delivered the city from a pestilence, and ever since St. Rosalie has been the patron saint of the people. Chapels have been built in her honour, splendid festivals have been instituted.
The pious and devout frequently made pilgrimages to the mountain; and, in consequence, a road has been made to it, which, like an ancient aqueduct, rests on arches and columns, and ascends zigzag between the rocks.
The place of worship is far more suitable to the humility of the saint who retired thither, than are the splendid festivities which have been instituted in honour of her total renunciation of the world. And perhaps the whole of Christendom, which now, for eighteen hundred years, has based its riches, pomps, and festival amusements, on the memory of its first founders and most zealous confessors, cannot point out a holy spot which has been adorned and rendered venerable in so eminent and delightful a way.
When you have ascended the mountain, you proceed to the corner of a rock, over against which there rises a high wall of stone. On this the church and the monastery are very finely situated.
The exterior of the church has nothing promising or inviting. You open its door without any high expectation, but on entering are ravished with wonder. You find yourself in a vast vestibule, which extends to the whole width of the church, and is open toward the nave. You see here the usual vessel of holy water and some confessionals. The nave is an open space, which on the right is bounded by the native rock, and on the left by the continuation of the vestibule. It is paved with flat stones on a slight inclination, in order that the rain-water may run off. A small well stands nearly in the centre.
The cave itself has been transformed into the choir, without, however, any of its rough natural shape being
