n, even amidst all the bustle, activity,
and din of a great commercial city: how much more, then, in the
comparative stillness of Rome, particularly in the morning, when few
people are stirring, and we are most alive to sounds? Some of these
cries are not unpleasing: the first to greet us, plaintive and
melancholy in its character, is that of "_Aqua acetosa_," which
announces the water of a mineral spring in the neighbourhood, brought
in at sunrise for those who are too idle or too ill to drink it at its
source. Another kind of water--also very matutinal in its
delivery,--the "_Aqua vita_," is intonated by the _Aquavitario_, in a
sharp kestrel key,--hear him! Now, list to two men carrying a large
deep tub of honey between them, and bellowing in rapid alternation,
"_Miele_, _miele_," and say if their accents are mellifluous! Next,
comes a loud-tongued salesman, who out-brays Lablache, but confines
his singing to "_Che vuole_, _che vuole_!" and oranges and lemons are
his commodity. From an itinerant green-grocer, who passes with his
panniered donkey, suddenly bursts forth, "_Cimaroli, cimaroli_!" The
last cry we hear is that of "_Tutti vivi_, _tutti vivi_!" from the
_asparagaro_, who is bringing frogs and wild asparagus into Rome. Now
we are in the Piazza del Popolo, and having glanced a moment at those
buxom goddesses, at the foot of the Pincian hill, who look right well
this morning in their flowing robes, turn out of the Popolo Gate, just
as a large drove of lean turkeys, driven in from the Campagna, besiege
the entrance on their way to the bird-market, where they are to be
presently slaughtered, drawn, and quartered; their "disjecta membra"
exposed to sale at so many _baiocchi_ a pound; and their blood, which
is more esteemed than their flesh, hawked about the streets in cakes:
of course we are too humane to hint to them their coming destiny. In
front of the elegant Borghese entrance, and round the Park lodge, all
strewn about in picturesque disarray, we behold one of those numerous
herds of goats, which come in every morning, to be milked at the
different houseouse doors: their udders at present are brimful, and almost
touch the lintel of the gate where they are standing--"gravido
superant vix ubere limen;" and though they are emptied continually,
soon fill again,--

"Et plus ta main avare epuise leurs mammelles
Plus la douce ambroisie entre tes doigts ruisselle."

Some are lying down to lighten their load;