occupation, after a winter's repose, had little sympathy with our regrets, and probably anticipated with pleasurable emotions the buona mano he may count on receiving at every inn where we stop, for many days to come.

We noticed the whiteness of the cows feeding along the banks of the ancient Clitumnus, a peculiarity ascribed to the effect of its waters. The animals looked very picturesque, and reminded one of those offered for sacrifice in days of yore. Saw the celebrated waterfall to-day. I have heard the majority of those who have spoken of it, declare that it disappointed them; but it has not had this effect on me, perhaps because I expected less. One of the advantages of time and travel, is to lower expectations within bounds more likely to be satisfied in reality. I thought of Byron as I gazed on this fine cataract, for he has painted it in never fading colours.

The roar of waters !-from the headlong height
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice;
The fall of waters! rapid as the light

The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss;
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture; while the sweat
Of their great agony, wrung out from this
Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set,

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round,
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,

Is an eternal April to the ground,

Making it all one emerald :-how profound

The gulf! and how the giant element

From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound,

Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent.

To the broad column which rolls on, and shows
More like the fountain of an infant sea

Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes

Of a new world, than only thus to be

Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly,

With many windings, through the vale :-look back!
Lo! where it comes, like an eternity,

As if to sweep down all things in its track,
Charming the eye with dread,-a matchless cataract,

Horribly beautiful! but on the verge,

From side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge,
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn

By the distracted waters, bears serene

Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn :
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene,

Love watching Madness with unaltered mien.

The verdure occasioned by the eternal showers of spray, which fall to a considerable distance around, I have nowhere seen equalled, except in Ireland. I noticed this aloud, and an Irish servant in our suite remarked, sotto voce, to one of his companions,-"Yes, our poor Ireland is as green as the wounds inflicted on it, and to which no healing balsam has yet been applied."

The vivid hue of the verduré greatly adds to the beauty of the cataract, to the snowy foam of which it forms so fine a contrast. The naïve remark of the painter, on beholding this magnificent work of nature-"Well done water, by!" rude and simple as the phrase is, struck me as being much more poetical than the tame observation of Addison, who wrote -"I think there is something more astonishing in this cascade, than in all the water-works of Versailles." And well might he think so! but who, except Addison, with one spark of poetry in his heart, could have made such a reflection? He is less anti-poetical when he asserts his belief that this is the gulf through which Virgil's Alecto plunged herself into the infernal regions. An hypothesis in which Addison is neither supported by similarity of names, nor the opinions of the learned.

There are some sights in nature, and this is one of them, well calculated to exclude, while beholding them, the selfoccupation to which mortals are so prone. Who can remember one's own puny cares and puerile gratifications, when gazing on this marvel, the eye dazzled by its grandeur, and the ear filled with its mighty roar? Imagination soars from its mansion of clay, to make acquaintance with objects so new, so glorious, and when exhausted by its exertions, returns to its abode, drooping and dejected at the consciousness of how far it falls short of the power to conceive or paint what has awak

ened it to rapture. These mighty waters, instinct with life, and fraught with super-human vigour, seem animated by a spirit of madness, into the terrible velocity with which they dash from rock to rock.

The dryness of the atmosphere, the heat of the climate, and the volcanic soil, which, even in the most fertile parts of Italy, betrays its nature, render water more beautiful as an object, and more agreeable as a refrigeration, than in our colder clime, where, even in the midst of summer, a certain dampness is felt. The prismatic colours with which the showers of the cascade are invested by the sun have a most dazzling effect, varying from the golden-tinted topaz to the fiery-streaked opal.

The valley of Terni is watered by the Nera, and is fertile and well cultivated. We paused not to examine the ruins or objects of antiquity collected at Terni, though much pressed to do so by our cicerone, who looked on us with an expression approaching to contempt in his countenance, when we declined his offer of conducting us to them. After a six years' residence in Italy, and many pilgrimages made to view its most celebrated ruins and antiquities, we were not disposed to give up the time required for inspecting those of Terni ; and hence increased the displeasure of our guide, whose amour propre seemed wounded by our not showing more respect to his birth-place. We, however, somewhat consoled him by remembering it was also that of Tacitus the historian, and of two of the Roman emperors.*

It is amusing to detect the various resources vanity finds for its indulgence when excluded from personal gratifications. He who cannot be vain of himself, becomes so of his country; and if its present abasement checks this feeling, glories in its former greatness. In reply to our excuse for not examining the antiquities of Terni, namely, that we had inspected nearly all those of the south of Italy, our guide said that, "nevertheless, objects might be seen there that could be nowhere else found;" nor did our liberal douceur, bestowed at parting, quite mollify his feelings for the slight he imagined we had offered to the place of his birth.

The foam of the cascade, thrown up to an amazing height, is seen at a considerable distance, and has a fine effect, contrasted with the vivid green of the verdure of the surrounding woods.

* Tacitus and Florianus.

The Velino, after its stupendous fall, rushes into the Nera, where its rapid course may be traced by the froth and globules it throws up, even as the course of a conqueror may be discovered by the marks of his impetuosity.

SPOLETTO.-The country about Spoletto is picturesque, and the town, like most of those in Italy, boasts its share of antiquities. The principal inn, though large, has made little progress in the modern art of comfort, for the dinner was more copious than palatable, and the apartments are more roomy than clean, or furnished. Our cicerone, for even Spoletto has its guide, rehearsed, in a monotonous tone, the claims of his native place on our attention. He told us, with a proud air, that this had been the capital of Umbria, and, of what our eyes could not fail to inform us, that it was built on the crater of an extinct volcano.

Some fine columns, and an edifice dignified by the sonorous title of the Temple of Concord, afforded him subjects for a harangue, in which all his erudition was called into play; and on some fragments, said to have formed part of a temple of Jupiter, he was eloquent.

The aqueduct, which he insisted was a Roman work, bears evident proof of belonging to a much later date; and the pointed arches seem to establish its origin as being due to the Goths. No structure forms a more picturesque object in a landscape than does an aqueduct; and seen spanning a rich country, always reminds me of one of those fine pictures of Claude Lorraine or the Poussins, who delighted to represent them.

We saw the church of St. Filippo Neri and the cathedral, which contains some pictures considered by our cicerone to be chefs-d'œuvre of art, but which are not remarkable.

The ruins of a castle, said to have been built by Theodoric, drew forth a philippic from our cicerone, on the inferiority of the buildings erected by the Goths to those of the Romans. He boasted that he, unlike many pretenders to antiquarian lore, could at a glance discern the one from the other, and added, with no little self complacency, that if there was any thing of which he felt vain, it was his skill on this point.

I was glad that I had not even hinted a doubt about the aqueduct and its pointed arches, for I should have been sorry to wound the vanity of the poor cicerone on a point in which it was so vulnerable.

There are some good houses at Spoletto, and all these are styled palaces. Their inhabitants must lead dull lives unless they are fond of study, as I have seen no town in Italy so monotonous as this, or where the stream of life seems to stagnate so much. A Neapolitan, accustomed to the animation and gaiety of his native city, would die of ennui at Spoletto.

LORETTO.-Returned from the viewing the Santa Casa, and its treasures. In no place are greater demands made on the credulity of beholders than here, where a miracle is attested to have occurred for which no motive can be assigned, or no object be effected, except it be the enrichment of Loretto; and the employment of an innumerable quantity of jewels for the decoration of Notre Dame, which decoration increases the number of those who flock to her shrine. A considerable portion of the jewels, however, are said to have disappeared during the time that Loretto was in the possession of the French. Whether taken from religious feeling, as relics, or from motives of cupidity, is a question not quite easy to be satisfactorily answered; the good natured part of the community being disposed to believe the first, and the ill-natured the second motive.

66 Robbing the Virgin would be too heinous a crime to suspect catholics to perpetrate," said the cicerone who conducted us to the Santa Casa; "nevertheless, that so much and such valuable property should have disappeared, does look suspicious;" and he shook his head gravely.

The church which enshrines the Santa Casa is a large, if not a fine building, and owes its decorations to Giacomo della Porta, and Bramente. One side has arcades, and over the entrance is a statue of the Virgin, from the chisel of Lombardi. The bronze gates are fine, and ornamented by bassi rilievi, the lower range of which have been nearly effaced by the religious pressure of the lips of the pious frequenters.

The church contains not less than twenty chapels, exclusive of that which has acquired it such celebrity, and which stands in its centre. The Santa Casa is of an oblong shape, about thirty-one or thirty-two feet long, and something less than half that number of feet in breadth. Its height is eighteen or nineteen feet. It is incrusted with marble, richly decorated with sculpture, illustrating the history of the Virgin, executed by Sansovino, San Gallo, and Bandinelli.