Passing through the tablinum, we enter the portico of the xystus, or garden, a spot small in extent, but full of ornament and of beauty, though not that sort of beauty which the notion of a garden suggests to us. It is not larger than a city garden, the object of our continual ridicule; yet while the latter is ornamented only with one or two scraggy poplars, and a few gooseberry-bushes with many more thorns than leaves, the former is elegantly decorated by the hand of art, and set apart as the favorite retreat of festive pleasure. True it is that the climate of Italy suits out-of-door amusements better than our own, and that Pompeii was not exposed to that plague of soot which soon turns marble goddesses into chimney-sweepers. The portico is composed of columns, fluted and corded, the lower portion of them painted blue, without pedestals, yet approaching to the Roman rather than to the Grecian Doric. The entablature is gone. From the portico we ascend by three steps to the xystus. Its small extent, not exceeding in its greatest dimensions seventy feet by twenty, did not permit trees, hardly even shrubs, to be planted in it. The centre, therefore, was occupied by a pavement, and on each side boxes filled with earth were ranged for flowers; while, to make amends for the want of real verdure, the whole wall opposite the portico is painted with trellises and fountains, and birds drinking from them; and above, with thickets enriched and ornamented with numerous tribes of their winged inhabitants.