ularized. At last, through a mountain gorge appeared the Mediterranean, with its bosom of blue, speckled with its sails of white. A summer storm came up as we drew near our destination, a storm of rain, sunshine and rainbows. I saw one column of a beauteous bow coming out of an old tower, and gradually moving into the Mediterranean. It arched us so completely that we may truly say, that we entered this 'Queen city' of the Mediterranean, upon the last day of spring, under a bending heaven of prisms! As it cleared away, the air was filled with a rich, interpenetrating lustre; and the sun went down under a golden canopy which only hangs in a southern sky.

Marseilles is a gay, godless, and not a very cleanly city; soldiers fill every part of it. Its promenades are fine. We visited the Château of Flowers, which is the favorite resort on Sundays, of the population. It was well named. It was well named. Flowers of every hue, beds laid off in every form, places for amusement and exercise, lakes with boats and swans, hills, grottoes, a circus and fountains, all unite to make it a place of pleasure, a favor ite resort of the gay French.

We went upon a high point near the sea, overlooking the city, to take a farewell of it, as well as a complete glance. We were not disappointed in our view. But we met three odd, tur baned human beings upon the lofty promenade, seated cross legged, and smoking as composedly as Mahomet amid a heaven of houris. I supposed they were Turks. They nodded. We nodded. The chief had, strangely enough we thought, a very long white beard (albeit a young man), a very fair complexion, and very light eyes, which he twisted very remarkably. Find ing I did not advance in conversation, he inquired in French if we were not strangers, then if we were not English. 'Non Non rather emphatic. I asked him, in return, if he and his compatriots resided in Marseilles? Non, Non.' Once moredelicate question to such a queer heathen,' If he did not reside in Turkey Moroc, Monsieur.' Whew! perhaps the Em peror of Morocco himself. He gravely pulled out his snuff

box, and I, with a grand flourish (I hate snuff as bad as brandy), took a tremendous pinch; and with the most approved Oriental sweep of the arm, applied it to my nose. Before the first explosion took place, I was behind the bushes. Oh-Ah-Chee -Whoo-o!' six times sonorously loud. The Emperor roared. Our party roared; and I described space, aided by gravity, emarkably rapid. Snuff is a miserable practice. None but heathens use it.

I must bid farewell to France. She has been a garden of delight to me. Never was I so beholden to Nature and Art for enjoyment.

I write amid the discussions of some six or eight whiterobed Capuchin monks, whose sweet Italian (Tuscan it is), ravishes my ear, while it disturbs my pen. We are aboard of the Sardinian steamer Languedoc, bound for Leghorn and Naples. I cannot but look upon these strange monkish men with a sort of reverence. Sacrificing the world and its pleasures, continually engaged in spiritual or mental exercise, they do deserve the regard of every tolerant Christian. Whatever of abuse may have been by them perpetrated and perpetuated, I never can forget them as the preservators of the classics and the regenerators of the Arts. The Benedictines first penetrated the chilly north of Europe and christianized it. From them sprung the infinite beauty of the Gothic architecture, and the entrancing sweetness of Music. The Augustines built fine Cathedrals, and attracted the untutored mind to the service of the God of Mercy.-The mendicant friars founded hospitals. As architects, as glass painters, as mosaic workers, as chemists, as carvers in wood and metal, the Benedictines were the first and almost only artists of the middle ages. St. Francis, when he wooed and won his bride, Poverty, in his brown sack and cowl, at the same time, gave the hue and tone to that mystic school of painting and poetry, which has ever been the greatest attraction to the loftiest genius. Giotto in painting, and Dante in poetry, are they not offspring, noble enough to justify our

commendation? In all, these poor monks worked not for themselves; but for the glory of God!

And now as they, with their clear dark eyes and lofty brows, are retiring to their berths, my eyes follow them as strange relics of an earlier day, lost to the active world and busy with scenes of the past and of the future. Sleep on! Ye have no illiberal, harsh Protestantism following ye to your lonely pillows. May God reward your zeal in his service, by the fruition of your happiest hopes!

IX.

The Bame of Columbus.

"Italia! that thou wert in thy nakedness

Less lovely or more powerful, and could claim
Thy right, and awe the robbers back who press

To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress."

BYRON.

HAD scarcely written the word "Genoa," in my journal,

I was fired,

which startled a thousand echoes. Never did I hear such a fine succession of iterated sounds. Of course we rushed to the window; but only saw the smoke rising and beclouding the young crescent moon. The light-houses are gleaming around another crescent which the harbor of Genoa forms, while including in it the masts of a thousand ships. The long promenade of marble, which forms the roof of the Porticato alla Piazzo, whitens beneath us, in the warm atmosphere; and the sound of singing, of merry bells and of voices rise, forming a rare medley of music.

Were I to select a word descriptive of this city, which is called the "superb," I would select the above-medley. Not only is it a medley in its people, its palaces, and its poverty; but in its cathedrals, its cafès, and its scenery. As we approach the city from the blue sea, which we did in the morning, it seemed one compact mass of marble, cut out in semi-circular form for a harbor. It lies upon a high hill-side,-one street of palaces rising above another, in close proximity. To all appearance, there is not much to be seen here. But judge not too quickly. You may find much, even in the little walk from the boat to the hotel, to reward your observation. No doubt, you will be first caught by the graceful and peculiar costume of the ladies. They are exceedingly well dressed, and walk nearly as easily and as finely

as our own American women. They wear a white veil, which being confined with a silver pin in the back part of a fine head of black hair, neatly braided, flows in the most elegant, wavy lines imaginable. It is disposed in handsome folds over as handsome dresses. If you would go down the Strada Nuova, as we have to-day, the first idea would be-" why, can this be real-is it not a general bridal-day? How happy and spruce dance the merry brides along this palace-street!"

The other part of the population do not dress peculiarly. They have a harsh language, however, even though it be Italian. Indeed, it is as different from the sweet Tuscan or Neapolitan, as I am from Hercules. The Sardinians cannot be understood at Naples, any more than a Pottowattamie by a Flathead.

Upon entering our boat at Marseilles, where we spent a delightful day, we found three Americans, Mrs. Stephens, the authoress, and her company, with whom we formed a delightful acquaintance. She has been travelling in Europe for more than a year; passing, by virtue of her talents and reputation, among the best and noblest of Europe. And let it be remembered too, that wherever she has been, she has not forgotten that she was a plain-spoken American lady. The reader may remember the cavalier manner in which she treated the Queen of Greece, who insulted our consul, by refusing to permit him to present them. It was capital. She told us the story with great éclat; while we young embodiments of American grit and spunk cheered it most joyfully.

I had no idea that Genoa was of such consequence. She has not lost her commercial power since the days of Columbus. Others have excelled her that is all. One hundred and fifty thousand people mostly depend on her commerce. She is the outlet in the Mediterranean, for Switzerland, Lombardy, and Piedmont. Her silks, velvets, and damasks, to say nothing of her filagree work in silver, which our ladies have been handling to-day in the famous Goldsmith-street, are prominent objects of manufacture.