What is one to think of such a history? Do they who promulgate it believe it themselves; or is it a mere fiction invented to deceive?—_Can_ it be true? Certainly it might, as well as that this earth could be created, and continue to roll on in its orbit.—_Is_ it true? That is certainly a great deal more than I shall presume to affirm, or even to believe, accompanied with circumstances of so little dignity, and facts so little worthy of such a display of Divine power.—Do the people themselves, they who frequent the shrine, believe it? Of that I should think there is little doubt, as respects the great majority.—I cannot express to you the feelings with which I saw my fellow-creatures kneeling at this shrine, and manifesting every sign of a devout reliance on the truth of this extraordinary legend. One woman, a well-dressed and respectable female to all appearances, was buried in the recess of the fire-place, where she remained kneeling, nearly an hour, without motion! Loretto is no longer much frequented by pilgrims from a distance. Formerly, the treasury had the reputation of being immensely rich, and a garrison was maintained in the place to guard it. There are, even now, the remains of military defences around the church, which stands at a point where the rock falls away rapidly towards the Adriatic. It has been said, the popes availed themselves of these riches at different times; and it is pretty certain most of them have disappeared since the period of the French invasion. The French bear the opprobrium of having despoiled the shrine; but it is quite as probable that they were anticipated; for who that knew their career in Upper Italy would have waited, on such an occasion, until the enemy was at the gate? Little remains; though we saw some things of price in the treasury, several of which were quite recent gifts from royal personages. There is an infirmary for the pilgrims annexed to the establishment, and I went into it to see some designs of Raphael’s that were painted on the jars and other vessels which held the medicines. They are extraordinary things in their way, and prove that the divinity of the school of Raphael is not the divinity of an anchorite. These gallipots, and the house near the _Porta del Popola_ at Rome, exhibit the author of the Transfiguration, very much as Ovid betrays his taste in the Metamorphoses, and Juvenal his in his Satires. We passed the night at Loretto, where we purchased sundry rosaries made of shells from the adjoining coast, candles, _agnus dei_, and other memorials of the place, all of which were properly authenticated by a certificate.