hour it sank away before the
twilight to a belt of deep orange along the west.

We left Civita Castellana before daylight. The sky was red with dawn as
we approached Nepi, and we got out to walk, in the clear, frosty air. A
magnificent Roman aqueduct, part of it a double row of arches, still
supplies the town with water. There is a deep ravine, appearing as if
rent in the ground by some convulsion, on the eastern side of the city.
A clear stream that steals through the arches of the aqueduct, falls in
a cascade of sixty feet down into the chasm, sending up constant wreaths
of spray through the evergreen foliage that clothes the rocks. In
walking over the desolate Campagna, we saw many deep chambers dug in the
earth, used by the charcoal burners; the air was filled with sulphureous
exhalations, very offensive to the smell, which rose from the ground in
many places.

Miles and miles of the dreary waste, covered only with flocks of grazing
sheep, were passed,--and about noon we reached Baccano, a small post
station, twenty miles from Rome. A long hill rose before us, and we
sprang out of the carriage and ran ahead, to see Rome from its summit.
As we approached the top, the Campagna spread far before and around us,
level and blue as an ocean. I climbed up a high bank by the roadside,
and the whole scene came in view. Perhaps eighteen miles distant rose
the dome of St. Peter's, near the horizon--a small spot on the vast
plain. Beyond it and further east, were the mountains of Albano--on our
left Soracte and the Appenines, and a blue line along the west betrayed
the Mediterranean. There was nothing peculiarly beautiful or sublime in
the landscape, but few other scenes on earth combine in one glance such
a myriad of mighty associations, or bewilder the mind with such a crowd
of confused emotions.

As we approached Rome, the dragoon, with whom we had been walking all
day, became anxious and impatient. He had not heard from his parents
for a long time, and knew not if they were living. His desire to be at
the end of his journey finally became so great, that he hailed a peasant
who was driving by in a light vehicle, left our slow carriage and went
out of sight in a gallop.

As we descended to the Tiber in the dusk of evening, the domes and
spires of Rome came gradually into view, St. Peter's standing like a
mountain in the midst of them. Crossing the yellow river by the Ponte
Molle, two miles of road, straight as an arrow, l