among the poor, who fry fish,
and eat roots, sausages, &c. as they walk about gaily enough, and though
they quarrel too often, never get drunk at least.

The two houses belonging to the Borghese family shall conclude my first
journey to Rome, and with that the first volume of my observations and
reflexions.

Their town palace is a suite of rooms constructed like those at Wanstead
exactly; and where you turn at the end to come back by another suite,
you find two alabaster fountains of superior beauty, and two glass
lustres made in London, but never wiped since they left Fleet-street
certainly. They do not however _want_ cleaning as the fountains do;
which, by the extraordinary use made of them, give the whole palace an
offensive smell.

Among the pictures here, the entombing our blessed Saviour by Rafaelle
is most praised: It is supposed indeed wholly inestimable, and I believe
is so, while Venus, binding Cupid's eyes, by Titian, engraved by
Strange, is possibly one of the pleasantest pictures in Rome. The Christ
disputing with the Doctors is inimitable, one of the wonderful works of
Leonardo da Vinci: but here is Domenichino's Diana among her nymphs,
very laboured, and very learned. Why did it put me in mind of Hogarth's
strolling actresses dressing in a barn?

Villa Borghese presents more to one's mind at once than it will bear,
from the bas relief of Curtius over the door that faces you going in, to
the last gate of the garden you drive out at;--large as the saloon is
however, the figure of Curtius seems too near you; and the horse's hind
quarters are heavy, and ill-suited to the forehand; but here are men
and women enough, and odd things that are neither, at this house; so we
may let the horse of Curtius alone.

Nothing can be gayer or more happily expressed in its way than the
Centaur, which Dr. Moore, like Dr. Young, finds _not_ fabulous; while
the brute runs away with the man, and Cupid keeps urging him forward.
The fawn nursing Bacchus when a baby, is another semi-human figure of
just and high estimation; and that very famous composition for which
Cavalier Bernini has executed a mattress infinitely softer to the eye
than any real one I ever found in _his_ country, has here an apartment
appropriated to itself.

From monsters the eye turns of its own accord towards Nero, and here is
an incomparable one of about ten years old, in whose face I vainly
looked for the seeds of parricide, and murderous tyranny; b