hard fleshy texture without juice. In July,
in addition to quantities of other fruits and
vegetables, the stalls are heaped up with a
species of gourd or water-melon. They are
cut in two and disposed of in slices to the
numerous applicants. Anything more
uninviting I have seldom seen, but the Romans
devour these melons with the greatest avidity.
The colour is exactly that of raw meat, and
the large black seeds are dispersed throughout
like raisins in a loaf.

A striking feature in the streets of Rome
is the mass of flowers, made up in bouquets,
which are offered for sale, more or less,
throughout the whole year. After the
camellias and violets of the carnival are over
in February, pansies, anemones, ranunculuses
and other spring flowers appear in profusion,
followed by roses of every description. These
last till dahlias close the productions of the
summer. I do not think the flowers
themselves can vie with the finest examples of
English floriculture; but they are made up by
the Roman gardeners into effective bouquets,
which, though a little formal, are very showy.
They are tied together first in small bunches
round slender sticks; then all together in one
compact mass, so as to make a regular pattern
with the colours, and they look certainly very
gay both in the street and as the ornament of
a drawing-room-table. The deficiency of
hyacinths is atoned for by the variety and
beauty of the camellias; which, in the gardens
of the Villa Doria Pamfili and elsewhere in
Rome, form a splendid show, and, from the size
of the trees, continue a long time in flower.

Frequently during the summer I did not
quit the Casa Tarpeia (where I lived) for
days together, seeking refreshment on the
terrace at the top of the house rather than
encountering the close oppressive atmosphere
of the streets below. There the evening air
is always refreshing, whatever may have been
the heat during the day, and the glorious
panorama presented to the eye, lighted up at
sunset in colours which no pen can describe,
is a delight never to be forgotten. Earth and
sky are contending with each other in a
rivalry of hues and tints, bidding defiance
alike to painter and poet. The Sabine hills
rise with their bare craggy sides and pointed
summits seldom visited, save by the foot of
some wandering shepherd, " flushed like the
rain-bow or the ring-dove's neck," beneath the
evening sky. At the foot of the range you
see the picturesque heights of Monticelli and
Palombara, which you long to explore, though
probably it is distance alone which lends
enchantment to the view. Further on, Tivoli
sparkles in the setting sun, and gleams in
white lines along the olive-clothed hill. The
desolate Campagna with its interesting lines
of aqueducts, its tombs and solitary towers,
and shapeless masses of ruins with which the
fancy may everlastingly busy itself, affords in
its wide extent an inexhaustible variety of
exquisite tones compensating, to the artist,
for the want of a greater variety of objects.
In some parts the shadow lies in deep blue
ultramarine streaks like the sea itself,
softening away into a thousand different hues
of brown, orange, or purple. Here and
there the rich cultivation of the Campagna
shews itself in broad patches of brilliant green,
the whole so blended together in one gay
fantastic carpet of nature's weaving canopied
over by the glowing sky, that one would fain
believe the earth has decked herself with
consciousness for some great festival. The
moment before sunset is the most beautiful.
The Alban hill is sometimes of a deep
transparent blue, the ridge cutting clear against
the sky in one dark mass, whilst Frascati,
Bocca di Passa, and Marini lower down, are
lighted up in sunshine, and seem almost
within speaking distance. The Palatine with
its high walls of supporting brickwork, flames
with a ruddy glow which the richest palette
of the landscape painter would compete with
in vain. The whole façade of the hill opposite
to the Capitoline and on the sides of the
Forum and Aventine, has been fronted with
brick, to prevent the rock from giving way
under the enormous weight of the masses of
building constituting all together the palace
of the Cæsars, which six successive emperors,
beginning with Augustus, heaped upon it. At
this moment, while parts of the city and the
landscape stand out in prominent relief, the
cupolas and towers of churches shining as if
illuminated, deep purple floating shadows steal
between the masses, gradually and insensibly
encroaching till the light fades away.

If it be true, as certain philosophers assert,
that there is something even in the misfortunes
of our best friends not altogether displeasing
to us: and we are apt to envy rather than
sympathise in, enjoyments beyond our reach,
it may be some consolation to those whose
destiny forbids them to wander on a foreign
shore, to know that the rosy glories of Italian
sunrises and sunsets are after all, like every
other good thing, to be paid for, and at a high
price. The especial plagues of Rome are
moths, flies, fleas and mosquitoes; these are
all more or less developed by the end of March
or beginning of April. As soon as the first
moth appears, it is high time to stitch up in
coarse linen, well powdered with pepper, every
article of dress or furniture of which wool or
fur forms a part. If you are absent for the
summer, or take up your carpets whilst you
are at home, these, likewise, must be stitched
up and peppered, or they will be eaten full of
holes before they are laid down again. Flies,
which in northern countries are seldom very
annoying, and are looked upon rather as
privileged innocent household insects, are in
Rome a source of torment. By the end of
June they swarm in such numbers that the
windows are literally black with them. The
frames become so thickly covered with spots
that they seem almost opaque. In the opinion
of Italian women-servants, it is quite useless