spectacle of Rome itself with its hundreds of churches, cupolas, obelisks, from the Vatican to the Capitol, and beyond the city the country; and beyond that, the western horizon, where the sun sets in Italian pomp of coloring, illumining still with its latest beams the pinacles of the eternal city, and the laurel groves of Monte Pincio.
When later, the after-glow of sunset illumines the heavens and ascends over the city—it is a sight to see, a spectacle to enjoy, of which one can never grow weary during evenings as lovely as those we have had hitherto in Rome.
A third flight—during those first days in Rome—I made in a carriage with Jenny and the young Swiss, Professor Bonnet, on the Via Appia, formerly a public high road, now a deserted via sacra, a magnificent promenade amongst ruinous tombs, the massive remains of which extend for many miles over the Roman Campagna. The powerful families of ancient Rome loved to build monuments to their dead by the side of the public road, probably to exhibit at once their affection for their relations, and their own power and affluence. Most of these monuments are now nothing but heaps of ruins upon which have been placed the statues and sculptures which have been found in the earth, or amongst the rubbish. The tomb of Cecilia Metella, is the only one of which the exterior is well preserved; its interior is a heap of ruins. A beautiful marble relief of flowers, and other ornamentation, encircles the round tower like a garland. The inscription also, is perfect in great measure, and tells of a young and lovely woman, dead in the bloom of her
