Caspar paid me a visit, after dinner, with an ominous face and a more ominous report. He had ascertained that not less than twenty carriages were to cross the mountains next day. This augured badly for our comfort. In the first place, we might have a famine, or be brought to chestnuts, the true diet of the Apennines; and moreover, there was but a single house within a day’s work of Bologna where we could possibly sleep. The ex-dragoon affirmed that nothing could pass him while actually in motion; but they who travelled post had the advantage of not stopping at all, and of course would win the plate. Nothing remained to be done but to get the track at starting, and to throw ourselves on our speed with at least the hope of distancing all the _vetturini_.--We accordingly drove through the gates of Bologna, before the day had fairly dawned. The inquiry of Caspar, whether any one had preceded us, was satisfactorily answered, and, cracking his long whip, the happy fellow trotted merrily to the foot of the first ascent. The road carried us very soon into the mountains, and here we bade adieu to the sea-like plain of Upper Italy. For the first two or three hours we did little else but ascend; but it was evident that the piles were not Alpine. The road, however, was excellent, and though the country was scarcely grand enough to be imposing, or sufficiently soft to be pleasing, it had a peculiarity in its features that served to keep attention alive. We found the inn on the edge of what may be called the first considerable plateau--if any portion of mountains that are a succession of rounded caps can thus be termed. We were the first arrived, and were rewarded for our diligence by getting the first breakfast. If it was the best, our successors were to be pitied, for it consisted of execrable coffee, bad bread, tallowish butter, and greasy chops. One seldom sees a meaner repast in a log-house on the American frontier. Inferior as it all was, the laughing Caspar assured me those who came after us would fare worse, for we had consumed all the milk;--“_et les voilà_,” he added, pointing down the mountain to a train of carriages that were dragging their weary way up the ascent. By this time we were ready to move, and away the dragoon trotted, chuckling at his own management as much as at our success.