ERRATA. The Reader is respectfully requested to correct the few following errata, which are indispensible to the sense or gram mar: Page 32, line 17, for " the vallies," read these vallies. 51, 79, 92, 97, 106, 165, 160, 200, 240, 274, 347, 20, for "Lieto," read Lieta. 14, for "murmurs," read murmur. 12 from the bottom, for "which rose beneath," 18, for "tuta," read tota. last line, note, for "Coliseo," read Colisea. 5, for " triumphal car," read car. VOL. I. ROME. LETTER I. FLORENCE, December 5, 1816. "WE are here to-day," as my uncle Toby says, "but gone to-morrow;" at least I hope so-for Rome, the object of all our thoughts and desires, which we have so long ardently wished, and so little, till lately, expected ever to see-Rome is at length before us, and the nearer we approach to it, the more impatient we become to reach it; so that, in spite of all the attractions of Florence, and all the intreaties of our friends, though we only arrived last night, we set off to-morrow morning. We had resolved to see nothing here till our return; but it is easier to form such resolutions than to keep them; and we found it impossible to resist giving a passing glance to a few of the many farfamed objects of interest this seat of art contains. Immediately after breakfast, therefore, we set off on our tour, and our first visit, as you may imagine, was to the Venus de Medicis, whose morning levee we found already crowded with a circle of the ardent admirers, who daily pour forth their rapturous adoration at her feet. With feelings of highwrought expectation we entered the presence-chamber; a crimson, octagonal hall of the gallery called the Tribune, where, bright in eternal youth and matchless beauty, "stands the statue that enchants the world." But my expectations had been so highly raised, and, I suppose, so far exceeded possibility, that my first sensation, I confess it with shame, was disappointment, nay, I am by no means sure that it was not in some degree my last; for although new beauties continually rose upon me as I contemplated her form of perfect symmetry, and more than feminine grace, the soul was wanting; the expression, the sentiment I sought for, was not there; she did not come up to the soul-seducing image in my mind. It was not a goddess, nor a celestial being that I saw before me-it was a woman, a lovely and graceful woman certainly;—but still I am disposed to think that I have actually seen women, real living women, almost as beautiful, and far more interesting; and, indeed, to confess the truth, I thought her legs were rather thick, and her face very insipid. But remember, that in giving you my undissembled opinion, I make an honest avowal, not a presumptuous criticism; I know that the censure I would pass on her recoils on myself that it does not prove her want |