It was a relief to get out of it，not withstanding；and to cross eventhe dismal dirty Papal Frontier．After passing through two little towns；in one of which，Acquapendente，there was also a“Carnival’’in progress：consisting of one man dressed and masked as a woman，and one woman dressed and masked as a man，walking ankle—deep，through the muddy streets，in a very melancholy manner：we came，at dusk，within sight ofthe Lake of Bolsena．on whose bank there iS a little town of the same nalile，much celebrated for malaria．With the exception of this poor place，there is not a cottage on the banks of the lake，or near it(for nobody dare sleep there)；not a boat upon its waters；not a stick or stake to break the dismal monotony of twenty-seven watery miles．We were late in getting in，the roads being very bad from heavy rains；and，after dark，the dullness of the scene was quite intolerable．
We entered on a very different，and a finer scene of desolation，next night，at sunset．We had passed through Montefiaschone(famous for its wine)and Viterbo(for its fountains)：an after climbing up a long hill of eight or ten miles’extent，canle suddenly upon the margin of a solitary lake：in one part very beautiful，with a luxuriant wood；in another，very baden，and shut in by bleak volcanic hills．Where this lake flows，there stood，of old，a city．It was swallowed up one day；and in its stead，this water rose．There are ancient traditions(common to many parts of the world)of the ruined city having been seen below，when the water was clear；but however that may be，from this spot of earth it vanished．The ground came bubbling up above it；and the water too；and here they stand，like ghosts on whom the other world closed suddenly，and who have no means of getting back again．They seem to be waiting the course of ages，for the next earthquake in that place；when they will plunge below the ground，at is first yawning，and be seen no more．The unhappy city below，is not more lost and dreary，than these fire-charred hills and the stagnant water，above．The red sun looked strangely on them，as with the knowledge that they were made for caverns and darkness；and the melancholy water oozed and sucked the mud，and crept quietly among the marshy grass and reeds．as if the overthrow of all the ancient towers and housetops，and the death of all the ancient people born and bred there，were yet heavy on its conscience．