of
Rome. Fragments of fluted pillars stood here and there in the streets;
large blocks of marble covered with sculpture and inscriptions were
built into the houses, defaced statues used as door-ornaments, and the
steppingstone to our rude inn, worn every day by the feet of grooms and
vetturini, contained some letters of an inscription which may have
recorded the glory of on emperor.

Traveling with a vetturino, is unquestionably the pleasantest way of
seeing Italy. The easy rate of the journey allows time for becoming well
acquainted with the country, and the tourist is freed from the annoyance
of quarrelling with cheating landlords. A translation of our written
contract, will best explain this mode of traveling:

"CARRIAGE" FOR ROME.

"Our contract is, to be conducted to Rome for the sum of twenty
francs each, say 20f. and the _buona mano_, if we are well
served. We must have from the vetturino, Giuseppe Nerpiti, supper
each night, a free chamber with two beds, and fire, until we shall
arrive at Rome.

"I, Geronymo Sartarelli, steward of the Inn of the White Cross, at
Foligno, in testimony of the above contract."

Beyond Otricoli, we passed through some relics of an age anterior to
Rome. A few soiled masses of masonry, black with age, stood along the
brow of the mountain, on whose extremity were the ruins of a castle of
the middle ages. We crossed the Tiber on a bridge built by Augustus
Caesar, and reached Borghetto as the sun was gilding with its last rays
the ruined citadel above. As the carriage with its four horses was
toiling slowly up the hill, we got out and walked before, to gaze on the
green meadows of the Tiber.

On descending from Narni, I noticed a high, prominent mountain, whose
ridgy back, somewhat like the profile of a face, reminded me of the
Traunstein, in Upper Austria. As we approached, its form gradually
changed, until it stood on the Campagna

"Like a long-swept wave about to break,
That on the curl hangs pausing"--

and by that token of a great bard, I recognized Monte Soracte. The
dragoon took us by the arms, and away we scampered over the Campagna,
with one of the loveliest sunsets before us, that ever painted itself on
my retina. I cannot portray in words the glory that flooded the whole
western heaven. It was like a sea of melted ruby, amethyst and
topaz--deep, dazzling and of crystal transparency. The color changed in
tone every few minutes, till in half an