her own peculiar bravura. Thus the pleasures and pains of life find their equilibrium, and the paradise of the singer becomes the purgatory of the manager.

When I arrived at Rome, in November, the principal opera was closed, and would, as may be imagined by what I said above, not open until the Carnival*. But at the secondary opera, the Teatro Valle, they were performing, with a tolerable company, alternate plays and operas; for it would seem that Rome, the birth-place, and the scene of the triumphs of Metastasio, is not sufficiently

* The church has its fictions as well as the law, and Rome is supposed to have no theatres, though they actually form a source of revenue to the Papal treasury. The establishments are however not openly acknowledged by the authorities, and are supposed to continue the exhibitions sub rosa.

musical to support an opera only, whilst at Naples I counted play-bills announcing no less than seven operas at seven different theatres for the same night. Soon after my arrival in the eternal city, I found an opera announced which I had never heard of before, entitled Chi dura vince: this, the announcement went on to state, was the capo d'opera dal Egregio Maestro Luigi Ricci; and as I had never heard any work of this egregious master, I determined to go. The Teatro Valle is situated in a close and rather dirty part of Rome, behind the Pantheon, and the entrance is bad. The interior is however rather handsome, and nearly as large as Drury Lane or Covent Garden. It is the property of the Marchesi Capranica; and indeed most of the theatres in Rome are the property of some individual, and not, as in our country, of companies, divided into some thousand shares at so many pounds each. On paying ten-pence for entrance, (the pit at an Italian opera, ten-pence!) I received a ticket bearing the number of my seat; but I took very little notice of this, as I intended to stand, and move about as I thought proper; but this plan I soon found was against the regulations of the house, for I was directed by a custodé to take my place-prendere posto. This I attempted to do, but found it not so easy a matter; for taking a seat numbered 7, in correspondence with my ticket, I was soon politely requested to move, by a gentleman who held me out his own ticket as his warrant. Of this I took no notice, but called the custodé, who immediately decided against me, and as he motioned me forward, I examined the next row, and actually found another No. 7. Concluding that I must have been mistaken in the first number, I quietly seated myself, and began to take a survey of the fine Italian heads that one by one, or two by two, began to grace the front rows of the palchi―or boxes, as we more elegantly term them. I was soon, however, interrupted in my agreeable review, by another claimant for No. 7. This would not do; I determined to make a stand; again summoned the custodé, and demanded an explanation, which was much more satisfactory than I expected. It appeared that every row had its No. 7, but that this need not cause confusion, if I would refer to my ticket; which I found upon examination explained every thing-No. 7, row 14, righthand division. It was very clear, and yet I was obliged to get the custodé to pilot me to my station, where, being at last comfortably seated, I began to reflect upon the advantages and disadvantages of numbering seats. I believe I decided in favour of numbers, but against a plurality of number sevens. Where the numbering system is used, you can, when you have paid your money, make sure of a seat; but in England, where we have no numbers, they squeeze in as many as will go, and never announce "pit full" until some half dozen women

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