site, and arrived in the evening at Loreto, having gone fifteen miles. [Illustration: LORETO _From Civitates Orbis Terrarum_ _To face p. 196_, vol. ii. ] Loreto is a small village enclosed with walls and fortified against attack by the Turks,[144] and built on a slightly elevated plain. It overlooks a very fair stretch of country, and is not far from the shores of the Adriatic Sea or Gulf of Venice; indeed they say that in fine weather the Sclavonic mountains on the other side may be seen. The town contains few inhabitants except those who serve the needs of the religious devotees, some as innkeepers--and their lodgings are dirty enough--and some as traffickers, that is, vendors of tapers, images, paternosters, Agnus Dei, Saviours, and wares of this sort, many of these dealers having fine and well-furnished shops, in which I, personally, left behind some fifty good crowns. The priests and church officials and the College of Jesuits are all lodged together in a large modern palace, where lives also the governor, a cleric, to whom, as representative of the legate and the Pope, all applications must be addressed. The holy place is a little house, very old and mean, built of brick,[145] and much greater in length than in width. At the upper end thereof a barrier has been constructed, having on either side a gate of iron, and between these an iron grating, the whole fabric being rude and old and lacking in all richness of furniture. The iron grating aforesaid fills up the space between the two doors, and through it the spectator can see to the end of the recess, and the extreme end, the shrine, occupies about a fifth part of the space thus enclosed. This is the spot of the highest sanctity. There may be seen on the upper part of the wall the image of Our Lady, made, so the story goes, of wood. All the residue of the shrine is so thickly covered with rich _ex votos_ given by divers cities and princes that, right down to the ground, there is not an inch of space which is not covered with some device of gold or silver. With great difficulty and as a high favour done to me, I was able to find a place whereon I could fix a memorial device, in which were set four silver figures, that of Our Lady, my own, my wife’s, and my daughter’s. On the base of mine was engraved on the silver the inscription, “Michael Montanus Gallus Vasco, Eques Regii Ordinis, 1581.” On my wife’s, “Francisca Cassaniana, uxor,” and on my daughter’s, “Leonora Montana, filia unica.” These three are all kneeling in a row before Our Lady, who is set somewhat higher. The chapel has another entrance besides the two of which I have spoken, and any one entering it thereby will find my tablet on the left-hand side, opposite the door in the corner, the same having been very carefully fixed and nailed to the wall. I had caused a chain and ring of silver to be fitted thereto, so as to let it hang from a nail, but the chapel