activity; and soon after five every
one is astir. Some ride, some drive, some walk. You see every variety
of conveyance, from the last London-built carriage, and livery
servants, to an unpretending one-horse _timonella_; and in the same
manner amongst the equestrians, the most ill-favoured little pony, its
rider equipped in a straw-bonnet, with a shawl pinned across the
saddle, will unblushingly thrust itself into companionship with a
handsome English horse, whose owner is graced by the most
unexceptionable habit and other appliances. Even the very donkeys walk
along with dignified resolution, as if determined to ruffle it with
the best, and not yield an inch of their prerogative. In fact, they
evidently know their own value, and remember that not one of the hills
around--not the giant tree on the heights of Lugliano, nor the
tempting strawberry-gardens on the mountain of Benabbio--could be
attained without their help. A few veteran ponies, it is true, now
claim equal sureness of foot, but the popular feeling still leans
towards the long-eared auxiliaries, who always lead the way on such
excursions, displaying an accuracy of judgment which would not
discredit their far-famed relations in the frightful passes of the
Andes.

Thus the evening wears on; gradually the children and babies disappear
from the scene; then follow the invalids, who had ventured out to sun
themselves in the genial afternoon; and soon parties of riders are
seen returning, their laughter and cheerful voices sounding pleasantly
on the ear, leading one to fancy there may be some happy people after
all! It is amusing, too, to watch some of those on foot, who stop in
their homeward way, and peer wistfully over a range of green
palisades, that border the road in the vicinity of the Villa, and
through a screen of spreading foliage, catch tempting glimpses of a
winding path and veranda-like portico, where there are birds, and
flowers, and vases, and which leads the way to a perfect Tusculum
within. This dwelling is an object of interest to all the visitors at
the baths; and if, like the banker's client, they have been
unsuccessful in their overtures to procure access to its circle, they
sometimes, nevertheless, hover curiously in the neighbourhood, and are
disposed to be indignant at not having an 'open sesame' to its doors.

But as night begins to close, even these dissatisfied pedestrians must
hasten their steps, for it is near tea-time, and almost ever