I have thus far passed this past month of fine weather most
delightfully in revisiting my haunts of the autumn before. Then, too,
I was uncommonly well and strong; it was the golden period of my Roman
life. The experience what long confinement may be expected after, from
the winter rains, has decided me _never_ to make my hay when the sun
shines: _i.e._, to give no fine day to books and pens.
The places of interest I am nearest now are villas Albani and
Ludovisi, and Santa Agnese, St. Lorenzo, and the vineyards near Porta
Maggiore. I have passed one day in a visit to Torre dei Schiavi
and the neighborhood, and another on Monte Mario, both Rome and the
Campagna-day golden in the mellowest lustre of the Italian sun. * * *
But to you I may tell, that I always go with Ossoli, the most
congenial companion I ever had for jaunts of this kind. We go out in
the morning, carrying the roast chestnuts from Rome; the bread and
wine are found in some lonely little osteria; and so we dine; and
reach Rome again, just in time to see it, from a little distance,
gilded by the sunset.
This moon having been so clear, and the air so warm, we have visited,
on successive evenings, all the places we fancied: Monte Cavallo, now
so lonely and abandoned,--no lights there but moon and stars,--Trinita
de' Monti, Santa Maria Maggiore, and the Forum.
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