shades in these physiognomies. One is not shown a human being in general, but every portrait gives you a distinct human being, a fully stamped, free, thinking, knowing individuality. And the painting! I do not know whether the Italian school has ever produced any thing so delicate, clearly defined, and harmoniously perfected as this.
We had not very much enjoyment of our journey to Caserta. The Castle seemed to us devoid of every thing but gilding, water-works, and many other devices in the stiff old French style, without, however, being comparable to those of Versailles or Cassel. Besides, we were presented with showers of rain. The morning, on the contrary, was glorious, which we spent at Portici in the large, open, beautiful grounds there—a real wood of lovely trees, after which, we went to Herculaneum. The theatre there, still lies quite under ground; we heard the dull thunder of carriages which rolled above our heads. Some private houses and streets have been excavated, and lie open to the day. They are of the same character as those of Pompeii, and appeared to me like miniature palaces and miniature dwellings. There was in one of them, a little room where stood a little altar on which was offered sacrifices of doves, or fieldfares, so small was it. In one deep prison for slaves, skeletons have been found secured with iron.
I pass over other excursions, in order to say still a few words about Villa Reale, where I usually begin and end my day; for there it is unspeakably beautiful in the early morning, whilst the dew still shines on the grass, and the little white clover-flowers with
