crowd of
the city, the charm was rudely broken by the appearance of the king;
who, attended by a numerous party of his guards and huntsmen, had been
wild boar shooting in the neighbouring woods. The waterfowl, scared by
the report of fire arms, speedily disappeared, and the guards shouted
to each other, and galloped round the smooth sloping banks; cutting up
the turf with their horses' hoofs, and deforming the whole scene with
uproar, confusion, and affright. Devoutly did I wish them all twenty
miles off. The famous Grotto del Cane is on the south bank of the
lake, a few yards from the edge of the water. We saw the torch, when
held in the vapour, instantaneously extinguished. The ground all
around the entrance of the grotto is hot to the touch; and when I
plunged my hand into the deleterious gas, which rises about a foot, or
a foot and a half, above the surface of the ground, it was so warm I
was glad to withdraw it. The disagreeable old woman who showed us this
place, brought with her a wretched dog with a rope round his neck,
bleared eyes, thin ribs, and altogether of a most pitiful aspect. She
was most anxious to exhibit the common but cruel experiment of
suspended animation, by holding his head over the mephitic vapour,
insisting that he was accustomed to it, and even liked it; of course,
we would not suffer it. The poor animal made no resistance; only
drooped his head, and put his tail between his legs, when his tyrant
attempted to seize him.

Though now so soft, so lovely, and so tranquil, the Lago d'Agnano owes
its existence to some terrible convulsion of the elements. The basin
is the crater of a sunken volcano, which, bursting forth here,
swallowed up a whole city. And the whole region round, bears evident
marks of its volcanic origin.

* * * * *

This morning we visited several churches, not one of them worthy of a
remark. The architecture is invariably in the vilest taste; and the
interior decorations, if possible, still worse: white-washing gilding,
and gaudy colours, every where prevail. We saw, however, some good
pictures. At the San Gennaro are the famous frescos of Domenichino and
Lanfranco: the church itself is hideous. At the Girolomini there is no
want of magnificence and ornament; but a barbarous misapplication of
both, as usual. The church of the convent of Santa Chiara was painted
in fresco by Ghiotto: it is now white-washed all over. At this
church, which I firs