It is a matter of dispute where the Rubicon really is. The inhabitants of Rimini say it is the Marcochia, the small river that is spanned by the ancient bridge I have mentioned; while those of Savignano claim the honour for the Pisatello, a still smaller stream that runs near their place. I believe the prevalent opinion is in favour of the latter; and there is certainly a monument near the road to say as much. The first, notwithstanding, is the most plausible-_looking_ stream for a boundary, as it runs nearly in a direct line across the narrow neck of land that lies between the mountains and the sea. These things are often arbitrary; but, were any one to reason coolly on probabilities, I think he would select the Marcochia for the Rubicon. As the great roads commenced and terminated at this point, it renders it still more likely that this was the Rubicon. Emilius or Flaminius would be more likely to commence such works at a frontier, than at a few miles distant. _Au reste_, I am too ignorant of the learned part of the question to give an opinion. The stream that commonly passes for the Rubicon (the Pisatello) is a mere rivulet that certainly offered to Cæsar no other obstacle than that of the prohibition, as it might be forded with dry knees. We breakfasted, the day we left Rimini, at Cesena. This is the country of the Malatesta family; and the place contains some works of the middle ages, that are still in tolerable condition. We had now diverged from the sea, and were fairly on the great plain of Lombardy, though still in the Romagna. The road ran nearly parallel with the mountains, which here quitted the Adriatic to cross to the other sea, leaving the whole of the wide country between their bases and those of the Alps, in the vast plain of which I have already spoken. We slept at Forli, a town of some size, and which we found neat and convenient. At all these places we amused ourselves with looking at pictures, cathedrals, and ruins; but none are of sufficient note to call for an especial mention of them. Our stages were short, and the road from Ancona to Bologna was almost without hills.—Forli was the Forum Livii of the ancients, and, of course, was on the Emilian Way, which pursued nearly, if not precisely, the route of the modern road. All these great highways are kept in excellent repair; and it is not easy to find any country in Europe that has better post-routes than Italy. Indeed, most of Europe is well off in this particular; France, perhaps, ranking among the least favoured countries in this respect, notwithstanding all the praises that have been lavished on Napoleon because he caused an inlet to be made, here and there, into his conquered provinces. It is true, Italy owes the Emperor much in this respect; but the motive is too apparent to render his benefactions fit themes for eulogium. A man who left the roads between his own capital and its nearest towns in a condition to break