ueduct
stretched in a long line across the Campagna to the mountain of Albano,
its broken and disjointed arches resembling the vertebrae of some mighty
monster. With the ruins of temples and tombs strewing the plain for
miles around it, it might be called the _spine_ to the skeleton of Rome.

We passed many ruins, made beautiful by the clinging ivy, and reached a
solemn grove of ever-green oak, overlooking a secluded valley. I was
soon in the meadow, leaping ditches, rustling through cane-brakes, and
climbing up to mossy arches to find out the fountain of Numa's nymph;
while my companion, who had less taste for the romantic, looked on
complacently from the leeward side of the hill. At length we found an
arched vault in the hill-side, overhung with wild vines, and shaded in
summer by umbrageous trees that grow on the soil above. At the further
end a stream of water gushed out from beneath a broken statue, and an
aperture in the wall revealed a dark cavern behind. This, then, was
"Egeria's grot." The ground was trampled by the feet of cattle, and the
taste of the water was anything but pleasant. But it was not for Numa
and his nymph alone, that I sought it so ardently. The sunbeam of
another mind lingers on the spot. See how it gilds the ruined and
neglected fount!

"The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled
With thine Elysian water-drops; the face
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled,
Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place,
Whose wild, green margin, now no more erase
Art's works; no more its sparkling waters sleep,
Prisoned in marble; bubbling from the base
Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap,
The rill runs o'er, and 'round, fern, flowers and ivy creep,
Fantastically tangled."

I tried to creep into the grotto, but it was unpleasantly dark, and no
nymph appeared to chase away the shadow with her lustrous eyes. The
whole hill is pierced by subterranean chambers and passages.

I spent another Sunday morning in St. Peter's. High mass was being
celebrated in one of the side Chapels, and a great number of the
priesthood were present. The music was simple, solemn, and very
impressive, and a fine effect was produced by the combination of the
full, sonorous voices of the priests, and the divine sweetness of that
band of mutilated unfortunates, who sing here. They sang with a full,
clear tone, sweet as the first lispings of a child, but it was painf