Hortulorum) once covered with the villas and gar, dens of Roman citizens, now, in all we saw of it, uncultivated and uninhabited.

Opposite to us, the Corso, narrow, but handsome, opens its direct road into the city, guarded by two twin churches, not unlike porter's lodges, which are remarkable for nothing except their oval domes.

On either side of the Corso, a street diverges in slanting lines into different parts of Rome.

We had abundance of leisure for the examination of every object, while the custom-house officers were carrying on their customary wrangling examination of passports.

Bribery won't do at Rome-(I mean at the gates) —a lascia passare is necessary, which we should have written to desire the banker to leave at the gate for us. As we had not taken this precaution, two of the Doganieri mounted the box, and thus, in their custody, we were conveyed down the Corso, in what seemed to me to be a very ignominious manner, to be searched at the custom-house, as if we had been smugglers. A magnificent portico of eleven fluted Corinthian columns of marble, once the temple of Marcus Aurelius, and near the proud triumphal pillar that still stands in commemoration of his victories and his virtues, now serves the ignoble purpose of a Dogana.

We were obliged to get out, in order that the seats in the inside of the carriage might be searched, and thus, perforce, the first place we entered in Rome was one of its ancient temples. It seem

ed for a long time probable that it would also prove the last, for Rome was overflowing. We drove about for more than two hours, and found every hotel full of Inglesi. The lucky departure of one family of them, however, at length enabled us to take possession of their newly vacated apartments, which are indeed most comfortable. You cannot conceive, without having travelled vetturino from Siena to Rome, and lodged in the holes we have done, how delightful is the sensation of being in a habitable hotel, how acceptable the idea of a good dinner, and how transporting the prospect of sleeping in a clean bed. But that luxurious idea, with the certainty of not being obliged to get up at four in the morning, is at this moment too tempting to be resisted; so, good night!

LETTER VII.

WEEKS have elapsed since my arrival in Rome, and nothing have I seen of it except the four walls of my chamber. I might as well have been in the Hebrides. I wrote to you, impatient for the morning that I might behold Rome; it came, and found me so ill, that, though I got up and went out in a kind of desperation, violent and rapidly-increasing fever compelled me almost immediately to return, and confined me to bed, till it seemed dubious when, if ever, I should rise again. The fever on my mind increased that on my body; visions of ancient ruins haunted my perturbed imagination. The Coliseum, such as I had seen it in the cork model, was continually beforé my eyes. I grew worse and worse, till at last the highly-agreeable probability forced itself upon my contemplation, of dying in Rome, without even having seen St Peter's, or the Coliseum, which, you must allow, would have been a great aggravation of such a misfortune. But thanks to Heaven, and Dr, who was luckily here, I am still alive, and hope yet to see the "Eternal City" before I die. I had very nearly gone to

an eternal city, indeed; one not made with hands. But this is not a fit subject for joking. I have at length obtained permission to go out to-morrow, and never did imprisoned caitiff look forward to his liberation from a dungeon with more impatient delight.

By way of an agreeable adventure, about midnight, on the second night of my illness, loud cries through the hotel, and in the street, spread the alarm of fire. The master of the house (a Frenchman) burst into my room in his shirt, followed by a whole train of distracted damsels, wringing their hands, while he continued to vociferate, "Au feu! Grand Dieu !" in a key which drowned even the shrill lamentations of the women. To describe it more classically,

"Lamentis, gemituque, et femineo ululatu,

Tuta fremunt; resonat magnis plangoribus æther."

Vollies of smoke rolled down our chimney, where the fire had originated; and, rapidly spreading to the rafters of the room above, gained ground so fast, that, in spite of the promptitude with which all the firemen of the city and their engines set to work, two hours elapsed before it was extinguished. In the interim, the inmates of the hotel fled in consternation from their apartments, all but ourselves; for, conceiving that there was much more danger, in my situation, of getting my death by cold than by fire, and expecting the flames to be got under every moment, I laid quietly in bed; and S

who would not leave me, sate beside me until wewere both nearly stifled; thus acting as if, like the Irishman, it was no concern of ours the house being on fire, since we were only lodgers. At last we were both fairly smoked out, like bees from their hive; and thus this unlucky illness, which was most probably caused by the extreme cold of the comfortless hovels we had lodged in on the road, was, no doubt, considerably increased by the house becoming literally too hot to hold us on our arrival. To be turned out of bed into the street in the middle of the night, certainly was not likely to prove particularly salubrious to a person like me, ill of a pleuritic fever. By the bye, I find, from the books I have lately been amusing myself with, that in aneient times this complaint was considered peculiar to Rome, and that Cicero himself was dangerously ill of it; so that, if I had died, I should have died a very classical death, which would undoubtedly have been a great consolation.

The weather, however, is truly delightful. On the very day of our arrival, we experienced an instanteous change in the temperature of the air, and, except for the look of it, we have no need of fires; indeed, they die out in the middle of the day, and I am now writing to you, though still an invalid, with the window wide open, on the last day of the year. But the sun is shining into the room, and the breath of the soft whispering breeze seems

* Vide Middleton's Life.