exclaiming, in a paroxysm of vexation, that he had met with a Lady that would not let him kiss her hand.

I came in soon after, and chid my determined Spouse, for refusing so small an act of condescension to a Prince. But her spirits were still ruffled by the adventure, and she retorted on me with asperity: "How should I know a Prince from a Pedlar, without his Pack?"

LETTER IX.

Journey from Florence to Rome.

Rome, October 10th, 1801.

E left Florence, with impatience,

WE

as the last place that should check our progress toward Rome.

As far as Sienna the soil is tolerably fertile, though very hilly. We entered the town under an elegant gateway; and,. while the horses were feeding, went to see the Cathedral, a Gothic edifice, built of black and white marble, laid in alternate stripes, which gives it a whimsical, linsey-woolsey appearance.

While we were crossing the market place, in the great Square, a Mass was said, under an open Portico; and, at the elevation of the Host, both Buyers and Sellers fell upon their knees in the dirt. All however resumed their chaffering, as soon as the bell ceased to tinkle, with as much eagerness as if nothing had interrupted their occupations.

Quitting Sienna we soon entered a dreary Country, with few intervals of cultivation, between scattered villages, on the peaks of barren hills; and gladly passed by, without stopping at Radicofani; for aught I know the ancient Clusium, the capital of Porsenna.

Between this forsaken city, hanging like an Eagle's nest, upon the crag of a mountain,

mountain, silent and solitary as a haunted castle, and Aqua Pendente, the first town in the Papal Territories, strongly characterised by poverty and idleness, the neglected road runs along the very bed of a winding torrent, which often renders it quite impassable. We however laboured through it, with the help of two, or three, yoke of oxen; and, toward night, were tugged up a steep hill, to be filched by the gaunt, and greedy, Officers of the Pope's Dogana,* who expected us at the gate. The starveling Placemen dismissed us, after a short examination, to choose the best lodgings we could find, in the wretchedest Inn at which we had ever yet had the misfortune to be detained.

Custom House.

Next

Next day we passed through Bolsena, and Montefiascone, to Viterbo, the last town of any importance short of Rome.

As we rode out of this place, the Inhabitants of which support the specious idleness of twenty-four Convents, of Monks and Nuns, the Peasants were going to mass in crowds, though it was an hour before day; to indulge or to exhibit, their zealous devotion to some favourite Saint.

The morning was hazy, and our Italian Fellow Travellers handed us their smelling bottles, and put up the glasses of the coach, to shut out the foul air of this forsaken tract-which is described

by Varro as a continued Orchard, excelling in fertility all the Provinces of an Em