its broad surface and
the mountains which encompass it. It is a magnificent sheet of water, in
size and shape somewhat like New York Bay, but the heights around it are
far higher than the hills of Jersey or Staten Island. Three beautiful
islands lie in it, near the eastern shore.

While our _calesino_ was stopped at the papal custom-house, I gazed on
the memorable field below us. A crescent plain, between the mountain and
the lake, was the arena where two mighty empires met in combat. The
place seems marked by nature for the scene of some great event. I
experienced a thrilling emotion, such as no battle plain has excited,
since, when a schoolboy, I rambled over the field of Brandywine. I
looked through the long arcades of patriarchal olives, and tried to
cover the field with the shadows of the Roman and Carthaginian myriads.
I recalled the shock of meeting legions, the clash of swords and
bucklers, and the waving standards amid the dust of battle, while stood
on the mountain amphitheatre, trembling and invisible, the protecting
deities of Rome.

"Far other scene is Thrasymene now!"

We rode over the plain, passed through the dark old town of Passignano,
built on a rocky point by the lake, and dashed along the shore. A dark,
stormy sky bent over us, and the roused waves broke in foam on the
rocks. The winds whistled among the bare oak boughs, and shook the
olives till they twinkled all over. The vetturino whipped our old horse
into a gallop, and we were borne on in unison with the scene, which
would have answered for one of Hoffman's wildest stories.

Ascending a long hill, we took a last look in the dusk at Thrasymene,
and continued our journey among the Appenines. The vetturino was to have
changed horses at Magione, thirteen miles from Perugia, but there were
none to be had, and our poor beast was obliged to perform the whole
journey without rest or food. It grew very dark, and a storm, with
thunder and lightning, swept among the hills. The clouds were of pitchy
darkness, and we could see nothing beyond the road, except the lights of
peasant-cottages trembling through the gloom. Now and then a flash of
lightning revealed the black masses of the mountains, on which the solid
sky seemed to rest. The wind and cold rain swept wailing past us, as if
an evil spirit were abroad on the darkness. Three hours of such
nocturnal travel brought us here, wet and chilly, as well as our driver,
but I pitied the poor horse more