down as if pressed out of them by their torment, under the eternal shock of the falling cataract upon them. As I stood gazing at this mad stream, breaking itself into a thousand fragments in its desperate leap, a thunder-cloud slowly threw fold after fold over the dwarf firs that fringed the top, till the heavy masses seemed fairly to press their dark bosom on the summit of the hill-while the roar of the blast, and the low growl of the distant thunder, mingling with the roar of the cataract, made it a scene of wild sublimity. I had missed the "Iris," but I was repaid by the storm. The day seemed changing into night, and I at length turned away to find some place of shelter before the cloud should burst over me. Descending, I met my peppery Captain and his sweet daughter. I had no particular solicitude about the Captain's skin, but I was anxious to save the little beauty from the shower I knew would soon be upon us. I besought her to return, assuring her she would be drenched if she proceeded. "What," said she, in a voice like a bird, " is not that point of rock I just saw you sitting upon the best spot from which to view the cataract?" Undoubtedly, madam; but if you attempt to reach it you will certainly be overtaken by the storm. "But I must see it," she replied. I urged her in vain to desist, and was on the point of offering my services, when wisely considering it would not improve my personal appearance to get a thorough drenching, nor make the rain any the less heavy on her, I concluded to let the wilful little creature take her soaking alone.

I had scarcely reached our carriage before the rain came down in solid masses. I took shelter in a curious looking hole, tenanted by an old hag whose company was almost as bad as the thunder storm. I stood and looked out on the driving rain, and shrugged my shoulders as I thought of my English Hotspur and his wife and daughter. At length, tired of waiting the motion of the storm, I hired a half of an umbrella for two pauls, and started off, and such a wild-cat ride I never took before. The driver whipped his horses into a dead run till the carriage spun like a top.

After we had fairly got home and down to our tea the Captain and his family arrived. He was cool as a cucumber, while the young authoress, drenched to the skin, crept demurely along, looking the very picture of desolation. In a few minutes, how.

ever, the Captain's blood was again up, and he came in sputtering away about fevers, and agues, et cetera, that he feared would follow this exposure. You must know an Italian is nervously afraid

of getting wet, as in this climate it induces fever.

So ends my trip to Terni, and the Cataract of Velino. It is singular that Terni and Tivoli, two of the finest waterfalls in Europe, should both be artificial. The Romans made this cascade by turning the waters of the Velinus from their original course, over this precipice. In this way they drained the rich plains of Rieti. It has been changed and modified much since, according as the inundations of the valley demanded it.

Truly yours.

LETTER XXXVIII.

Perugia Clitumnus-Battle-Field of Thrasymene.

DEAR E.-I have been five days on the road from Rome to this place, and designed to give you a letter filled with the occurrences of each day; but I will crowd the five into one letter, and by this process endeavor to give you the cream of the whole. Spoleto, with its ruined aqueducts and ancient gate, called the gate of Hannibal, I must pass over, and hurry away to Foligno, just bidding you stop a moment-and you must be very careful or you will pass it unnoticed-to see the tiny temple mentioned by Pliny, and dedicated in olden time to the river god, Clitumnus. Childe Harold is the best guide-book for this region, and Byron stopped here and sung

"But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave

Of the most living crystal that was e'er
The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave
Her limbs where nothing hid them," &c.

And again

"And on thy happy shore a Temple still

Of small and delicate proportions," &c.

But you can read it for yourself. At Foligno we staid all night, and a gloomy one it was. The rain had poured all day, and the streets were muddy and lonely, while on every gloomy church was painted a death's head and cross bones. With the uprising sun we were off, and the clear air of the open country quickly effaced the memory of the dirty town.

Assisi sits on the slope of a hill, about a mile and a half from the road, one of the most picturesque towns in Italy. Its long rows of aqueducts, stretching from mountain to mountain-its lofty commanding citadel, and its old battlements and towers encompassing it around, combine to render it a striking object as it

lies along the height. Dante gives a most beautiful description of it, beginning

"Intra Tupino e l'acqua, che discende

Dal colle eletto dal beato Ubaldo," &c., &c.

Their

Perugia comes next in the catalogue, situated on the top of a hill, and the capital of the second delegation of the Papal States. It is a polished city, abounding in works of art, and worthy a longer stop than travellers usually give it. It is true it contains now but 18,000 inhabitants, but its works of art are the relics of the period when it could lose 100,000 by the pestilence in one year and still be a large city. I visited the Etruscan tombs in this region, and would give you a learned dissertation on them if I could throw any light on this intricate subject. To stand before the urns and mouldering marble that were ancient when Rome stood, and Cæsar was a modern, and read, or rather attempt to read, characters that no man can read, fills one with strange sensations. These Etruscans understood the arts, especially sculpture, and were certainly to some extent a polished race. epitaphs have reached posterity, but, alas, posterity cannot read them. What a comment on human fame! The proud chieftain who built him a tomb before he died, and ordered his own marble and epitaph, lies in the midst of his garnished sepulchre utterly unknown. This wise world cannot make out the letters of his name. If he had dreamed posterity would ever have become so degenerate as to be unable to read the letters of his alphabet, he would probably have scorned to have attempted to send his name and race down to it. Perugia has a Lunatic Asylum, managed on the modern improved system, and an excellent University. The fortress, called the Citadello Paolina, was begun by Pope Paul III., who laid waste a part of the town to reduce the Perugians, who rebelled against a salt-tax he levied on them. The first cannon was smuggled in a corn-sack, and the Perugians commemorated this violation of their liberty by the couplet―

"Giacchi cosi vuole il diavolo

Evviva Papa Paolo!"

"Since the devil will have it so,

Long live Pope Paul."

The hotel where we stopped was an old palace, and in one of the chambers were old armor and paintings, and relics enough to make a small museum, and all for sale-cheap. But the greatest object of interest, especially to the antiquarian, is the Museum, from the number of Etruscan relics it contains, all of which are picked up in the neighborhood of the city. They have already collected nearly one hundred separate inscriptions, the longest of which contains forty-five lines.

This city looks down on a most magnificent view. The valley of the Tiber towards Rome, is spread out in its richness and verdure, sprinkled with villages and convents; while far away, the beautiful Umbrian Mountains finish the surpassingly lovely landscape. The Cathedral and fountain, etc., we will leave alone, and hasten away to get a sail on the beautiful lake of Thrasymene before sunset. The descent into the valley of Caina is steep, and we now see no more of the Tiber. Towards evening we came to a ridge of hills, from the top of which Thrasymene is visible. Here we were compelled to take oxen to drag us up. An old lofty tower stands on the top, overgrown with ivy, and presenting one of the most picturesque ruins of its kind I have ever seen. As I stood at its base, and looked back on the valley, cultivated like a garden, and green as an emerald, as it lay flooded in the light of the setting sun, I did not wonder the Italian loved his country. Thrasymene is immortal, from the terrible battle fought on its shores, between Hannibal and the Roman Consul Flaminius. With Livy as a guide-book, or Hobhouse's notes on the fourth Canto of Childe Harold, which are but little more than a translation from Livy and Polybius, you can fix every part of the battle-field, almost as accurately as you can the localities of Waterloo. The range of mountains called the Gualandro, approach at two separate points close to the lake, while between, the land recedes away, forming an arc larger than a semicircle. At the two points where the mountain touches the lake, are the two passes that lead into this semicircular area. In the interior of this area, and on the side towards Rome, rises a conical hill, on which Hannibal stationed the main body of his troops, while he placed men in ambush near the pass on the farther side, towards Florence, through which Flaminius was to come. Be