being conducted, by a narrow, artificial canal, to the edge of the precipice—it had too much the appearance of a spout, and too much regularity to agree with the rudeness of the scenery around. Night was now coming on; and I returned to our inn, resolved to examine more particularly, on the next morning, what I had as yet but imperfectly surveyed.

In effect, early on the ensuing day, my guide led me on the Ponte Lupo, the natural bridge under which all the waters of the cascades precipitate themselves, and pass, for some distance, under the earth. This place is said to be the best point of view from whence to see the great cascade; but I should recommend to amateurs to ascend the precipice on the left, where, from a small platform,* they will behold the two falls, the circular temple of Vesta, and the picturesque village of Tivoli before them, and, looking over the Ponte Lupo, they will follow the course of the stream as it winds between the hills beyond. I sat on a stone, on this platform, and sketched the view I have described, until my paper and myself were nearly wet through from the misty

* This spot is more easily and safely reached from the road, of the Cascatelle, above.

spray that rose from below, and in which large birds flew to and fro with unceasing croaking. Following again the difficult path by which I had reached this elevation, I descended one extremely dangerous, which brought me to the subterraneous cavity under the Ponte Lupo. This chasm is called the Grotta della Sirene, from the great danger of the place; which, after all, is scarcely worth attaining, except for the noise of the rushing waters, which falls in with, and increases the wildness of the surrounding landscape: for the varied rainbows that play in the thick spray, may be seen from other points.

After breakfast I paid another visit to the Grotta di Nettuno, and drew it from the furthest part on the inside,-a point of view from which I have not seen it taken, though painters are here found on every crag and under every bush. I then, with the rest of the company, listened to the proposal of the Cicerone—as to making the tour of the Cascatelle. Some pitiful asses were brought forth, but, at sight of them, all the party declared they preferred walking. Miss - however, requested that she might have a “donkey” for

donkey” for the use of those who might chance to be fatigued. As this proposal

was full of foresight and prudence, one little ass was engaged to carry five people; each of whom was, in turn, ashamed of making use of it: I leave it to your judgment to decide if pity for the beast inspired this shame. Be that as it may, we followed a road on the ridge of the hills which form the east bank of the stream; and passed, in succession, before all the renowned Cascatelle, which trickled diminutively down the opposite bank. Crossing over the stream, about a mile below the cascade, we rose again on the opposite side, and approached the town. At the entrance of Tivoli we turned off to visit the uninteresting Tempio delle Tosse. This digression was not, however, effected without difficulty: for the “donkey,” who knew the direct road home, could not easily be persuaded to deviate from it. Such stoppages often occur; and I have more than once seen* English ladies arrested in the center of a public square, while neither blows, nor more gentle means, could prevail on their montures to advance.

At four o'clock we ended our fatiguing and tiresome walk, and, setting off homeward, arrived, at seven, at Rome. Adieu.

• At Nice such misfortunes are frequent.



In my last I mentioned my excursion to Tivoli; an excursion which closed my Roman sight-seeing. You are doubtless shocked at the epithet of sights being applied to the monuments of ROME? So should I have been six months ago. A short time before I arrived at Rome, and when my mind was exalted by the usual expectation, a person, who had visited the ruins of Greece and Palmyra, offended my enthusiasm by assuring me that it would be entirely extinguished before I should have passed three months in the center of what then excited it; but when the same person added that there were, in Italy, very few objects of antiquity entitled to admiration, I listened to him only as to one indulging in the contemplation of the wider circle through which his own curiosity had impelled him. Such were, at that time, my ideas; at present I am more inclined to do justice to his opinions, and adopt the same sentiments. Vasi, in his Guide of Rome, allows eight days for visiting all the ancient and modern monuments: he of course mentions many things that can present little attraction to the ordinary spectator; and were a man to select from his enumeration those objects only which are interesting to most travellers-well-informed, but not blinded by the love and admiration of every thing ancient-he would then find eight days fully sufficient for him to be well acquainted with ancient and modern Rome.

For a longer residence Rome is most uninviting: besides the dreariness of the country around, the tristesse of the place must gain upon the stranger, however unwilling to give way to it; and, instead of insinuating itself into his affections, it will daily appear to him more repulsive. I now persuade myself that the common people, the beasts of burden, even the dogs, have a peculiar appearance of melancholy and ennui; and such I really believe to be the case.

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