marble wilderness," seemed sullenly
counting up the long centuries during which degenerate slaves have
trodden his banks. A leaden-colored haze clothed the seven hills, and
heavy silence reigned among the ruins, for all work was prohibited, and
the people were gathered in their churches. Rome never appeared so
desolate and melancholy as to-day.

In the morning I climbed the Quirinal Hill, now called Monte Cavallo,
from the colossal statues of Castor and Pollux, with their steeds,
supposed to be the work of Phidias and Praxiteles. They stand on each
side of an obelisk of Egyptian granite, beside which a strong stream of
water gushes up into a magnificent bronze basin, found in the old Forum.
The statues, entirely browned by age, are considered masterpieces of
Grecian art, and whether or not from the great masters, show in all
their proportions, the conceptions of lofty genius.

We kept on our way between gardens filled with orange groves, whose
glowing fruit reminded me of Mignon's beautiful reminiscence--"Im
dunkeln Laub die Gold Orangen gluhn!" Rome, although subject to cold
winds from the Appenines, enjoys so mild a climate that oranges and palm
trees grow in the open air, without protection. Daisies and violets
bloom the whole winter, in the meadows of never-fading green. The
basilic of the Lateran equals St. Peter's in splendor, though its size
is much smaller. The walls are covered with gorgeous hangings of velvet
embroidered with gold, and before the high altar, which glitters with
precious stones, are four pillars of gilt bronze, said to be those which
Augustus made of the spars of Egyptian vessels captured at the battle of
Actium.

We descended the hill to the Coliseum, and passing under the Arch of
Constantine, walked along the ancient triumphal way, at the foot of the
Palatine Hill, which is entirely covered with the ruins of the Caesars'
Palace. A road, rounding its southern base towards the Tiber, brought us
to the Temple of Vesta--a beautiful little relic which has been
singularly spared by the devastations that have overthrown so many
mightier fabrics. It is of circular form, surrounded by nineteen
Corinthian columns, thirty-six feet in height; a clumsy tiled roof now
takes the place of the elegant cornice which once gave the crowning
charm to its perfect proportions. Close at hand are the remains of the
temple of Fortuna Virilis, of which some Ionic pillars alone are left,
and the house of Cola di Rien