At six in the morning we recommenced our journey through Montefiascone, celebrated for its wines, and reached Viterbo for breakfast. A party of Austrians returning from Naples, unfortunately followed us into the inn, and carried away the attentions of our host and his myrmidons. After breakfast, Mr. W. S. and myself set off before our coach, and walked up the mountain of Viterbo, and when we reached the top experienced a delightfully refreshing breeze, and my companion was gratified with a most magnificent view of villas and villages, with lake Vico on the right, which at first he mistook for the sea. At a distance on the left, was a palace of the king of Naples. We now re-entered the coach, and descended the hill with rapidity, contesting the race with Madame Frimont’s voiture. I cannot say, however, the companionship afforded us any gratification, as we had all the disadvantages without the pleasures of it; for we had not once the honour of conversing with the lady, or of course the merit of voluntarily sacrificing our comforts for her accommodation; it was all one whether we got in first or last, there appeared to be so good an understanding between her servant, the drivers, and the people of the inn, that we were sure to come off only second best. We reached Ronciglione for the night. At this place, we had the pleasure of meeting with _Mr. John Bull_, lately from England, but last of all, from Rome, where he had been studying the _finer arts_, that is, the arts of eating and drinking, and who was now on his return to his native city of London, by way of Florence. He had engaged a voiture of the same description with the one we were travelling in, for the exclusive use of himself and his servant, _William Simple_, who did not presume to speak any other language than what his mother had thought right to teach him, while Mr. Bull, by three months’ practice, and the assistance of a dictionary, had acquired sufficient Italian to enable him to call for the various objects of his affection. He was loud in his complaints against his Italian coachman, _Antonio Sulky_, who, contrary to the assurances of the person from whom he had hired his carriage at Rome, was disposed to do everything to please himself, but nothing which he, Mr. Bull, was desirous should be done. Poor Simple, however, appeared to come more immediately under his displeasure, for, having neglected to secure himself a bed, and which he endeavoured to excuse, by saying that he did not know how to ask for one; “Why you fool,” retorted the master, “go up stairs, look out for an empty room, lock the door, and put the key in your pocket.”