At Rome, which I reached early in May, or, I believe, towards the middle of April, I lived in the Villa di Matta, a charming situation upon the Pincian Hill overlooking the city, and commanding a grand view of the distant hills and Campagna. Almost the whole of our Neapolitan set was there, with the exception of Lords Digby, Boringdon, G. Leveson, who for reasons best known to themselves fled the enjoyments of Italy to fulfil some dull, unimportant duties in England, where nothing short of compulsion shall ever drag me. [Sidenote: ‘SAL VOLATILE’] We all made an excursion to Tivoli, Bessboroughs, Ld. Grandison, and the young men. I conveyed Ld. Holland, Mr. Marsh, and Beauclerk. We lodged at a nobleman’s villa, took our own provisions and cook, and passed our time with jollity. Lord Bessborough grew very cross, and from a fit of jealousy about Mr. Beauclerk, compelled us all to return to Rome, and disquieted our mirth. We got back late at night. I had seen Tivoli the year before: a charming group of cedars in the garden of the family d’Este. In the course of our evenings Ld. H. resolved to make me admire a poet, of whom I had heard but little, Cowper: he is excellent, and amply repaid the labour of reading many hundred lines in blank verse, many of which are inharmonious. Mr. Marsh used to read to me Murphy’s translation of Tacitus. A sharp fit of gout, brought on by drinking Orvieto wine, did not increase the good temper of my companion; decorum, not inclination, made me keep at home. My evenings were agreeable; _he_, however, did not mar my comfort by partaking of my tranquil society. Went out every morning with Ly. B. Ld. Holland’s delightful spirits cheered us so much that we called him _sal volatile_, and used to spare him to one another for half an hour to enliven when either were melancholy. I saw the Pope[128] give his benediction to a kneeling and believing multitude. The sight was imposing. He is an excellent actor; Garrick could not have represented the part with more theatrical effect than his present Holiness. I was grievously disappointed at the _Miserere_, the composition of Pergolesi, sung by differently modulated voices in the Sixtine Chapel. The illumination of the great cross inside St. Peter’s was very striking: the effect of the light upon the monumental effigies raised the painful recollection of death, the _sombre_ of the objects and the locality inspired melancholy. We went about to various chapels, where we found many a debauched fair one in the comely attire of matronly humility, expiating in penance and prayer many a dear sin, for the sole purpose of beginning a fresh catalogue of the cherished crimes. I saw occasionally the old Santa Croce, Cardinal Bernis, etc., etc., but Ly. Bessborough, Ld. Holland, Messrs. Marsh, Brand, etc., were those I lived habitually with.