long vista of dark, idolatrous antiquity, as pure revelations, and their noble forms are immortalized by deathless art.
A more beautiful, or more worthy place of abode than here, upon this rock, could not possibly be assigned to the Vestals and the Sibyls, and this air, this life—you lament, my R——, that you are not able to enjoy them, that you are not able to live upon this glorious summit, with the whispering of woods, and the rushing of foaming waters around you, caressed by the sun? Be comforted. “All is not gold that glitters,” and this proverb comes to mind even here. The air is not always, is not often, so good here, nor the summit so sunny and calm. The air of Tivoli has but an indifferent reputation, and rain and storm are there of very general occurrence. A Roman proverb says:
| “ | Tivoli di mal conforto |
| O piove, o tira vento, o suona a morto.” |
And I will tell you something. On the morning when we drove to Tivoli, we met a cart in which were seated two men of savage appearance, and with their hands bound behind them. They were robbers, regularly savage, murderous robbers, who had for a long time ravaged and plundered in the hilly country, and now, at length, were taken and carried in fetters to Rome, accompanied by two gens-d'armes on horseback. And look, do you see yonder, at the foot of the Alban Mount, the tall round hill covered with a thick cluster of houses? That is Rocca di Papa, the Pope's Rock, a regular nest of robbers; and
