character, but the highway was always easy and level; and, after a twenty-mile journey, we came, in time for dinner, to La Maccia, a little town on the river Chiento. We kept along the road, which took an easy course at the base of the mountains, and here I had a dispute with the _vetturino_ and gave him a box on the ear, which the custom of this country rates as a violent outrage; as is exemplified by the case of the _vetturino_ who, for a similar assault, killed the Prince of Tresignano. As I saw that the fellow had left our company, and felt some apprehension lest he should make a charge against me or work other mischief, I changed my plan, which was to push on to Tolentino, and halted for supper at Val Chimara, a small village at the end of the eighth mile, situated on the bank of the Chiento. On the morrow, Sunday, we kept along the valley between fertile and cultivated mountain slopes, as far as the little town of Tolentino, through which we passed, and then came to a more level region. Now on either side the hills were small and easy of access, the whole region reminding me strongly of L’Agenois[142] in the fairest part thereof beside the Garonne, except that here, as in Switzerland, no castles or gentlemen’s houses are to be seen, but many villages and towns are built on the hill sides. We made our journey along the Chiento over a very fine road, the latter part of which was paved with brick, for twenty-eight miles, and reached Macerata for dinner. This is a fine town, about the size of Libourne, built in circular form on a hill, and rising equally on all sides towards its centre. It contains very few houses of consequence, but I remarked one palace of hewn stone enriched outside with square diamonds rising to a point like the palace of the Cardinal d’Este at Ferrara,[143] a design which gives a very pleasing appearance. At the entrance of this town is a new gate with the inscription, _Porta Boncompaigno_, written in letters of gold, which gate stands on one of the roads which the reigning Pope has reinstated. The town is the residence of the legate for the Marches. On these routes they serve the travellers with wine that has been boiled, their custom being to boil it until it shall have shrunk one-half, in order to improve it. By this time we were advised by the crowds of people going and coming that we were on the road to Loreto. Besides many single pilgrims, were troops of rich people going on foot in pilgrim garb, some of these companies being distinguished by a flag and by a crucifix, which was carried in front, and by a particular sort of dress. After dinner we traversed an uninteresting country, now passing over plains and small rivers and now over gentle hills, but all the way the land was very fertile and the road for the most part paved with tiles set on edge. We passed through Recanati, a straggling town on high ground, which adapts itself to the hills and hollows of its