garden
of the Villa Borghese. In this delightful spot we find shade and
privacy, or sunshine and society, as we may feel inclined. To-day it
was intensely hot; but we found the cool sequestered walks and alleys
of cypress and ilex, perfectly delicious. I spread my shawl upon a
green bank carpeted with violets, and lounged in most luxurious
indolence. I had a book with me, but felt no inclination to read. The
soft air, the trickling and murmuring of innumerable fountains, the
urns, the temples, the statues--the localities of the scene--all
dispose the mind to a kind of vague but delightful reverie to which we
"find no end, in wandering mazes lost."

In these gardens we frequently meet the Princess Pauline: sometimes
alone, but oftener surrounded by a cortege of beaux. She is no longer
the "Venere Vincitrice" of Canova; but her face, though faded, is
pretty and intelligent; and she still preserves the "andar celeste,"
and all the distinguished elegance of her petite and graceful figure.
Of the stories told of her, I suppose one half _may_ be true--and that
half is quite enough. She is rather more famous for her gallantries,
than for her bon-gout in the choice of her favourites; but it is
justice to Pauline to add, that her native benevolence of heart seems
to have survived all her frailties; and every one who speaks of her
here, even those who must condemn her, mention her in a tone of
kindness, and even of respect. She is still in deep mourning for the
Emperor.

The Villa Pamfili is about two miles from Rome on the other side of
the Monte Gianicolo. The gardens are laid out in the artificial style
of Italian gardening, a style which in England would horrify me as in
the vilest and most old-fashioned taste--stiff, cold, unnatural, and
altogether detestable. Through what inconsistency or perversity of
taste is it then, that I am enchanted with the fantastic elegance, and
the picturesque gaiety of the Pamfili gardens; where sportive art
revels and runs wild amid the luxuriance of nature? Or is it, as I
would rather believe, because these long arcades of verdure, these
close _walls_ of laurel, pervious to the air, but impervious to the
sunshine, these broad umbrageous avenues and marble terraces, these
paved grottoes and ever trickling fountains, these gods and nymphs,
and urns and sarcophagi, meeting us at every turn with some classical
or poetical association, harmonize with the climate and the country,
and the minds of