into the street, and they were fearful that they might be deluged.

'Jump inside,' said Francesco, when he had the old _vettura_ fairly in
the street, 'then you may laugh at the cascades of Pollajuolo,
_seguro_!'

_Creak, bang! rumble, rattle_; off they went, and were fairly under way,
at last, for Segni. They passed out of Rome by the Porta San Giovanni,
where their passports received a _visto_; and this being finished, again
started, the _vettura_ soon reaching the Campagna. It looked a fair and
winning scene, as they saw far away its broad fields of ripe wheat
swayed by the wind, and nodding all golden in the setting sun; herds of
horses feeding on the bright green grass; the large grey oxen,
black-eyed and branching-horned, following the _mandarina_ or leading ox
with his tinkling bell; the ruined aqueducts and Roman tombs; the
distant mountains robed in purple mist; the blue-clothed contadini
returning homewards. Yet this was where the malaria raged. As the road,
after an hour's drive, gradually ascending, carried them into a purer
and clearer air, and they felt its freshness invigorating mind and body,
there broke out a merry spirit of fun with our trio, as, descending from
the carriage, they walked up the steepest part of the ascent, laughing
and joking, or stopping to note the glories of sunset over Rome, above
which hung the dome of St. Peter's, grand in the golden haze.

They reached Colonna while the West was still flaming away, and found
the red wine there cool, if nothing better, as they drank it by the
fountain under the old trees. Then they mounted the _vettura_ refreshed,
and pushed on in the shadow of evening, under a long avenue of trees,
and late into the night, until they reached Valmontone; and they knew,
by the tinkling of mule-bells, and the hoarse shouts of their drivers,
with the barking of dogs, and the bars of bright light shooting through
darkness from doors and windows, that the _Osteria e Locanda_ was near,
and supper not far off. The _vettura_ stopped.

Descending, they entered the large hall of the inn, with its whitewashed
walls and brick floor, its ceiling heavy with rough-hewn rafters, and
its long wooden tables and rough benches stained nearly black by use. By
the oil lights burning in the graceful long-stemmed Roman lamps, they
saw three or four countrymen eating eggs fried with olive-oil in little
earthenware pipkins--a highly popular dish in the country round Rome,
since, by p