At Rimini we witnessed a ceremony that a two years’ residence in Italy had never before given us an opportunity of seeing. There had been a long drought; and a procession, in which hundreds of the peasants from the adjoining country appeared, was made to implore rain at different shrines. A Madonna of repute was borne in front, and great devoutness and faith were manifested by those who followed. There is probably no essential difference between these prayers and those of our own Church for a similar favour; though the formalities observed on this occasion were singularly addressed to the senses. I was amused by observing that the clouds looked dark and menacing over the Apennines, and that these ceremonies were commenced under good omens. And yet it did not rain! I do not know, after all, that we are to consider these ceremonies as possessing more virtue in the eyes of the Catholics than our Church prayers possess in our own: it is but another form of petition. Not far from Rimini is a high mountain that stands insulated from the great range of the Apennines. It is irregular in form, and a small town is seen near its summit, while, all together, it appears rather more cultivated and peopled than is common for the hills. This is San Marino, the oldest republic of Christendom. It had been my intention to visit the place, but indisposition prevented me. The territory includes the mountain and a small hilly district at its base, with a population of about five thousand souls. I was told at Rome by one who had ruled the Romagna, that this little community betrayed a good deal of jealousy of its independence, and that its government was believed to be very justly administered. Of course, such a State exists only by sufferance: the pope can, at any moment, imprison the whole community, by forbidding them to trespass on his States. At this point the Grand Duchy of Tuscany extends to the summits of the Apennines, coming within a very few leagues of the Adriatic.