nibal had his own soldiers buried upon the field. body of Flaminius could not be found.

The

The spot and its associations have inspired some of the happiest lines of Childe Harold.'

I roam

By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles
Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home;
For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles
Come back before me, as his skill beguiles
The host between the mountains and the shore,
Where Courage falls in her despairing files,
And torrents, swoll'n to rivers with their gore,
Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scattered o'er

Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds;
And such the storm of battle on this day,
And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds
To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray,
An earthquake reel'd unheededly away!

None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet,

And yawning forth a grave for those who lay

Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet;

Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet !

Far other scene is Thrasimene now;

Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough;

Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain

Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath ta'en

A little rill of scanty stream and bed—

A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain;

And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead

Made the earth wet and turn'd the unwilling waters red.

For the purpose of enjoying the sweet scenery of this charming spot and exploring the old battle-field, I took up my abode at a little inn at Passignano, on the borders of the lake. One afternoon I walked to the small town of Tuoro, which rises from the plain situated on an elevated mound covered with olives, the site of many a fierce struggle on that dreadful day. It was a wretched little town, without drainage, the streets being unpaved and strewn with rubbish, whilst the houses wore the air of falling completely to decay. In vain I went from alley to alley: the hot hours of a midsummer day had not yet passed: all the inhabitants had betaken themselves to rest; only a few hungry dogs prowled about the street. At last I found a cobbler at his stall, who took me to a little bettola, or wineshop, a dingy little cellar, where a few persons sat gossiping in the cool, whilst enjoying the refreshing draught of some thin wine. I entered into conversation with an intelligentlooking man of the group. Hearing my errand, he proffered to take me to the top of the bell-tower of the church, which commanded the whole plain and to point out to me the various supposed sites of the battle and probable manœuvrings; as he had learned them from a military man whom he had accompanied on a special survey of the ground. In the whole position was clearly to be seen-what ntages would be gained by the first occupier of how any attempt to take it would be fraught

with the greatest difficulty. As we returned, he complained bitterly of the poverty of the district, and spoke of a project for draining the lake from which the miserable population hoped to reap much advantage.

Although the scenery about the Lake of Thrasimene is by no means the finest in Italy, yet there is something in the broad sheet of water, spotted with its lovely islands and the low-flowing mountain lines, by which it is surrounded, which fills the mind with soothing impressions; sometimes the prospect from the heights expanding before the eye in pictures of exquisite loveliness. The poverty of the district gives it a still more pathetic interest. The lake has very little fish in it, and the hilly district being none of the richest, the fruits of the earth are dearly won by the hardest toil. One evening, as I roamed the uplands, I met a bronze-faced lad of fourteen. There was a look of intelligence through his rusticity which caused me to enter into conversation with him. He told me he was a farm-labourer; and in answer to my questions as to his earnings, said that he was paid in kind, and never received money as wages. I said, I supposed then that he was paid pretty generously. "On the contrary," he said, "we receive barely enough for a subsistence, and as we have to take our produce to market we sometimes obtain very little for it-scarcely enough to give us the necessaries of life." All this was conveyed to me with a quiet self-possession of manner and that innate air of breeding which distinguishes even the peasant classes in many parts of Italy. With all his poverty he seemed cheerful and happy; and when I gave him a trifle at parting he looked pleased and surprised, and went on his way with the contentment of a prince.

Once more prosecuting our onward journey from Perugia we had thence a welcome addition to our little party in a congenial artist friend, Mr. E. Vedder. We started at an early hour of a brilliant morning, by the public diligence-a mode of travelling, which in Italy always offers quaint points of interest and specialities of character met with in no other

way. Commencing the descent of the hill upon which the town is built, our road at first lay between groves of olives and well-cultivated slopes; but presently a most glorious panorama opened itself before us. In the midst of a very lovely valley, in which the soft lines of the hills were gradually lost, the river was seen embowered in luxuriant foliage, patches of the clear blue of the sky mirrored between the sharply-defined reflections of its banks. Across the stream a delicately-curved bridge was thrown, looking almost too frail to support itself. The effect was quite magical: the thin veil of the morning giving an appearance of intangibility to the prospect, as if it would vanish with a breath. The scene was infinitely varied; verdure of all shades and tints, nodding groves, towered heights, swelling hills spotted with villas and farms; then, nearest the river, low-lying groups of houses were clustered as if out of love for the meandering stream that wandered hither and thither until it was lost to the sight. After a while the hills subsided in gentler slopes. The banks of the river were diversified with straggling poplars surrounded with pastoral groves of grey old oaks, whose large boles rose from a carpet of emerald grass upon which the shadows stretched as if in shelter from the heat of the sun, which now began to burn down fiercely from the sky. On the other side of the stream well-wooded hills arose; here and there a white homestead peeping from the foliage, or a lofty castle in grey blank ruin, the centre of many a mediæval struggle and feudal quarrel.

Long before the sun had reached the zenith we arrived at the little town of Fratta, where we stopped both to explore the district and to exercise our pencils in recording a very characteristic passage of the river. Fratta is now generally called Umbertidi; as there are no fewer than three other towns in Umbria bearing the former name. Just outside of the town we found a cheerful and pleasant little inn that promised well for a cleanly and comfortable domicile. On signifying our desire for some refreshment

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