tle pieces of money which are thrown into it. From this point
the force and weight of the water, rather than the slope of the ground,
hurry it onward. What was a mere spring becomes a noble river, broad
enough to allow vessels to pass each other as they sail with or against
the stream. The current is so strong, though the ground is level, that
barges of beam, as they go down, require no assistance of oars; while
to go up is as much as can be done with oars and long poles.... The banks
are clothed with abundant ash and poplar, so distinctly reflected in
the transparent waters that they seem to be growing at the bottom of
the river and can be counted with ease. The water is as cold as snow
and as pure in colour. Hard by the spring stands an ancient and
venerable temple with a statue of the river-god Clitumnus, clothed in
the customary robe of state. The Oracles here delivered attest the
presence of the deity. Close in the precinct stand several little
chapels dedicated to particular gods, each of whom owns his distinctive
name and special worship, and is the tutelary deity of a runlet. For
beside the principal spring, which is, as it were, the parent of all
the rest, there are several smaller ones which have their distinct
sources but unite their waters with the Clitumnus, over which a bridge
is thrown, separating the sacred part of the river from that which is
open to general use. Above the bridge you may only go in a boat; below
it, you may swim. The people of the town of Hispallum, to whom Augustus
gave this place, furnish baths and lodgings at the public expense.
There are several small dwelling-houses on the banks, in specially
picturesque situations, and they stand quite close to the waterside. In
short, everything in the neighbourhood will give you pleasure. You may
also amuse yourself with numberless inscriptions on the pillars and
walls, celebrating the praises of the stream and of its tutelary god.
Many of these you will admire, and some will make you laugh. But no!
You are too well cultivated to laugh at such things. Farewell.

Clitumnus still gushes from its rocks among the cypresses, as in Pliny's
day. The god has gone from his temple, on the frieze of which you may
read this later inscription--'_Deus Angelorum, qui fecit Resurrectionem._'
After many centuries and almost in our day, by the brain of Cavour and
the sword of Garibaldi, he has made a resurre