To the broad column which rolls on, More like the fountain of an infant sea and shows 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! As if to sweep down all things in its track, Horribly beautiful! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, 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: 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 verdure 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 self-occupation 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 awakened 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 goldentinted 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 year's 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 gratification. 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. The Velino, after its stupendous fall, rushes into the Nera, where *Tacitus and Florianus. 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 as its guide, rehearsed, in a monotonous tone, the laims 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 |