we mount, and renew the
steeple-chase as before.

Suddenly, it all comes to an end, and we sit wide awake in the
diligence, amid a silence only broken by the hiss of rain against the
windows, and the sweep of gusts upon the roof. The diligence stands
still; there is no rattle of harness, nor other sound to prove that we
have arrived at the spot by other means than dropping from the clouds.
The idea that we are passengers in the last diligence destroyed
before the Deluge, and are now waiting our fate on the highest ground
accessible to wheels, fades away as the day dimly breaks, and we find
ourselves planted, as the Italians say, on the banks of another
river. There is no longer any visible conductor, the horses have been
spirited away, the driver has vanished.

The rain beats and beats upon the roof, and begins to drop through
upon us in great, wrathful tears, while the river before us rushes
away with a momently swelling flood. Enter now from the depths of
the storm a number of rainy peasants, with our conductor and driver
perfectly waterlogged, and group themselves on the low, muddy shore,
near a flat ferry-barge, evidently wanting but a hint of _forza
maggiore_ to go down with any thing put into it. A moment they
dispute in pantomime, sending now and then a windy tone of protest
and expostulation to our ears, and then they drop into a motionless
silence, and stand there in the tempest, not braving it, but enduring
it with the pathetic resignation of their race, as if it were some
form of hopeless political oppression. At last comes the conductor to
us and says, It is impossible for our diligences to cross in the
boat, and he has sent for others to meet us on the opposite shore.
He expected them long before this, but we see! They are not come.
Patience and malediction!

Remaining planted in these unfriendly circumstances from four o'clock
till ten, we have still the effrontery to be glad that we did not
take the steamer. What a storm that must be at sea! When at last
our connecting diligences appear on the other shore, we are almost
light-hearted, and make a jest of the Ombrone, as we perilously pass
it in the ferry-boat too weak for our diligences. Between the landing
and the vehicles there is a space of heavy mud to cross, and when we
reach them we find the _coupe_ appointed us occupied by three young
Englishmen, who insist that they shall be driven to the boat. With
that graceful superiority which endears thei