The hospitable master of the "USSERO" having engaged for me an honest and civil vetturino (no very easy task) to conduct me in a little cabriolet (or carricello) with one horse, from Pisa to Nice in six days (for the sum of 130 francs, including bed and supper) having the option to stop two days at Genoa, if I pleased; the high contracting parties were at the door of the ALBERGO before Aurora, "daughter of the dawn," had given any intimation of her approach. While GALLIARDI (for this was my vetturino's name) was stowing away my very light travelling equipage, I could not help casting a look of scrutiny at the little animal which was to carry us 300 miles in six consecutive days," over mountain, over flood," without a single day's rest! It was a slender, and rather graceful little creature, neither a horse, a mule, nor an ass; but a kind of abstract of these different animals, possessing the mettle of the first, the sagacity of the second, and the patience of the third. I wish I could recollect its name, that I might recommend it to any of my countrymen under similar circumstances, as well as its master, for whom I entertain a kind of fraternal affection.

While I seated myself, and adjusted my books and telescope, Galliardi kissed his wife-crossed himself-muttered a short prayer to the Virgin-— perched himself with the agility of a monkey on the front cross-bar of the carricello and, in a few minutes, we were cantering over the plain, that separates Pisa from its friendly and sheltering mountain. The sun had risen over the Apennines before we crossed the SERCHIO. Thence, we ascended through a romantic country to a narrow pass in the mountain, from whose gorge we beheld the Maremma and the Mediterranean at our feet. Descending a steep but fine zig-zag path, we trotted merrily along a level road at the very verge of the Maremma, the steeps on our right hand rising abruptly, cloathed with, olives, and crowned with villages, old castles, churches, and monasteries. On the left, the Maremma itself, more than half reclaimed from the sea, exhibited an orchard of olives, with grain springing up between every line of trees. We reached Pietra Santa by mid-day—and here I dined, while the faithful BESTIA had his two hours' refection and rest. One regular system of itinerant economy governed this whole journey, with almost mathematical exactness. We always started at or before day-light-rested and refreshed man and beast, from twelve till two o'clock and finished our task by six, or half-fast six in the evening, when supper and bed proved equally desirable and delicious luxuries. Oh, that our gouty Aristocrats and paunchy Aldermen, would just travel from Naples to London in the open air! Their fat would turn into muscle-their muscles into sinews-their sinews into bones-and their bones into iron! They would hardly know themselves at the end of such a journey, if they looked at their portraits on the walls of their chambers-and their friends would be startled at the metamorphosis.

At PIETRA SANTA, where I dined, I found it recorded in marble that the

Emperor of Austria, Maria Louisa, and Leopold the Grand Duke, had dined in the same room. I hope they had a better dinner-but certain I am, that their Highnesses had not a better appetite than their humble servant. It is on this day's journey that we pass some tracts where there is no other trace of the road than the ruts of carriage-wheels. These defects, I am sorry to say, are all in the territory of the Arch-Duchess Maria Louisa, who probably inherits the aversion to innovation which her imperial father is known to possess.

The "GRAND HOTEL DE LONDRES," at SARZANA, furnished us with bed and board, the first night. If France gives the tone to cooking, England is paramount in eating all over the Continent. For one "HOTEL DE PARIS," in Italy, we see five "HOTELS DE LONDRES." The French, indeed, are not a very travelling people. They are almost as much enamoured of their country as of themselves—and a more patriotic compliment I could not pay them! The English are every where-and English money makes the pot to boil on every hearth of Europe. Well may we say—

Quæ regio in terris nostri non plena laboris ?

We were crossing the MAGRA before the least glimpse of day-light was visible our little buona bestia appearing quite familiar with the crazy ferry-boat. Thence we ascended through a romantic country, where the olive and the vine are perpetually contending for the mastery-till the Gulf of Spezzia burst on the enraptured sight. The indescribable beauties of this bay are seen from various and advantageous points of view—but from none better than from the hill which we ascend after passing through the town itself, which is delightfully situated close to the shore. From the terraced and olive-clad hill over SPEZZIA, the eye wanders away by Lerici towards Leghorn, shifting from promontory to promontory, with unceasing delight. In the north-western direction, the headlands and mountains about the harbour of Spezzia, contrast finely with the magnificent sheet of ocean glittering under a meridian sun.

Taking a parting look at this enchanting gulf, we plunge away into a wild but romantic scene of mountain and valley, till we arrive at the bed of the roaring Magra, where the new road winds along the brinks of yawning precipices, while the foaming river is heard chafing against the rocks beneath. This road is not yet finished, and there are few parapet walls or stones; but the eye soon becomes familiarized to paths along the most perpendicular cliffs, when travelling among Alpine regions.

On approaching Borghetto, situated in a wild and savage-looking country, we encountered one of those mountain torrents so common in Italy, and which was foaming down a steep course, and falling into the Magra within a hundred

PASS OF THE BRACCO.

231 yards of the place where we were to cross. The torrent had evidently been momentarily swelled by some rain that fell among the mountains in the night, and, though narrow, appeared to me to be rather dangerous. GALLIARDI was of a different opinion, and drove boldly into the stream. By the time we reached the deepest part of the bed, the water began to curl into the carricello, and the BUONA BESTIA was unequivocally tottering, and even lifted occasionally off the bottom. I saw at once that we were in imminent peril, and instantly threw off my cloak to swim for it. At this moment Galliardi sprang from the shaft into the torrent, and, floundering like a grampus, reached the farther bank in a twinkling, leaving me and the mule to shift for ourselves! Seeing the MAGRA roaring along within a few yards on our right, and not wishing to leave my bones in that river at this time, I was on the point of following Galliardi's example, when he bawled out to me to keep my seat. I should have paid very little deference to this advice, being conscious that I could swim tolerably well, but at this critical moment, the poor animal, lightened of half its load, and apparently encouraged by the sight of its master on the dry land, made two or three convulsive plunges, and obtained firm footing on the shelving bank, where Galliardi vigorously assisted him in dragging the carricello and myself out of the water! I confess that this little aquatic excursion gave me no great relish for the new road, although Galliardi assured me I should become quite reconciled to such incidents, especially between Genoa and Nice.

The forenoon journey and mountain air had caused such a keen appetite, that I could have eaten a piece of horse-flesh five minutes before; but this torrent had completely swept away all relish for food-and the "HOTEL DE LONDRES," at Borghetto, could only tempt me to a cup of coffee. This place reminded me of FONDI and ITRI, so wretched was its appearance. I wandered for an hour and a half round the town, and stumbled on a high arch erected over the torrent, two or three hundred yards above the place where we so narrowly escaped. There I found several of my countrymen and women, who, having been warned at Borghetto, were wisely preferring the rude bridge of granite, to the elegant pont volant constructed in Long Acre.

Our afternoon's journey, from Borghetto to Sestri, was over the BRACCO, an Apennine pass, little inferior to the Simplon in height, in distance, and in majestic scenery. The ascent is twelve miles, and the descent on the other side is eight miles. The village of Mattarano, like the village of the Simplon, is near the summit-and four miles beyond this forlorn cluster of human habitations, and at the highest point of elevation, is a place of refuge in case of snow-storms. The road, which is excellent, winds along terrific precipices at one time, and, at another, is overhung by the most horrifying cliffs and crags on which human eye ever ventured to gaze. Any one of the hundred jutting masses of marble that hang suspended, a thousand feet high, over the

traveller on this route, would, if disrupted, overwhelm a whole city! The aspect of the mountains all around is wild and savage beyond description, or even imagination-and the loneliness of this desert, (for scarcely a human creature met our eye) for twelve or fifteen miles, adds to the solitude, the silence, the gloom-and yet to the sublimity of the scene! Painters, poets, and romance-writers would find ample materials for contemplation and study between Pisa and Nice-and the Mountain of BRACCO would furnish them with a scene of the TERRIFIC at any time.* And not of the terrific only! for it is from the highest and wildest part of its summit that, all at once, the Bay of RAPALLO, little inferior to that of Spezzia, with all its romantic shores, bursts on the view, awaking the most pleasant sensations by contrast with the gloomy horrors of the mountain-and by giving assurance that we have only a rapid descent of eight miles to the end of our journey, and to comfortable refreshment in an excellent inn.†

The hotel at Sestri, which is most delightfully perched on the very verge of the Mediterranean, was not reached till some time after dark, so long and mountainous was this day's journey. I was glad to find that an English family were at supper in one of the rooms, to which repast I invited myself by sending in my card, and was kindly permitted to make part of the social circle for the evening. The Mediterranean waves fell lightly on the pebbles under my bed-room window—a gentle breeze scarcely rippled the surface of the ocean-and the moon and stars cast their mild but brilliant light over hill and dale. Not a single sound broke on the listening ear, except the murmur of the water on the long and shining beach that stretched away towards the white town of Chiaveri. Tired as I was by the day's journey, I sat half an hour at the window, enjoying this beautiful and tranquil scene, before retiring to repose.

The concluding run to Genoa was only thirty miles, and we were trotting along the beach of Rapallo as the sun rose over the Apennines. The rocks rising in massive walls on the right of the road, exhibiting numerous strata formed during the deluge, and twisted and disrupted by subterranean fires, furnish ample reflections for the geologist—indeed the whole road from Sestri to Genoa is highly interesting both to him and the mineralogist. From Chi

* Mr. Linton and Mr. Brockedon have done justice to this magnificent pass.

†There can scarcely be imagined a more appropriate scene for robbery and assassination, than the pass of the BRACCO. Travellers might here be shot or felled to the ground by hands unseen among the over-hanging crags; and when pillaged, their bodies might be hurled over precipices beyond all human search! Yet here are no guards-no patrole-and no more danger than between Dover and Canterbury!

VIEW OF GENOA FROM ROUTA.

233

averi, we ascended through an extremely picturesque and fertile country, and at last, near Routa, drove through a grotto that pierces the solid marble rock for 80 or 90 yards, on the summit of a high hill overlooking the sea, when the whole bay and city of Genoa, with all its mountains, promontaries, forts, palaces, pharoses, signal towers, villas, harbour, and shipping, burst unexpectedly on our view, and lay stretched out at our feet! On this airy eminence, commanding one of the most superb prospects which eye ever be◄ held, we spent two hours, dining and resting at the inn, whose rooms command the whole of this enchanting scene. Drawing my table close to one of the windows, I enjoyed a delicious dinner of excellent fish fresh from the ocean-but still more, while quaffing my wine, did my eye feast on the indescribable beauties of the varied scene before me. Never did I spend two hours of more unmixed happiness than at this inn-the view from whose windows would well repay a journey from London to Genoa—even if that were across the whole length of France!

Winding down from this eagle's nest, we drove for three hours along a road, the greater part of which is cut out of the face of the marble rocksometimes in terraces, with the sea roaring beneath us-and cliffs frowning, or vineyards smiling above us-sometimes diving through grottoes of green and yellow marble-sometimes winding in zig-zags up and down, among villages, villas, and castles white as snow-but always overhanging the placid Mediterranean on our left. In three hours from ROUTA, we entered the suburbs of Genoa, eying the bristling forts and batteries which crown every crag that raises its warlike head high over that magnificent city.

Though late in November, we hardly ever saw a cloud in the sky between Rome and Genoa. The air was balmy and delicious. I never once raised the hood of my calessino between Pisa and this place; but sat in the open air, or walked up the hills, enjoying, with eye and telescope, the varied scenes of this highly interesting route. But just as we were approaching Genoa, I saw Galliardi unstrap his cloak, throw it round his shoulders for the first time, and whip his buona bestia smartly along the road. As the sun was still far above the horizon, and not a cloud in the sky, I wondered at this increase of speed; but soon found that the vetturino was more weather-wise than myself. In a few minutes a gust of wind-a regular vent de bise, or tramontane, came down from the North-East, so piercing cold that our faces looked in an instant like two fresh-plucked geese, so wrinkled and withered were they by the chilling blast! I was extremely glad to get into shelter among the narrow streets and high houses of the city, for no mufflings would keep the vital heat from flying off to mingle with this frigorific current of air from the Alps.