pavement of the upper story, and is composed of large flat stones, which were evidently taken from the ruins of other buildings, as they contain mutilated inscriptions on the under faces.

The principal floor of the temple is above the crypt. Its dimen sions do not exceed eight feet by ten, open on one side, with a blind wall on the other. Four small Corinthian pillars, and two pilasters, ornament the front. These have all the appearance of being very ancient; and the most rational conjecture seems to be, that this fantastic little structure is a piece of patch-work, of comparatively modern origin, formed out of the wreck of the Roman temple, which according to Pliny and other authorities, stood by the fountains of the Clitumnus. It is certain that the religious character of the edifice has undergone a change; for it is now dedicated to the Virgin, whose altar and image give sanctity to the inmost shrine.

The next post brought us to Spoleto, a large town of great antiquity, situated on a gentle acclivity at the southern extremity of the vale of the Clitumnus, of which it commands an enchanting view. More than two thousand years ago, it was of sufficient strength to withstand a siege and repel the arms of Hannibal; and in the eternal succession of wars, by which Italy has been visited since that period, Spoleto has always been deemed an important post, as commanding a pass of the mountains leading to Rome. An immense Gothic fortress, erected by Theodoric, crowns an insulated hill, which overlooks the town, and forms a picturesque object at a distance. The ramparts and gates are massive, resembling rather a garrison than a city, though at present it contains no other warriors than an army of priests and monks, forming a portion of the church militant. Like all the other towns on this route, the interior is dirty, gloomy, and mean, exhibiting an image of poverty and decay. It is said to possess some respectable specimens of the fine arts; but had inclination prompted, time permitted us to rest only long enough to receive a fresh relay of horses.

In making our exit under the lofty walls, we had a fine view of the environs, embracing one or two palaces and convents on the right, and a colossal structure on the left, crossing a deep ravine, and serving in the double capacity of a bridge and an aqueduct. I leave antiquaries to settle the disputed point, whether it is of Roman or Gothic origin. On the east of this pass, dividing the town from the mountain, are hanging groves of ilex, sprinkled with numerous white hermitages, perched at apparently inaccessible heights upon the rocks, and half concealed by the foliage. They enjoy an undisturbed retirement, and are inhabited by a peculiar class of anchorites, who lead a secluded

life from choice, without having ever bound themselves by the formality of a vow.

Our ascent for several miles up the acclivities of Monte Somma, dragged as usually by six horses and four oxen, (the latter having on this occasion the new appendage of a string of bells,) was extremely slow and toilsome. The top of this mountain, over which the road runs, is five thousand feet in height. It commands a most enchanting prospect backward into the vale of Clitumnus, over the antique towers of Spoleto, rising at the outlet of the pass. The last glimpse of scenery, which had been a constant source of pleasure during the day, was absolutely painful to the mind.

From the top of Monte Somma, we descended rapidly into a deep gorge, which opens on the southern side. The road follows the bed of a mountain torrent, savage, waste, and wild—a perfect contrast to the soft, flowery landscape, to which we had just bidden good night. For many miles these solitudes, formed by lofty ridges of the Apennines, rising like walls on either hand, and shutting out the light of the sun, are unbroken by a habitation of any kind, and affording no means of succour in case of accident. The scenery in itself, shaded with the gloom of twilight, is absolutely terrific; and the feelings of the traveller are not the more pleasurable from a knowledge of the fact, that the fastnesses along the road have at times been the favourite haunts of banditti. However remote might be the danger of robberies, at present, the sound of the vesper bell at Terni, stealing up the ravine and breaking the dreariness of the waste, was by no means unwelcome to our ears. The town is effectually concealed from view, by the woody environs spreading from the outlet of the pass to the very walls.

We arrived just before sunset, and much to our regret, had not time to visit the falls of Velino, which are at the distance of five miles, among the mountains, requiring several hours to make the excursion. The disappointment, however, was somewhat softened by the probability of returning by the same route to the North of Italy: and as our anxiety to reach Rome increased in proportion to our approach, it was concluded not to lose a day at present, for the sake of visiting the cascade. Terni possesses little interest of any kind, except as the birthplace of the historian Tacitus; and even his memory is kept alive by no monumental records. There are few antiquities, and still fewer works of modern art to attract the attention of the traveller. We inquired in vain at the shops of booksellers, for the Annals and the History of their own immortal townsman, as well as for some of the other Latin Classics, wishing to find a higher source of amusement for the evening, than a deeaying and poverty-stricken city can afford.

LETTER LVI.

ROUTE TO ROME-VALE OF THE NAR-PASSAGE THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS-NARNI-OTRICOLI--CIVITA CASTELLANA-MOUNT SORACTE -BACCANO CAMPAGNA DI ROMA-MILVIAN BRIDGE-PORTA DEL POPOLO-ARKIVAL AT ROME.

April, 1826.

Ar five o'clock on the morning of the 23d, we commenced our last day's journey towards Rome. In emerging from the narrow, dark, gloomy streets of Terni, into the beautiful plain, in the midst of which it is situated, the mind experiences no small degree of surprise, that such poverty and wretchedness can be surrounded with so many bounties of nature. But the priest-ridden, oppressed, dispirited inhabitants seem to be almost too inactive, to reap the harvests which spring spontaneously at their hands; or if they do reap them, their garners are exhausted to support swarms of ecclesiastics, and to defray the expenses of a splendid religion. The vale of the Nar maintains its ancient character for fertility, and the peasant apparently might mow his four crops of grass in the year, as he is said to have done in the age of Pliny. At any rate, one crop at this early season was in readiness for the scythe, and covered the banks of the little stream with all the luxuriance of vegetation.

Half a mile beyond the village of Narni, our carriages were left to climb a long hill, while we hastened to view the ruins of the bridge of Augustus, extending from one mountain to another across the Nar, where the river makes its exit from the valley through a rugged pass of the Apennines. It was a sight worth seeing. There were originally four stupendous arches, one of which is yet standing, though its massive blocks of stone, started from their places, and hanging at a dizzy height in the air, seemed ready at every moment to drop upon our heads. Some of their fellows have already yielded to the pressure of the hand of time, and left wide rents in the imperial structure. One of the piers, in the shape of a dilapidated tower, with a tuft of shrubbery springing from its top, has braved for nearly two thousand years the impetuous current of the Nar, which foams and dashes round the ruin. The complexion of this stream is exactly expressed by the epithet sulphureous, applied to it by the Latin poets, who were as chaste and discriminating in their colouring of objects, as were the great painters of modern Italy.

The passage of the Nar, through this long, rugged, and profound

chasm is not only picturesque but grand. If it were the Tiber, instead of only one of its branches, the scene would be sublime. The abyss is several hundred feet deep, bordered on either hand by nearly perpendicular walls of rocks and hanging woods, thrown together with a good deal of rudeness. So rough is the channel as to keep the river in a constant foam for a mile or two. The hills on the right bank are perfectly solitary, crowned with forests of great depth and richness. An old path for miles, winding along the opposite cliffs, forms a striking and romantic feature in the picture. The ancient town of Narni occupies the very summit of the hill, on the left bank, and from its ramparts, the eye looks down into the yawning gulf, or turns to survey once more the sunny vale of Terni, in which the Nar seems to linger, enamoured of its flowery borders, before it hurries away through the mountain pass. Our ascent to the town from the ruins of the bridge was extremely arduous, and the streets form such a perfect labyrinth, that it was necessary to take a guide to show us the way to our coaches. Narni has never recovered, and apparently never will recover, from the ravages of the Venetians, in the 15th century, while they were in alliance, or rather co-operated with the Emperor Charles V. in scourging Italy. The houses are little more than miserable hovels, and the inhabitants appear to be sunk into the lowest depths of poverty.

After traversing for some distance the high banks of the Nar, and thence passing a deep woody glen, we arrived a second time in sight of the Tiber, whose waters had been augmented by several large tributaries since leaving Perugia. The ruins of the old town of Ocriculum, in the territory of Umbria, break through the smooth green sward of a plain, which spreads between the road and the left bank of the river, rising in dark, insulated masses. It is said that a continuous faubourg, lined with ranges of palaces and temples, extended hence to the gates of Rome. Such a conjecture in its full extent is at least doubtful, as few traces of such magnificence have been found. The modern town of Otricoli, stands upon a hill, within a short distance of its ancient namesake; and the former is almost in as ruinous a condition as the latter.

The vale of the Tiber is here extremely rural, and the current itself broad and strong, but quiet, bordered by extensive fields of grain and pasturage. It has a very scanty population, and the landscape exhibits an air of loneliness. From the ancient territory of Umbria, we crossed to the Sabine shore, on the Ponte Felice; a fine bridge, originally built by Augustus, and repaired by Pope Sixtus Quintus, who has taken

good care that the public shall be fully apprised of his services, through the medium of numerous inscriptions.

In emerging from the gates of Borghetto, at the commencement of the next post, the team attached to the carriage of our friends became refractory and unmanageable. One of the horses fell with the postillion under him, by which it was subsequently ascertained, that his leg was fractured. But the poor fellow insisted on going to the next post, as he would otherwise lose his place; for his Holiness has made a regulation, that any coachman who happens to get floored, whether by his own fault or that of the horses, shall forthwith be discharged from the line.

Civita Castellana is said to stand upon the site of old Veii. In entering it, the traveller crosses a bridge thrown over a deep and singular gulf, which appears like a fissure opened in the plain by some great convulsion of nature. It extends under the walls of the town like an artificial fosse. Its banks are naked and exhibit geological strata to a great depth. This region seems once to have been volcanic. The formation is a reddish sand-stone, covered with a light soil. A stately aqueduct stretches across the ravine, which added to the massive ramparts, and the enormous castle whence the city derives its distinctive appellation, presents rather an imposing view. The interior offers nothing attractive, but much to sicken and sadden the heart. Pausing merely long enough to take some refreshment at a wretched hotel, we hastened across a sandy, solitary waste to Nepi, and thence to Monte Rosi.

Just before entering the latter town, a pretty lake was observed on the right of the road; while on the left, Mount Soracte had been full in sight, during a ride of many miles. It now bears the name of St. Oreste. Byron has in three lines presented an exact image of this hill, which

-"from out the plain

Heaves, like a long-swept wave about to break,

And on the curl hangs pausing."

The mountain

So true is the profile, that it was at once recognized. has little of the dignity, which might be inferred from Horace's description. Although the snow was still lying upon the peaks of the long chain of Apennines to the east, not a flake was visible upon the dusky brow of Soracte. It is indeed of moderate elevation; less, I should think, than that of the Catskill, rising from the waste in the shape of a long dark ridge, insulated from all other hills. Horace drew its likeness in mid winter, and the reason why he selected it in preference to others