nical hills that
dominate Gubbio, and, far away, to noble mountains above the Furlo and
the Foligno line of railway to Ancona. Range rises over range,
crossing at unexpected angles, breaking into sudden precipices, and
stretching out long, exquisitely modelled outlines, as only Apennines
can do, in silvery sobriety of colours toned by clearest air. Every
square piece of this austere, wild landscape forms a varied picture,
whereof the composition is due to subtle arrangements of lines always
delicate; and these lines seem somehow to have been determined in
their beauty by the vast antiquity of the mountain system, as though
they all had taken time to choose their place and wear down into
harmony. The effect of tempered sadness was heightened for us by
stormy lights and dun clouds, high in air, rolling vapours and flying
shadows, over all the prospect, tinted in ethereal grisaille.

After Scheggia, one enters a land of meadow and oak-trees. This is the
sacred central tract of Jupiter Apenninus, whose fane--

Delubra Jovis saxoque minantes
Apenninigenis cultae pastoribus arae

--once rose behind us on the bald Iguvian summits. A second little
pass leads from this region to the Adriatic side of the Italian
watershed, and the road now follows the Barano downward toward the
sea. The valley is fairly green with woods, where mistletoe may here
and there be seen on boughs of oak, and rich with cornfields. Cagli is
the chief town of the district, and here they show one of the best
pictures left to us by Raphael's father, Giovanni Santi. It is a
Madonna, attended by S. Peter, S. Francis, S. Dominic, S. John, and
two angels. One of the angels is traditionally supposed to have been
painted from the boy Raphael, and the face has something which reminds
us of his portraits. The whole composition, excellent in modelling,
harmonious in grouping, soberly but strongly coloured, with a peculiar
blending of dignity and sweetness, grace and vigour, makes one wonder
why Santi thought it necessary to send his son from his own workshop
to study under Perugino. He was himself a master of his art, and this,
perhaps the most agreeable of his paintings, has a masculine sincerity
which is absent from at least the later works of Perugino.

Some miles beyond Cagli, the real pass of the Furlo begins. It owes
its name to a narrow tunnel bored by Vespasian in the solid rock,
where limestone crags descend on the Barano. The Romans called thi