th-place of
Sejanus, is a paultry village; and Montefiascone, famous for its wine,
is a poor, decayed town in this neighbourhood, situated on the side of
a hill, which, according to the author of the Grand Tour, the only
directory I had along with me, is supposed to be the Soracte of the
ancients. If we may believe Horace, Soracte was visible from Rome: for,
in his ninth ode, addressed to Thaliarchus, he says,

Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum
Soracte--

You see how deeply wreathed with snow
Soracte lifts his hoary head,

but, in order to see Montefiascone, his eyesight must have penetrated
through the Mons Cyminus, at the foot of which now stands the city of
Viterbo. Pliny tells us, that Soracte was not far from Rome, haud
procul ab urbe Roma; but Montefiascone is fifty miles from this city.
And Desprez, in his notes upon Horace, says it is now called Monte S.
Oreste. Addison tells us he passed by it in the Campania. I could not
without indignation reflect upon the bigotry of Mathilda, who gave this
fine country to the see of Rome, under the dominion of which no country
was ever known to prosper.

About half way between Montefiascone and Viterbo, one of our
fore-wheels flew off, together with a large splinter of the axle-tree;
and if one of the postilions had not by great accident been a
remarkably ingenious fellow, we should have been put to the greatest
inconvenience, as there was no town, or even house, within several
miles. I mention this circumstance, by way of warning to other
travellers, that they may provide themselves with a hammer and nails, a
spare iron-pin or two, a large knife, and bladder of grease, to be used
occasionally in case of such misfortune.

The mountain of Viterbo is covered with beautiful plantations and
villas belonging to the Roman nobility, who come hither to make the
villegiatura in summer. Of the city of Viterbo I shall say nothing, but
that it is the capital of that country which Mathilda gave to the Roman
see. The place is well built, adorned with public fountains, and a
great number of churches and convents; yet far from being populous, the
whole number of inhabitants, not exceeding fifteen thousand. The
post-house is one of the worst inns I ever entered.

After having passed this mountain, the Cyminus of the antients, we
skirted part of the lake, which is now called de Vico, and whose banks
afford the most agreeable rural prospects of hill and vale, wood, glade
and w