There are in the gardens of Rome, a great number of trees clad in perennial green, which heighten the illusion produced by the mildness of the climate during winter.  Pines, of a particular elegance, large, tufted towards the top, and interwoven with one another, form a kind of plain in the air, whose effect is charming when we mount sufficiently high to perceive it.  The lower trees are placed beneath the shelter of this verdant vault.  Two palm trees only are found in Rome which are both planted in the gardens of the monks; one of them, placed upon an eminence, serves as a landmark, and a particular pleasure must always be felt in perceiving and retracing in the various perspectives of Rome, this deputy of Africa, this type of a Southern climate more burning still than that of Italy, and which awakens so many new ideas and sensations.

“Do you not find,” said Corinne, contemplating with Oswald the country surrounding them; “that nature in Italy disposes us more to reverie than any where else?—­It might be said, that she is here more in affinity with man, and that the Creator uses her as a medium of interpretation between his creature and himself.”  “Undoubtedly,” replied Oswald, “I think so; but who knows whether it may not be the deep feelings of tenderness which you excite in my heart, that render me sensible to all I see?—­You reveal to me the emotions and thoughts, which external objects can give birth to.  I existed but in my heart; you have awakened my imagination.  But this magic of the universe, which you teach me to know, will never present me with any thing more lovely than your look, more moving than your voice.”  “May the sentiment I now inspire you with, last as long as my life,” said Corinne, “or at least, may my life never survive the power of inspiring it!”

Oswald and Corinne terminated their tour of Rome by the Borghese villa.  Of all the Roman gardens and palaces, here the splendours of nature and the arts, are assembled with the greatest taste and brilliancy.  Here are seen trees of every kind, and magnificent fountains; an incredible number of statues, vases, and antique sarcophagi, mingled with the freshness of the youthful nature of the South.  The ancient mythology here seems revived; the naiades are placed on the borders of rivers, the nymphs in woods worthy of them, the tombs beneath Elysian shades, and the statue of Esculapius in the middle of an isle, while that of Venus appears to rise out of the waters:  Ovid and Virgil might walk in this enchanting spot, and still believe themselves in the Augustan age.  The masterpieces of sculpture which the palace contains, give it a magnificence ever new.  At a distance, through the trees, is perceived the city of Rome and St Peter’s, the Campagna, and those long arches, the wrecks of aqueducts, which conveyed the springs from the mountains into ancient Rome.  Everything is there that can excite thought, delight the imagination, and foster reverie.  The most pure sensations are confounded with the pleasures of the soul, and give an idea of perfect happiness; but when we ask why this charming abode is not inhabited? they answer you that the malaria (la cattiva aria) will not permit any one to live here during summer.