buildings on shore. As soon as we landed, and had breakfasted, and were refreshed, we set off in a separate diligence for the Eternal City.
The road for some miles bordered the sea. The shore is varied by little bays, inlets, and promontories—every five miles is a watch-tower,—the Maremma is spread around, deadly in its influence on man, but in appearance, a wild, verdant, varied pasture land, with here and there a grove of trees, and broken into hill and dale: the waves sparkled on our right; the land stretched out pleasant to the eye on the left; mountains showed themselves on the horizon. No one can look on this country as merely so much earth—every clod is a sacred relic—every stone is an object of curiosity—every name we hear satisfies some desire or awakens some cherished association. And thus, in a sort of trance of delight, we were whirled along, till the old walls appeared. We entered by the Janiculum, and skirted the Place of St. Peter’s; then the pleasant spell was snapped, as we had to turn our thoughts to custom-houses, hotels, and all the worry of arrival.
Evening advanced; but what ailed the Romans? they were all looking up at the sky—it was an epidemic—in crowds or singly, not an eye looked straightforward; all were looking at the heavens;—at a turn in the street we looked too, and saw in the
