guarded by huge sheep-dogs, against which stones are the only protection. Shepherds sit contentedly to see you devoured, and play prettily on their reed-pipes as in classical times. "Will you come up and show us your pipe,” we said to a boy in rags who was sitting on a rock beneath us. "Certainly not," he answered, with true mountain independence, "if you want to see it, you can come down to me."

The original cell of Pietro Murrone is a cave, but, above it, a hermitage in two stories has been built long ago and is adorned with rude frescoes. A sort of brotherhood of hermitmonks was established here, and here "the blessed Roberto de Salie" died in the odour of sanctity, having first been favoured with a vision of the soul of Coelestine in bliss.

We could not but wonder if Coelestine was at all like the poor hermit, the last of the brotherhood-who still lingers here utterly filthy-absolutely ignorant-coarse, and uncivilized. Yet with a sort of rude courtesy he offered us the poor hospitality of his smoke-blackened den. "Would we have an egg boiled or fried—a little black bread, not such as Signori like, Ah no! dunque io gli raccomando a la carità di Dio."

Beneath the hermitage is the great monastery founded in honour of S. Pietro Celestino, rather like the Escurial in its proportions and situation. It is ghastly ugly. Under the Papal Government it was a hospital and orphanage. The present Government have turned out the children and made it a prison. The church has a picture of Cœlestine by Raphael Mengs. Built into a small chapel above the convent, are a few Roman fragments from Corfinium.

It is said that Rienzi, the last of the Tribunes, lived here in retreat as a monk, when he fled from Rome, but the her

mitage of S. Spirito in the Maiella is also pointed out as the

place where he lived "come fraticello, con romiti e persone di penitenza."

(An excursion may be made (14 miles) from Solmona to the Lago di Scanno, but it must be performed partly on horseback and partly on foot, and in winter it is impossible from

VOL. II.

12

the snow, or the swelling of the Sagittario in the narrow pass called Gli Stretti di S. Luigi.

"The Lago di Scanno is really one of the most perfectly beautiful spots in nature, and the more so for being in so desert a place. Its dark waters slumber below bare mountains of great height; and their general effect might recall Wast Water in Cumberland, but that every craggy hill is of wilder and grander form. At the upper end of the lake, which may be a mile and a half in length, an avenue of beautiful oaks, dipping their branches into the water, shades the rocky path, and leads to a solitary chapel, the only building in sight, save a hermitage on the mountain beyond. The beauty and stillness of this remote lake are most impressive.

"The costume of the women of Scanno is extremely peculiar, and suggests an oriental origin, particularly when (as is not unusually the case with the elder females) a white handkerchief is bound round the lower part of the face, concealing all but the eyes and nose. In former days, the material of the Scannese dress was scarlet cloth richly ornamented with green velvet, gold lace, &c., the shoes of blue worked satin, and the shoulder-straps of massive silver, a luxury of vestments now only possessed by a very few. At present both the skirt and bodice are of black or dark blue cloth, the former being extremely full, and the waist very short; the apron is of scarlet or crimson stuff.

"The head-dress is very striking: a white handkerchief is surmounted by a falling cap of dark cloth, among the poorer orders; but of worked purple satin with the rich, and this again is bound round, turbanwise, by a white or primrose-coloured fillet, striped with various colours, though, excepting on festa days, the poor do not wear this additional band.

"The hair is plaited very beautifully with riband; and the ear-rings, buttons, necklaces, and chains are of silver, and in rich families often exceedingly costly."-Lear's Excursions in Italy.

Another savage excursion, impossible in winter snows, may be made from Solmona, by Pettorano, Rocca Valloscura, and Roccarasa, to Castel di Sangro (so called from its river), a picturesque old town with a castle of the Counts of the Marsica. There is a path hence through wild mountain passes, by Barrea, Alfidena, and the Passo del Monaco over the mountain of La Meta, to the pilgrimage-chapel of

S. Maria del Canneto. A road also leads from Castel di Sangro to Isernia, a very interesting old town, with a curious aqueduct, a beautiful fountain, and a round church with a shrine of S.S. Cosmo and Damian, of great repute for the cure of disease in all the neighbouring country. Hence there is a road to Naples by Venafro, where are fine polygonal walls and an old castle of the Caraccioli.

There is a direct road, traversed by a diligence in summer, from Solmona to Celano on the Lago Fucino, which saves an immense detour. It passes by Pentima. Near this are the remains of the ancient Corfinium, many fragments of which are built into the curious Church of S. Pelino, where S. Alexander I. is buried. But in winter and spring this road is wholly impassable from snow, and we were reluctantly compelled to return through the moonlight to Aquila, by the diligence which leaves Popoli at 7 P.M. and arrives at 2 A.M.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN THE MARSICA-THE LAGO FUCINO.

HE morning after reaching Aquila (March 31) we

THE

snow.

took the Avezzano diligence (9 francs 50 c.) which left Aquila at 10 A. M. It was a long ascent for several hours after Aquila, and then we reached the upland plains of The driver had many stories to tell of the perils of that way, and how once he and his four horses were nearly lost, and only rescued by a whole village turning out at the sound of his alarm bell. We did not wonder, for the scenery was that of Lapland; fields, hedges, mountain-sides entirely concealed under a snow-mantle, and for hours our road was a mere track cut in the snow, which rose in walls on either side, where it had drifted, to the height of the diligence.

If they ceased talking, the coachman and the postal-guard sang in parts, and for hours, one of the wild melancholy songs of the Abruzzi.

“ Sa vi digo, Maria, dij vui,

Povir amur!

V' Anvid a le mie nossi.

Resignurin;

V' Anvid a le mie nossi.

-A le vostri nossi an j ven nent,

Povir Amur !