ng
sunlight, or stationed on the points of vantage that command their
successive cataracts, we enjoyed a spectacle which might be compared in
its effect upon the mind to the impression left by a symphony or a
tumultuous lyric. The turbulence and splendour, the swiftness and
resonance, the veiling of the scene in smoke of shattered water-masses,
the withdrawal of these veils according as the volume of the river
slightly shifted in its fall, the rainbows shimmering on the silver
spray, the shivering of poplars hung above impendent precipices, the
stationary grandeur of the mountains keeping watch around, the hurry and
the incoherence of the cataracts, the immobility of force and changeful
changelessness in nature, were all for me the elements of one stupendous
poem. It was like an ode of Shelley translated into symbolism, more
vivid through inarticulate appeal to primitive emotion than any words
could be.

MONTEFALCO.

The rich land of the Clitumnus is divided into meadows by transparent
watercourses, gliding with a glassy current over swaying reeds. Through
this we pass, and leave Bevagna to the right, and ascend one of those
long gradual roads which climb the hills where all the cities of the
Umbrians perch. The view expands, revealing Spello, Assisi, Perugia on
its mountain buttress, and the far reaches northward of the Tiber
valley. Then Trevi and Spoleto came into sight, and the severe
hill-country above Gubbio in part disclosed itself. Over Spoleto the
fierce witch-haunted heights of Norcia rose forbidding. This is the kind
of panorama that dilates the soul. It is so large, so dignified, so
beautiful in tranquil form. The opulent abundance of the plain contrasts
with the severity of mountain ranges desolately grand; and the name of
each of all those cities thrills the heart with memories.

The main object of a visit to Montefalco is to inspect its many
excellent frescoes; painted histories of S. Francis and S. Jerome, by
Benozzo Gozzoli; saints, angels, and Scripture episodes by the gentle
Tiberio d'Assisi. Full justice had been done to these, when a little
boy, seeing us lingering outside the church of S. Chiara, asked whether
we should not like to view the body of the saint. This privilege could
be purchased at the price of a small fee. It was only necessary to call
the guardian of her shrine at the high altar. Indolent, and in compliant
mood, with languid curiosity and half-an-hour to spare, we assented. A