quit a place
where we leave behind us many whom we love and regret; and almost or
quite as painful, I think, to quit a place in which we leave behind us
no one to regret, or think of us more; a feeling like this mingled
with the sorrow with which I bade adieu to Rome this morning.

Our journey has been fatiguing, _triste_, and tedious.

* * * * *

_Radicofani_, _10th._--I could almost regret at this moment that I am
past the age of romance, for I am in a fine situation for mysterious
and imaginary horrors, could I but feel again as I did at gay sixteen;
but, alas! _ces beaux jours sont passes_! and here I am on the top of
a dreary black mountain, in a rambling old inn which looks like a
ci-devant hospital or dismantled barracks, in a bed-room which
resembles one of the wards of a poor-house, one little corner lighted
by my lamp, and the other three parts all lost in black ominous
darkness; while a tempest rages without as if it would break in the
rattling casements, and burst the roof over our heads; and yet,
insensible that I am! I can calmly take up my pen to amuse myself by
scribbling, since sleep is impossible. I can look round my vast and
solitary room without fancying a ghost or an assassin in every corner,
and listen to the raving and lamenting of the storm, without imagining
I hear in every gust the shrieks of wailing spirits, or the groans of
murdered travellers; only wishing that the wind were rather less cold,
or my fire a little brighter, or my dormitory less _infinitely_
spacious; for at present its boundaries are invisible.

The first part of our journey this morning was delightful and
picturesque; we passed the beautiful lake of Bolsena and
Montepulciano, so famous for its wine (_il Rei di Vino_, as Redi calls
it in the _Bacco in Toscana_). Later in the day we entered a gloomy
and desolate country; and after crossing the rapid and muddy torrent
of Rigo, which, as our _Guide des Voyageurs_ wittily informs us, we
shall have to cross _four_ times if we are not drowned the _third_
time, we began to ascend the mountainous region which divides the
Tuscan from the Roman states--a succession of wild barren hills,
intersected in every direction by deep ravines, and presenting a
scene, sublime indeed from its waste and wild grandeur, but destitute
of all beauty, interest, magnificence and variety.

I remember the strange emotion which came across me, when--on the
horses stopping