shade or transition is wanting. For my part, I cannot withhold the conjecture that they proceeded according to the same laws by which Nature works, and which I am endeavouring to discover. Only, there is in them something else, which I know not how to express.
Of the beauty of a walk through Rome by moonlight it is impossible to form a conception, without having witnessed it. All single objects are swallowed up by the great masses of light and shade, and nothing but grand and general outlines present themselves to the eye. For three several days we have enjoyed to the full the brightest and most glorious of nights. Peculiarly beautiful, at such a time, is the Coliseum. At night it is always closed. A hermit dwells in a little shrine within its range, and beggars of all kinds nestle beneath its crumbling arches: the latter had lit a fire on the arena, and a gentle wind bore down the smoke to the ground, so that the lower portion of the ruins was quite hid by it; while above, the vast walls stood out in deeper darkness before the eye. As we stopped at the gate to contemplate the scene through the iron gratings, the moon shone brightly in the heavens above. Presently the smoke found its way up the sides, and through every chink and opening, while the moon lit it up like a cloud. The sight was exceedingly glorious. In such a light one ought also to see the Pantheon, the Capitol, the Portico of St. Peter's, and the grand streets and squares. And thus sun and moon, as well as the human mind, have here to do a work quite different from what they produce elsewhere,—here where vast and yet elegant masses present themselves to their rays.
I must mention a trifling fall of luck, even though it is but a little one. However, all luck, whether great
