* * * * *

19.—­We went to-day to view the restored model of the Coliseum exhibited in the Piazza di Spagna; and afterwards drove to the manufactory of the beads called Roman Pearl, which is well worth seeing once.  The beads are cut from thin laminae of alabaster, and then dipped into a composition made of the scales of a fish (the Argentina).  When a perfect imitation of pearl is intended, they can copy the accidental defects of colour and form which occur in the real gem, as well as its brilliance, so exquisitely, as to deceive the most practised eye.

20.—­I ordered the open carriage early this morning, and, attended only by Scaccia, partly drove and partly walked through some of the finest parts of ancient Rome.  The day has been perfectly lovely; the sky intensely blue without a single cloud; and though I was weak and far from well, I felt the influence of the soft sunshine in every nerve:  the pure elastic air seemed to penetrate my whole frame, and made my spirits bound and my heart beat quicker.  It is true, I had to regret at every step the want of a more cultivated companion, and that I felt myself shamefully—­no—­not shamefully, but lamentably ignorant of many things.  There is so much of which I wish to know and learn more:  so much of my time is spent in hunting books, and acquiring by various means the information with which I ought already to be prepared; so many days are lost by frequent indisposition, that though I enjoy, and feel the value of all I do know and observe, I am tantalized by the thoughts of all I must leave behind me unseen—­there must necessarily be so much of what I do not even hear!  Yet, in spite of these drawbacks, my little excursion to-day was delightful.  I took a direction just contrary to my last expedition, first by the Quattro Fontane to the Santa Maria Maggiore, which I always see with new delight; then to the ruins called the temple of Minerva Medici, which stand in a cabbage garden near another fine ruin, once called the Trofei di Mario, and now the Acqua Giulia:  thence to the Porta Maggiore, built by Claudius; and round by the Santa Croce di Gerusalemme.  This church was built by Helena, the mother of Constantine, and contains her tomb, besides a portion of the True Cross from which it derives its name.  The interior of this Basilica struck me as mean and cold.  In the fine avenue in front of the Santa Croce, I paused a few minutes to look round me.  To the right were the ruins of the stupendous Claudian Aqueduct with its gigantic arches, stretching away in one unbroken series far into the Campagna:  behind me the amphitheatre of Castrense:  to the left, other ruins, once called the Temple of Venus and Cupid, and now the Sessorium:  in front, the Lateran, the obelisk of Sesostris, the Porta San Giovanni, and great part of the ancient walls; and thence the view extended to the foot of the Apennines.  All this part of Rome is a scene