The last Etruscan site in the great central plain that I have to describe is Orvieto, which lies on the extreme verge of the plain to the north-east. From Bolsena it is distant eight or nine miles; from Monte Fiascone, nearly eighteen. Both roads are “carriageable.” I took the latter; and in default of a better mode of conveyance was fain to journey on an ass, with another for my luggage.

This mode of transit is pleasant enough in a fine country and fair weather; and in Italy one sacrifices no dignity by such a monture. But when nebulœ malusque Jupiter rule the heavens, or the road is to be travelled with all speed—preserve me from the pack-saddle! I cannot then exclaim—delirium est asinus!—be he as excellent as any of sacred or profane renown, from the days of Balaam to those of Apuleius or Joan of Arc, or even as Dapple himself of immortal memory. Asses, like men, are creatures of habit.