Morning ride round the City.—Egyptian Obelisk.—The Pincian Hill.—Raphael.—Villa Borghese.—Muro Torto.—Invasions on this side the town.—Pretorian Camp.—A Basilica.—The Campagna.—Fine breed of Horses.—Temples of the god of Return, and of Bacchus.—Fountain of Egeria.—Tomb of Cæcilia Metella.—The Circus ascribed to Caracella erected by Maxentius.—Rome never materially larger than at present.—Tomb of Caius Cestius.—Protestant Cemetery.—Monte Testaceo.—The old system of Patron and Client.—Anecdote of Ferdinando King of Naples. In order to effect the purpose just mentioned, we will mount at the door of our lodgings, in the Via Ripetta, and quit the town by the nearest gate, which is that of “the people,” or the Porta del Popolo. The obelisk in the centre of the area that we pass is Egyptian, as you may see by the hieroglyphics. It formerly stood before the Temple of the sun, at Heliopolis, and was transported to Rome by order of Augustus, as an ornament to the Circus Maximus. It has now stood near three centuries, or longer than America has been settled, where it is. The carriage road that winds up the ascent on the right, by inclined planes, leads to the Pincian Hill, the site of Domitian’s gardens, which are now used as a promenade for all classes, on foot, on horseback, or in carriages. I shall say nothing of the colossal statues, for they are modern. The three streets that, separated by twin churches, diverge from this square, penetrate the city, forming so many of its principal arteries; that in the centre, which was the ancient Flaminian Way, leads to the foot of the Capitol Hill, and is called the Corso. When without the walls, we find a little suburb stretched along the road which leads to the Ponte Molle, the ancient Milvian Bridge. This is the road to Upper Italy, or Cis-Alpine Gaul, and follows, in the main, the course of the Flaminian Way. We will quit the suburb, by turning short under the walls. The vineyard or garden on our left is that in which Raphael used to amuse himself, and the plain stone dwelling is both ornamented and defiled by the caprices of his pencil. He is any thing but divine in that house. The grounds a little farther beyond, and which show factitious ruins, statues, walks, avenues, and plantations, are the celebrated Villa Borghese, which, by the liberality of the owner, are converted into a Hyde Park, or a Bois de Boulogne, for Rome and her visitors. It is said the public has used them so long, that it now claims them as its own; the public in Rome being just as soulless, ungrateful, and rapacious as the public in America. God help the man (if honest) who depends on the public any where!