It is a notable fact that but one description of an Etruscan tomb is to be found in ancient writers; and that tomb was at Clusium—the mausoleum of Lars Porsena. It is thus described by Varro, as quoted by Pliny :—

“He was buried under the city of Clusium, in a spot where he has left a monument in rectangular masonry, each side whereof is three hundred feet wide, and fifty high, and within the square of the basement is an inextricable labyrinth, out of which no one who ventures in without a clue of thread, can ever find an exit. On that square basement stand five pyramids, four at the angles, and one in the centre, each being seventy-five feet wide at its base, and one hundred and fifty high, and all so terminating above, as to support a brazen circle and a petasus, from which are hung by chains certain bells, which, when stirred by the wind, resound afar off, as was formerly the case at Dodona. Upon this circle four other pyramids are based, each rising to the height of one hundred feet. And above these, from one floor, five more pyramids, the height whereof Varro was ashamed to mention. The Etruscan fables record that it was equal to that of the rest of the structure.”

From Nepi, which is thirty miles from Rome, the high road runs direct to Civita Castellana, a distance of nearly eight miles; but to the traveller on horse or foot I would recommend a route, by which he will save two miles. On passing the bridge of Nepi, let him turn immediately to the right; a mile of lane-scenery with fine views of Nepi will carry him to Castel di Santa Elia, a small village, which looks much like an Etruscan site, and was perhaps a castellum dependent on Nepete. The road to it and beyond it seems in some parts to have been ancient, cut through the tufo; there are few tombs by its side, but here and there portions of masonry, serving as fences to the road, may be observed, which are of ancient blocks, often found in such situations. He then enters on a bare green down, rich in the peculiar beauties of the Campagna. A ravine yawns on either hand. That on the right, dark with wood, is more than usually deep, gloomy, and grand. Beyond the other runs the high road to Civita; and in that direction the plain—in winter an uniform sheet of dark rich brown from the oak-woods which cover it, studded here and there with some tower or spire shooting up from the foliage—stretches to the foot of the Ciminian Mount.

From Sarteano to Chianciano it is a drive of seven miles amid glorious scenery. This range of heights, indeed the whole district of Chiusi, is prodigal in charms—an earthly paradise. There are so many features of beauty, that those which are wanting are not missed. Here are hill and vale, rock and wood, towns and castles on picturesque heights, broad islet-studded lakes, and ranges of Alpine snow and sublimity ; and if the ocean be wanting, it has no unapt substitute in the vast vale or plain of Chiana—a sea of fertility and luxuriance; while all is warmed and enriched by the glowing sun of Italy, and canopied by a vault of that heavenly blue, that

which reflects beauty on everything beneath it. It is the sort of scenery which wins rather than imposes, whose grandeur lies in its totality, not in particular features, where sublimity takes you not by storm, but retires into an element of the beautiful.

Chianciano, like Sarteano, stands on the brow of a hill, girt with corn, vines and olives—a proud site, lording it over the wide vale of the Chiana, and the twin lakes of Chiusi and Montepulciano. It is a neat town of about two thousand souls, and is much resorted to in summer, for the hot springs in its neighbourhood.

The second town of the Falisci, Fescennium, or Fescennia, or Fascenium, as Dionysius calls it, was founded, like Falerii, by the Siculi, who were driven out by the Pelasgi; traces of which latter race were still extant in Dionysius' day, in the warlike tactics, the Argolic shields and spears, the religious rites and ceremonies, and in the construction and furniture of the temples of the Falisci. This Argive or Pelasgic origin of Fescennium, as well as of Falerii, is confirmed by Solinus. Virgil mentions Fescennium as sending her hosts to the assistance of Turnus; but no notice of it, which can be regarded as historical, has come down to us; and it is probable that, as a Faliscan town, it followed the fortunes and fate of Falerii. It was a Roman colony in the time of Pliny. We know only this in addition, that here are said to have originated the songs, which from an early period were in use among the Romans at their nuptials; and which were sung also by the peasantry in alternate extempore verses, full of banter and raillery.

These lines of Mrs. Hemans present a true summer picture of the Tuscan Maremma ; and such is the idea generally conceived of it at all seasons alike by most Englishmen, except as regards its beauty. For few have a notion that it is other than a desert seashore swamp, totally without interest, save as a preserve of wild boars and roe-bucks, without the picturesque, or antiquities, or good accommodation, or anything else to compensate for the dangers of its fever-fraught atmosphere—in short,

as desolate and perilous as the Pomptine. They know not that it is full of the picturesque and beautiful; a beauty peculiar and somewhat savage, it is true, like that of an Indian maiden, yet fascinating in its wild unschooled luxuriance, and offering abundant food for the pencil of the artist and the imagination of the poet.

North of Toscanella lies a large group of Etruscan sites. The road, which is scarcely carriageable, passes through the villages of Arlena, Tessenano, and Celere, none of which betray an antiquity higher than Roman times, and at the distance of twelve or fourteen miles reaches Ischia, whose position on a tongue of land between profound ravines, full of tombs, marks it as an Etruscan site. There is nothing of interest, however; the tombs are utterly defaced by their application to the uses of the inhabitants. The ancient name of the place is quite unknown. It was a small town, probably dependent on Tarquinii or Vulci. Its Etruscan character is not generally recognised; yet Campanari made excavations here a few years since.

As Ischia is on the way to Pitigliano and Sovana, it may be well to state that accommodation is to be had at the house of Sabetta Farolfi—tolerable enough considering the intense squalor of the town;

for here you meet with clean sheets, foul tables and tongues, unbounded civility and scanty comfort, wretched meals and good society. The house is patronised by the aristocracy of Ischia, and is the evening resort of the archpriest, the medico, the speziale, and other conscript fathers of the town, who showed their politeness by urging me, though impransus and way-worn, to a rubber of whist.

From Pitigliano and its interesting neighbourhood I proceeded to Bolsena, entering the Papal State at Ornano, a wretched village seven or eight miles from Sorano. Passport and baggage in this case proved no impedimenta; in truth, save at Civita Vecchia, the grand portal to Rome, I have never experienced any inconvenience on entering the State, and have found the doganieri uniformly civil, often courteous, and in no way forward to exert their authority It were ungracious to attribute their forbearance to the venality of which they are accused.

From Ornano a road runs to Acquapendente, on the highway from Florence to Rome. This has been supposed to be the Acula of Ptolemy, and the colony of the Aquenses mentioned by Pliny—an opinion founded merely on the similarity of its name, which is evidently derived from the physical peculiarities of the site. Acquapendente appears to be wholly of the middle ages—no traces of the Romans, still less of the Etruscans, could I perceive on this spot.

At Ornano I chose the more direct route to Bolsena, which I had soon cause to repent, for here, as usual, the proverb was verified—

The lanes through which it lay were so many beds of stiff clay, saturated with the recent rains, so that the beasts sank knee-deep at every step, and sometimes threatened to become as permanently stationary as “my uncle Toby's Hobby-horse.”

Almost every town in Italy and Spain has its chronicle, written generally by some monk, who has made it a labour of love to record the history, real or imaginary, of his native place from the creation down to his own time. In these monographs, as they may be termed, the great object appears to be to exalt the antiquity and magnify the pristine importance of each respective town, often at the expense of every other. It is this feeling which has ascribed to many of the cities of Spain a foundation by Japhet or Tubal-Cain; and to this foolish partiality we owe many a bulky volume replete with dogmatical assertions, distortions of history, unwarranted readings or interpretations of ancient writers; and sometimes even blackened with forgery.

Among those who have been guilty of this foulest of literary crimes, stands foremost in impudence, unrivalled in voluminous perseverance, Fra Giovanni Nanni, commonly called Annio di Viterbo, a Dominican monk of this town, who lived in the fifteenth century. He was a wholesale and crafty forger; he did not write the history of his native place, but pretended to have discovered fragments of various ancient writers, most of which are made, more or less directly, to bear testimony to its antiquity and pristine importance.