whom we had been warned. And we should have been an easy prey for them in this desert. All is desolate, silent as if deserted, in this wild region, where at the same time the oak grows to a large size. Thus we went on, mile after mile, hour after hour, through the demesne of the church; but with ever these same expansive views! One was never wearied of contemplating them. At length twilight and silence enveloped them, the desolation continued, and now it felt wearisome and long. All at once we behold high-arched gates; walls and towers rise in majestic altitude around us. We drive through a large archway, and—we are in Rome.
During the first week I thought of little besides finding rooms, and of settling myself and my young friend down in our winter quarters. I made, however, meantime, two rambles of discovery of another kind, of which I must say a few words. Adhering to my love of rambling and looking about me in every place, independently, on my own account, I bought a map of Rome, which I studied. One day, therefore, when I was out, busied with the mundane business of seeking for a dwelling on the Corso, Via Condotti, Piazza di Spagna, and many other parts of modern Rome, which constitute the foreigners' quarter, I was seized with a hungering and thirsting after the sight of something large and grand, and leaving the noisy new Rome, with its numerous shops and crowds of people, I wandered away into old Rome. I knew the way, by my map. Thus I came to the Capitol, ascended Tarpeian Rock by a flight of steps, and went down on the other side. There, before my eyes, opened a deep,
