We will quit the city by the same gate as before; but, instead of inclining to the right, let us take the opposite direction, which brings us, within a hundred yards, to the banks of the Tiber. If you feel the same sensation that I did, on finding yourself riding along the shores of this classical stream, your seat in the saddle will be elastic, and you will feel a double enjoyment at galloping in a pure air and under a serene sky. You know the size of this river already, and I will merely add that, in the winter and spring, it is turbid, rapid, and apt to overflow its banks, particularly in the town, for at the place where we now are, these banks are perhaps ten feet above the surface of the water. It is thought the bed of the river has been materially raised by _débris_ within the walls, and projects have even been entertained for turning the water, with a view to discoveries. As boats sometimes ascend, there is a towing-track, which, though little used, is a reasonably good bridle-path, the equestrians keeping this track beaten. As the stream is as meandering as our own Susquehanna, it presents many pretty glimpses; though the nakedness of the Campagna (which, north of Rome, while more waving and broken than farther south, is almost destitute of any other herbage than grass and a few bushes,) prevents the scenery from being absolutely beautiful. Still every turn of the river is pregnant with recollections, and one can hardly look amiss in quest of an historical site. The eminence on the opposite side of the stream, that shows steep acclivities at its eastern and southern faces, and up which a road winds its way by the south-western ascent, is Monte Mario, a hill that overlooks Rome, very much as Montmartre overlooks Paris. The half-ruined country-house that stands against its eastern side is the Villa Madama, so termed from having been built by Margaret of Austria, a daughter of Charles V. from whom it has descended to the family of Naples. The house on the summit is the property of the Falonieri, the present owners of the mount. What a thing it is to own a Roman site! and what a cockneyism to convert it into a dandy residence,—a “half-horse, half-alligator” ruin! After riding a little more than a mile, we reach the Milvian Bridge, a portion of which is ancient. We will not cross at this spot, so celebrated for the battle fought by Constantine near it, but pursue our way up the side of the stream, on which we still are. Crossing the highway, then, (the ancient Flaminian Way,) we continue our course up the river, which just here has been the scene of a melancholy event, of no distant occurrence. The horse of a young Englishwoman backed off the steep bank, and falling over her, she was drowned. What has rendered this calamity more striking, was the fate of her father, who is said to have left a post-house in the mountains, on foot, while travelling, and has never since been found.