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us acutely sensible. Our cicerone seemed totally regardless of what occasioned us so much annoyance, and merely shrugged his shoulders when he perceived that we bore it less patiently than he did.

The ruins of the Château Cupouana forms a very picturesque feature in the view of Mentone. Placed on an eminence, it commands a prospect of the town, its environs, and the sea. It is so ancient that its construction has been attributed to the Romans. It has been purchased for a cemetery, and one part is appropriated to the remains of a number of persons, soldiers and others, who were killed during the revolution. This pile of bones lies exposed to the elements, and serves as playthings to the children who frequent the spot. Some of the skulls, bleached perfectly white, had coloured rags twisted fantastically around them, which added not a little to their revolting appearance. Groups of rosy-cheeked urchins were employed in twining wreaths of ivy and shreds of coloured cloth on many of the skulls, while we paused to look on them. Infancy thus playing with death in its grimmest shape offered a curious object, and one that a German painter would have liked to portray.

On returning to the inn we met a religious procession conveying the Sacrament to a dying person. Some twenty little boys carrying lanterns, although the sun was brilliantly shining, preceded the priest and his attendants, whose grave and melancholy countenances were contrasted by the careless gaiety of those of the children, who appeared pleased with their burthens and the permission of forming a part of the procession. To see this train hurrying along, the

rapidty of their pace indicating the danger of the person to whose relief they were proceeding, while nature seemed bursting into luxuriance beneath the radiance of a spring day in an Italian clime, the trees covered with blossoms, the birds sending forth their notes of joy, and the sky and sea blue and tranquil as an azure mirror, suggested many sad and painful thoughts. Yes, in the midst of this reanimation of nature, when the earth and sky seemed glad, a poor fellow mortal is about to close his

eyes
for

ever! This glowing scenery, on which he has perhaps dwelt with pleasure, he will never again behold, and those blossoms that give such promise of fruit, long, long before they have faded, he will have passed away. On looking at the beautiful scenery around me and reflecting on the dying person, I was reminded of the charming and affecting picture of a landscape in Arcadia by Nicholas Poussin, in which is a simple tomb, near to which stand two shepherds reading an inscription that appeals so much to the feelings, “ I, too, was an Arcadian.”

The number of chapels on the road is really surprising. There is scarcely a mile that does not present one, or a niche, with a picture, or small statue of a saint, or a crucifix. Even the gates to fields and gardens have each a niche on the top containing the image of some saint; and every bridge has a small chapel or recess formed for the same purpose. The chapels on the road side generally consist of one small chamber, open to the road, or only inclosed by a latticed door ; they contain an altar, over which is placed a picture or image, and the altar is covered with flowers, the humble offerings of the simple and pious neighbours.

Our inn here, the Hôtel de Turin, although scrupulously clean, is in a state of primitive simplicity worthy of the patriarchal times, but little in accordance with ours. An amusing proof of this was given when our courier asked for a tea-pot; for our good hostess looked confounded: and when he began to explain the kind of utensil he required, she stopped him, by declaring with an air of no little pride, that she knew well enough what he meant; for that the good Lady Bute had made her a present of one, which all the English who stopped at the Hôtel de Turin had admired, but which in an evil hour had been broken by having been placed on the fire to boil water. “Ah! Signor, I was so proud of it, for there never was such a thing at Mentone before or since; but accidents will happen.”

At Mentone the costume of the women is pretty and becoming The young wear their hair simply braided, with bunches of natural flowers placed over one of the ears; the children's heads are arranged in the same manner, and they look like those in a picture of Watteau. The women of a more advanced age wear handkerchiefs of the brightest colours twisted round their heads, like turbans, or nets of a dark hue.

This is really the first place in which our canteen would have been necessary; but it has been shipped with the carriages, as we were assured that on the route to Nice we should have no occasion for it. Mem. Never believe what people tell me about roads

as

or inns, but always provide myself with every portable aid to comfort, and protection against possible disasters.--I slept here for the first time on a mattress filled with the straw of Indian corn. They use no other in this simple place, and I reposed as well on it

on the most luxurious couch, The mattress consists of a sack of clean coarse material, open at one end, into which a sufficient quantity of straw is put to fill it, and fresh straw is put in for each new guest. How an English housemaid would wonder to see a fine lady content with such a bed! but they who travel on mules over mountains and moors must not be particular.

On the left of the road to Ventimiglia, on the summit of a high rock, is a château, called Castle Dacio; also a tower, and a building which looks as if designed for an observatory. Such objects, interspersed among high promontories, steep rocks, and fine trees, have a beautiful effect; and being situated so near the sea look still more picturesque. Quantities of petrified shells are seen where the rocks have been cut; and as the sun shines on them they present a variety of rich hues. On arriving near to Ventimiglia a fortress is discovered on an eminence to the left. It is well situated as a protection for the town, which, however, requires no other defence than the steep rocks with which it is surrounded.

VENTIMIGLIA, 26th.—About six miles from Mentone, on the road to this place, is the Bridge of St. Louis, built across a ravine, on rocks, whose height is from three hundred and fifty to four hundred feet high. It consists of a single arch of an immense span, and of so admirable a construction that it emulates the works of the Romans. The water falls in cascades into the ravine beneath ; over which an aqueduct is constructed, which adds much to the beautiful effect of the bridge. A large and curious grotto or gallery is cut in the rocks near the bridge, but we had only time to look at it en passant. The Pont de St. Louis and the aqueduct were constructed by the command of Napoleon, and will serve as a durable monument of his hardy and enterprising mind. Travellers in France and Italy will often find occasion to recal his memory with gratitude ; for he has rendered many a journey easy and agreeable, which, without his aid, would have been a toilsome and dangerous pilgrimage. It is to be hoped that the King of Sardinia will complete the road so admirably commenced by Napoleon. But should he determine to undertake this most useful task, many years must elapse before it can be accomplished, as works are but slowly carried on here, some eight or ten labourers being employed where one hundred ought

to be.

At Ventimiglia the women commence wearing the style of head-dress which prevails through this part of the country ; namely, a large scarf of flowered chintz with a rich border, in which the brightest colours are introduced. This is placed across the head, and covers the shoulders and bosom. Its effect is very becoming. We were overtaken on the route by Mr. H. F. and his travelling companion Mr. W., who are also proceeding to Genoa. The former is lively,

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