CHAPTER XIV

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One of the earliest pictures of scenes in foreign lands that I remember to have looked upon, was the Leaning Tower at Pisa; this and the renowned Porcelain Tower at Pekin always came in for a good share of wonder and speculation; the latter, when a boy, I firmly believed to be built of precisely similar material as that of the tea set of a certain aunt in the country, which she only paraded on state occasions, and which being thin, delicate, and translucent, no piece was intrusted to my juvenile fingers, which were only permitted to embrace a china mug that appeared amazingly cheap in comparison.

That old picture, in the geography of the Leaning Tower, which awakened a desire to see it never to be extinguished, is like dozens of other similar wood-cuts, which make an indelible impression upon the mind of youth, and you feel, when gazing upon the reality for the first time, like greeting an old acquaintance; or rather the impression is like the first personal introduction to a correspondent whom you have known many years only by letter.

Though the general form and appearance of the Leaning Tower of Pisa were familiar in my mind, I was not prepared for the surprisingly graceful beauty of the structure, which is of white marble; and though it was built nearly seven hundred years ago, it is remarkably clear and fresh-looking. The very decided lean is at once observable on approaching it; indeed, you experience something of an uncomfortable sensation on being at the side where it appears to be ready to fall. Its beauty consists in its being a perfect cylinder of fifty-three feet in diameter, and one hundred and seventy-nine feet high; this great cylinder being formed of eight regular tiers of columns, supporting graceful arches, one above the other, and forming as many open marble galleries running round the tower, the whole surmounted with a graceful open-arched tower or belfry, giving it the appearance of a tall marble column sculptured into circles of open arches and pillars.

We started for the summit, an easy ascent of two hundred and ninety-five steps, occasionally going out upon the outside galleries, which project some seven or eight feet on each story, till we reach the belfry, where seven bells are hung, the largest weighing nearly twelve thousand pounds; this tower, as is well-known, being the companile, or bell-tower, of the cathedral close at hand. A few moments among the bells, and we climb above them to the summit of the tower, where the iron rail that protects the edge is grasped nervously as we approach and look over the leaning side, where, without its aid, the feeling is, that one would positively slip off from the slant; indeed, a glance downward and at the tower itself, from this point, produces a terrific sensation,--that it is slowly moving from the perpendicular on its course to the earth below. It is, therefore, quite natural that most tourists should take their views of the surrounding country from the top of the Leaning Tower, as we did, from its upper side.

The view from the summit is very fine, taking in the city of Pisa directly beneath, the surrounding country, distant mountains, and hill-sides, with beautiful villas and vineyards. Far off in the distance, in one direction, we saw the blue waters of the Mediterranean, twelve miles and more away, heaving in the sunshine, with the white sails of ships gliding upon its bosom, and the city of Leghorn at its shore, with the masts of the vessels in port, and its light-house, all distinctly visible. After a thorough enjoyment of the scene, we descended to view the cathedral, Campo Santo, and Baptistery.

Here, in one grand square, within a stone's throw of each other, are the four wonders of Pisa; the great Duomo, or cathedral, the Baptistery, the Campo Santo, and the Leaning Tower--standing in a magnificent group by themselves in the open space, rendering all else near them shrunken, petty, and insignificant by their beauty and superb finish. These glorious structures seem like the newly-created wonders of some magical workman, who has placed them here together in the quiet old city for the tourists of all nations to come and gaze upon, admire, wonder, and depart.

The cathedral is an elegant specimen of beautiful architecture in marble. Like all buildings of the kind, it is built in the form of a Latin cross, and is three hundred and eleven feet long in the nave and two hundred and thirty-eight in the transepts. The height of the building is one hundred and twelve feet, and above its first story rises a series of pillars supporting arches, the last two of a series of four, when the façade is viewed from the square, making the building to look like a square structure lifting a Grecian temple into the air upon its lofty walls, or like an end view of that ideal picture that used to be delineated as Solomon's Temple in the old family Bibles.

The great dome rises from the centre, surrounded by a ring of eighty-eight pillars supporting an elegant ring of pointed work above them, and surmounted by a cupola. Inside the scene is elegant; the great centre nave, over forty feet wide, with twenty-four Corinthian columns of red granite, twelve on a side, and each one a single block of stone, twenty-five feet high, on a great pedestal over six feet high, and above these another series of columns, smaller and more numerous, forming the upper cloister corridor, or "Nuns Walk," as they call it in the old English cathedrals, all lifting the grand roof ninety feet above the pavement.

In the centre, on four great arches, rises the grand dome, richly decorated; on either side are the aisles, their roof supported by fifty Corinthian columns, while above, the roof gleams with mosaics set in golden ground-work. On every side are interesting works of art which will attract the attention; elegant paintings, among them those of Andrea del Sarto; the high altar, a rich structure in costly-wrought marble, the flowers, running vines, and chiselled cherubs beautiful to look upon; the rich carved wood-work of the stalls, in the choir; the stained-glass windows; the rich frescoes of the cupola; elegant monuments, statues, and beautiful chapels, with their rich altars and paintings, all contribute to render the interior elegant and attractive. At one end of the nave, as we were passing out, we were shown the great bronze chandelier, suspended from the roof by a cable nearly eighty feet long, the regular swaying of which is said to have suggested the theory of the pendulum to Galileo.

"What!" said I to the guide, "is this the very lamp?"

"The very same, monsieur."

"But it appears too huge, too heavy to swing."

"Ah, monsieur, it moves quite easily."

But I was an unbelieving Thomas; so, lingering behind the group, when the guide's back was turned, I reached up, and with my umbrella gave the lower part of the great bronze a strong push. Down came a shower of dust from the creases of the great cable; the huge lamp began a grand, majestic swing, and I was ready to exclaim, in the words of the great mathematician himself, "Yet it moves;" and it did "move quite easily," continued its oscillations, back and forth, to such an extent that I thought it safe to move myself at once from beneath the huge pendule, which I did forthwith, quite satisfied that it swung for Galileo, and might come down for myself.

This Duomo was completed in the year 1118, and the baptistery, which we next visited, was founded in 1253, as an inscription upon it informed us. It seems that a cathedral in those early days, notwithstanding its vast size, generally had a superb tower erected for its bells,--a structure by itself,--and another of grand proportions for the baptism and christening of children. The baptistery here at Pisa is a perfectly round building, of marble, looking like a great cathedral dome set upon the ground; but it is a dome one hundred and seventy-nine feet high and one hundred feet diameter inside the walls, which are nearly nine feet thick.

The exterior above the first story is surrounded by rings of elegant pillars and pointed pediments. The whole of the interior seems sheathed with polished marble, so exquisitely matched and joined as to appear almost seamless. You stand, as it were, in a huge dome, hollowed out of marble. A grand circular font, fourteen feet in diameter, stands in the centre. We saw here the magnificently carved pulpit, executed by Nicolo Pisano, in 1260. It is hexagon in form, supported by seven pillars, which, in turn, are supported by sculptured figures of lions, griffins, &c. But it is the sculptures in bass-relief upon its sides that are most wonderful, from their elaborate detail, which must have cost an age of patience and labor in their execution. They represent the Nativity, Adoration of the Magi, Crucifixion, Last Judgment, &c. The echoes in this circular baptistery are something quite remarkable. The guide, a fellow with a musical tenor voice, sang a note or two, and it came back to us "a whole gamut filled with heavenly notes." Another sang a bar, primo basso, and the polished walls returned it, like the mellowed peals of a full-voiced organ. This magical music was as charming as novel, and an extemporaneous concert was enjoyed here before leaving.

We next go over to the Campo Santo, or Holy Field, which renowned cemetery is enclosed by cloisters opening into the holy ground, the fronts of these cloisters facing the open space of the interior being arched and roofed over, forming a covered promenade in the form of a parallelogram, the whole enclosure being four hundred and fifteen feet long and one hundred and thirty-seven wide. The centre, within the cloister enclosure, was open overhead. The earth here, it will be remembered, every handful of it for I do not know how many feet deep, came from Mount Calvary, being brought by a prelate whom that fierce and powerful Saracen, Saladin, expelled from his dominions about the year 1200, and who, compelled to eat dirt, revenged himself by carrying off fifty or sixty ship-loads of it. It was deposited here, made holy ground, and duly consecrated; and to make the burial lots go off more lively, probably, the story was given out--which is still told--that the earth had the property of reducing dead bodies to dust in twenty-four hours. Of course, the rush to get in--or rather, of friends to get their deceased relatives in--was great. Only great people could come down with their dust, and very seldom is it that any interments are made here now. One would naturally suppose that a burial-ground of these dimensions would become a little crowded in six hundred and seventy years, unless population was sparse, and some restrictions were made.

The covered arcade, or arched cloisters, which extend around the sides forty-six feet high, and thirty-four feet wide contain many interesting monuments. Among them we noticed Count Cavour's, and one to Madame Catalani, the singer, and a monument to the Countess Beatrice.

The walls of the cloisters are celebrated for their frescoes, many of which are fine specimens of the art, but all more or less injured by the

## action of dampness or the air. The subjects are from Scripture, or

monkish legends. The most noted and striking is the Triumph of Death, in which the grisly king of terrors is allegorically brought before the spectator in a most striking manner, in various ways, such as the exhibition of three coffins, and their ghastly tenant, as a warning to three kings; Death swooping down, scythe in hand, upon a party of youths and maidens; kings, warriors, and prelates yielding to the fell destroyer, and angels and demons bearing their souls off in different directions.

Reaching Spezzia at nine P. M., after a day's sight-seeing in Pisa, gave us little time to do else than to obtain much-needed refreshment, look at a beautiful moonlight view of the harbor, and engage a private travelling carriage for our journey over the Apennines next morning. At six o'clock we started, and as we gradually left the city behind, on our rising road, had a fine sunrise view of its beautiful harbor, with English, French, and American vessels at anchor, with their national flags flying. The scenery among these mountains differs from that of Switzerland. The mountains themselves seem of a golden bronze color in the sunlight, from the color of the earth, which seems to be a sort of Spanish brown. And again, there are long ranges and graceful peaks, the sides of which are clad in light verdure, but no trees, which appear to be of a delicate pea-green, shaded with rich red, brown, and bronze, from the color of the rock and earth. There were great ranges of mountains, stretching off in the distance, like fading sunset clouds, transformed into mountains--a most beautiful effect.

Up we went, by the zigzags of the mountain road, surrounded by superb scenery of hill, and crag, and distant range, till finally we came in sight of the great Mediterranean, thousands of feet below us, flecked with the white sails of ships and boats in every direction. Far on the extreme edge of its blue plain crept a steamer, leaving a long trail of smoke behind, like a dark serpent. Then every few miles, turns in the road would bring us in view of little seaports beneath, with their half-circle harbors, light-houses, and white walls standing, out conspicuously on the deep blue of the sea, while the feluccas and great lateen sails, gliding into their ports, reminded one strikingly of panoramic views and paintings, or of those brilliant blue and white pictures of Mediterranean seaports which we sometimes see suspended in merchants' counting-rooms in America.

The ride was interesting, charming, and exhilarating; for, far off upon one side of us stretched the magnificent, ever-changing mountain scenery, and at the other, far down below, was the beautiful sea view, with numerous ports, clusters of shipping, and pretty indentations, while the road itself was smooth, hard, and in good condition, and our carriage rattled over it at the full trot, to the occasional music of the whip-cracks of the driver. We lunched, as we descended, at a wretched little Italian port, and walked down to the sea-side, while our food was in course of preparation, to pick up pebbles and get a near view of the Mediterranean, which, until this day, I had never looked upon except on the maps in the school geographies.

Continuing our journey, we passed hundreds--I may almost say, thousands--of a species of cactus along by the road-side, ranging in size from that of a soup plate to great pointed blades eight feet in height. Upon one side of the road, a complete fence or barrier of these plants was made, of nearly a mile in length; and a very effective guard it was, with its tough, broad leaves ranged close together, with their aggressive and thorny blades.

But however pleasant post-riding on the continent, over one of the mountain roads may be, twelve or fifteen hours of it a day become fatiguing, and we were not sorry when our carriage rolled into the streets of Genoa at nine P. M., and, after twisting round through a dozen or more crooked streets, landed us at the Hotel Feder. "La Superba," and "City of Palaces," are the ostentatious titles that the Genoese have applied to this place; but one hardly gets an idea of anything very "superb" down in the old part of the city, where the hotels are situated, for here the streets are narrow--narrow as lanes, in fact, and not over-clean. The hotel Croce di Malta is one directly fronting the shipping and harbor, and from its great massive turrets we get a fine view of the latter. This hotel, a huge, castle-like building, was, in fact, a stronghold of the Knights of Malta, and from its battlements they looked forth watchfully upon the sea. Upon this front street, like those fronting the wharves in our great cities, seem to be the most vehicles. But as we recede into the narrower streets of the old town, vehicles are few in number, and pedestrians, loungers, and lazzaroni abundant. Our hotel is a stately building, on an alley that widens into a square, from which runs a narrow street lined with jewelry and fancy goods stores, in which the elegant silver filigree work, which is a specialty of Genoa, is displayed. This filigree is composed of fine wires of silver, elegantly wrought and twisted into the shape of wreaths, flowers, butterflies, and various artistic and fanciful figures, and is all sold by weight. Although originally of pure white, delicate, frosty-looking silver, it is also often electro-plated with gold.

Let not the unsophisticated reader imagine, either, when we speak of a fancy goods or jewelry store in the old city of Genoa, a spacious, well-lighted establishment, with great plate-glass windows, and a forty or a one hundred feet frontage. Imagine, rather, a little, one-windowed, narrow, deep, dark store, in a crowded street, the whole frontage of the store door and window not exceeding fifteen or eighteen feet, and you have it. The buildings on these little, narrow streets, though, are of the most massive character, seemingly built, as in warm countries, of solid masonry, to keep out the heat, and are, many of them, of great height, while the narrow streets are most effectually shaded by them from the sun. There are but very few vehicles that pass beneath our windows, or into the square; but the patter of feet, and the clatter of voices in the evening, are great.

Genoa must look beautifully from the sea, as it is built upon a height rising gradually some five hundred feet out from the shore; and, as we get out from the tortuous and narrow lanes of the old city, the squares and streets assume a less antique and cramped appearance. There are three great streets, the principal of which is the Strada Nuova, which is filled with lofty and elegant buildings, streets of palaces, many of them with unpretending exteriors, but with rich linings. One contains the most extensive collection of engravings in Italy--nearly sixty thousand; another is rich in paintings; a third in autograph letters, and relics of the great navigator, Christopher Columbus, who, your guide will be sure to inform you, "deescoovare Amereeke."

In one of the squares we saw the elegant marble monument erected to him--a circular shaft, bearing his full-length statue resting his hand upon a kneeling figure, while about the base of the column were four other allegorical statues, and beautiful bass-reliefs upon the four panels.

The visitor may have his feast of relics in the cathedral and the Church of St. Ambrogio, if he desires; but, after getting round upon the "grand tour" as far as this, he will probably find that he has seen fragments enough of the true cross to have made half a dozen of them, nails enough to have filled a keg, and bones enough of certain named saints to have set up two or three entire skeletons of the same individual.

One of the most delightful places to visit in the vicinity of Genoa is the Pallavicini Gardens, a few miles out. These gardens, though not remarkably extensive, are laid out in the most ingenious, beautiful, and expensive manner. Arriving at the villa, you ascend a flight of stairs in the house, and step out upon a broad and magnificent terrace of white marble, from which there is one of the most charming views imaginable of Genoa below, the blue sea beyond, and, far in the distance the peaks of Corsican mountains. Directly below this terrace are others, decorated with vases and broad flights of white marble steps and balusters, and upon these terraces are grand parterres of flowers, and tall orange and lemon trees growing, elegant camellias of every hue, roses, great rhododendrons, and beautiful azaleas.

Walking through an avenue of flowers and shrubbery from here, you come to an exquisite little Grecian temple in white marble, beautifully frescoed. Then you pass through another walk, arranged in Italian style, with beautiful vases and rare shrubs. Another turning, and you come to a pretty rustic cottage with all the surroundings so contrived as to make a charming natural picture. You ascend a height, and encounter a picturesque ruined tower (artificial), and from the height enjoy charming views in every direction. You descend the hill, and come to a miniature cavern of stalactites, through which the guide conducts you. It is filled with natural wonders--crystallizations and beautiful petrifactions, brought at immense expense from every part of Italy, and so arranged as to make an apparently natural formation--a natural grotto, gorgeous in the extreme. In the dark recesses of this cavern you reach a river, an ornamental boat approaches, and you are rowed silently through great arches of gloomy caverns, winding hither and thither, apparently into the innermost bowels of the earth, until you begin to fear the guide may have lost his way, when suddenly the boat shoots forth upon the bosom of a charming little lake, surrounded by objects of interest and beauty on every side.

The first object that attracts the attention is an artificial island in the centre of the lake, upon which is a beautifully-sculptured, miniature Temple of Diana, containing a statue of the goddess. Then you come to several small islands, connected by means of Chinese bridges, with all the surroundings Chinese. A Chinese pagoda, with its gay sides and bell-tipped peaks, rises near at hand. Chinese lanterns are suspended, and a bamboo and tiled Chinese house, seen through Oriental shrubbery, transports you in imagination, without much effort, to the land of the Celestials.

At other points in these wonderful gardens are similar artificial effects. One portion is planned to represent Egyptian ruins. A needle-like obelisk, covered with hieroglyphics, rises upon a sandy shore, and shattered columns, friezes, and sculptures are strewn on the ground. Some rest in the water, and the lotus flower near by, with a solemn, ibis-looking bird or two standing about, completes the illusion. There were little wildernesses of charming walks amid beautiful, ornamental gardening, where the senses were charmed with flowers of every hue and perfume, where aromatic and curious shrubs challenged the attention, and made the air as fragrant as a land breeze off the Spice Islands.

Then there was one feature which our guide seemed to think _the_ one of the whole, and that was the ingenious tricks and deceptions which had been arranged with water. I may as well observe that this guide, like many of his race in Italy, was an inordinate lover of garlic. That dreadful odor enveloped him like a halo, and when he opened his mouth to speak, there was a perceptible widening of our circle of listeners to get beyond the range; but it was impossible unless the wind were in your favor, for the fellow fairly reeked with the effluvia from every pore of his greasy, oily, Italian hide, and poisoned the atmosphere in his vicinity. Each of our party of four took his turn in occupying the position next to the guide in his detour of the gardens. No one of us could have endured it the whole distance.

The water surprises consist of a series of ingenious tricks for drenching and showering visitors--considered a capital joke, no doubt, in Italy; but ladies who can have a delicate silk dress watered with a watering-pot _à discretion_, without the surprise, and gentlemen who are not partial to having two or three pints of water squirted into their faces and upon their shirt-bosoms, do not appreciate the joke.

One of these consists of a door placed just ajar, at a passage leading into an attractive little nook. The exploring tourist, in endeavoring to open it farther, by the motion he communicates to the door, receives a stream full in the face. A Chinese bridge is so constructed that the visitor, on reaching its centre, finds himself surrounded by fine streams of water all playing towards him, from which it is impossible to escape unless by rushing through the _jets d'eau_. Upon one of the little Chinese islands an ornamental swing invites the visitor, who no sooner is enjoying the motion than a fine spray greets him in the face; and another stream is so contrived as continually to strike the bottom of the open-work seat as he glides to and fro. We only experienced one of these surprises, and the volley of the denunciation that the guide received from the linguist of our party in his own tongue, coupled with various powerful English expletives from the others, the import of which was unmistakable, evidently convinced him that it would not be to his advantage to play his tricks upon that party of travellers; and he did not. However, the gardens are the most beautiful and attractive imaginable. No amount of money has been spared in their care, or the decorations we have mentioned, all of which are of the most costly and expensive character--an evidence to what an extent artistic taste may be carried with unlimited means behind it.

Having "done" what was possible of Genoa in the brief time allowed, we took train for Turin, _en route_ for Paris, the railway carrying us through magnificent mountain scenery, great tunnels, and fine specimens of railway engineering, through the city of Alessandria, and past its frowning citadel, through the city of Asti, surrounded by picturesque hills, upon which probably the vines grow that produce the wine "Asti," which figures on the hotel bills of fare, and which is warmly commended by landlords and sometimes travellers; but my own experience convinces me there should have been an "N" pre-fixed, to have given the proper name to that which I tasted of the brand.

On we go, through smiling vineyards and grain-fields, and by and by catch a distant view of our old acquaintances, the snowy-peaked Alps, against the horizon. We reached Turin at eight o'clock in the evening, and were driven, through the bright gas-lighted streets from the station at a spanking pace, to the Hotel de l'Europe, situated in a grand square opposite the king's palace, and kept in a style befitting its position. I do not think, in the whole of our tour, we found a hotel its equal, certainly not its superior, in admirable _cuisine_, prompt attendance, reasonable prices, and comfortable appointments. Although arriving at eight P. M., and but four in party, a dinner, in regular courses, was served for us, with luxuries and a style that I have seldom seen equalled. The comforts and enjoyments of this admirable establishment caused us to regret to leave it, as we were compelled to early next morning, without seeing the city, except such portion of it as we rode through on our way to the station of the railway by which we were to reach Susa, from whence we were to cross Mount Cenis by carriage.

This carriage trip over the mountain we arranged for at the hotel in Turin, with Joseph Borgo, the somewhat celebrated proprietor, who stipulated to have a first-class carriage for four persons, to convey us over the mountain to San Michel, to provide four horses, change a certain number of times, and occupy certain hours in the transit--all of which was duly filled out in writing, and for which we paid two hundred and fifty-five francs (fifty-one dollars), which included all expenses except our own personal hotel bills. The carriage was promised to meet us at the station in Susa.

A railway ride of thirty-three miles brought us to Susa; and there, with the driver harnessing up four splendid dapple grays, stood an establishment in which one would not have been ashamed to have made his appearance on the drive at Central Park, New York,--bright, new, and modern built, and very like a modern American barouche, save that the seat usually occupied by the driver was a trifle higher, shielded by a chaise-top, and reserved for two outside passengers, the driver's seat being below it, nearer the horses.

We were wondering as to the whereabouts of our own carriage, and what grand duke was to take this handsome equipage, while the common people were entering diligences and the usual dust-covered, creaking, and rickety coaches one becomes so accustomed to in Italy, when we observed our own luggage being carefully bestowed upon the rack behind, and we were approached by Borgo's agent, who inquired if we had a "billet" for the "voiture;" and upon producing our lithographed and signed ticket, the carriage was brought up to where our group of a lady and three gentlemen stood, with the usual Italian whip-cracking.

The agent threw open the door with a flourish, and, "_Entrez_, monsieur; we _is_ ready."

Two seated themselves upon the box-seat, two upon the back seat of the open barouche; the door was closed with a bang, the polite agent raised his hat.

"_Bon voyage_"; and the driver, firing a volley of whip-cracks, the four grays started off with a clatter of silver-mounted harness, on a smart trot, as we rode away in the best appointed equipage it had been our fortune to enjoy in our whole European tour.

This fact contributed to mitigate the conviction that fifty-one dollars in gold was a pretty high price, as it was, for a fourteen hour's ride, compared with that paid for carriages in other parts of Italy for similar journeys. Borgo, however, had a monopoly of the best carriages, and was always sure of English tourists, who would take none other, and really performs his service thoroughly and well, without any attendant vexations, delays, humbugs, or swindles--a great consideration to the tourist.

The Mont Cenis Pass, it will be remembered, was built by order of Napoleon I., by engineer Fabbroni, and the culminating point of it reaches an elevation of sixty-seven hundred and seventy-five feet above the level of the sea. The original cost of the road was three hundred thousand pounds, although a large additional amount has since been expended upon it. It is the safest and most frequented route between France and Italy, and it was by this road the French troops entered Italy in 1859.

The beautiful mountain views of this grand ride, if described, would be to the reader almost a repetition of others given in these pages. The great sweeps of scenery from the zigzags of the road, the old Hospice of the monks that we halt at, the boundary line between France and Italy, all claim attention as we roll along upon our journey, and feel in the atmosphere that we are leaving Italy's penetrating heat, and, let us hope, also its flies and filthiness, behind us. Italy was left behind; houses of refuge on the mountain road had been passed, grand scenery viewed, great curves and wondrous windings been marvelled at, and our aching bones confessed that even in the best-appointed vehicles, fatigue is not a stranger; so we were not sorry at night to reach the dirty little Hotel de la Poste, in the muddy little village of San Michel, in French dominions--Savoy.

Next forenoon we bade adieu to post travelling, taking train at two P. M. for Macon, on the Saone River, about forty miles north of the city of Lyons, where we saw a pretty quay along the river, and a bridge over it, and learned that the city was chiefly dependent on its wine trade for business. The same chain of hills that protect the vineyards of that noted wine-growing department of France known as Côte d'Or, extends through the department of Saone et Loire, of which Macon is the capital; but from some causes the wines are not so fine as those of that celebrated district: however, Macon wines, which are set down on most of the hotel bills of fare in Europe and our own country, are served here in their original purity and excellence, which cannot always be said of them in America. Coming here, we passed Lake Bourget, which Lamartine mentions in his poetry as "_the_ lake;" it looked very grandly under the influence of a violent September gale, which was raising its waves like a miniature ocean, at Culoz, where we dined.

Passing the night at Macon, we left next day for Paris, reaching the city at seven o'clock P. M. Here once more we experienced some of the excellent arrangements characterizing great cities in foreign countries. Not a passenger was permitted to enter that portion of the great station till the baggage was all unloaded and sorted, which was done with marvellous celerity and skill, each foreign party's pieces being selected by some clews they had, and piled together.

This being done, we were permitted to enter; and a customs officer, as we designated our trunks, inquired if they contained eau de cologne, fire-arms, and various other things, in a sort of formula that he repeated. We had nothing "to declare" for Paris, as we assured this functionary our luggage was packed for America; in fact, some of it was a sort of heterogeneous puzzle of shirts, Swiss carved work, coats, stockings, stereoscopic views, boots, Genoese jewelry, handkerchiefs, Vienna leather, guide-books, and photographs, such as all tourists become acquainted with, more, or less, upon their first experience on the "grand tour." With a polite wave of the hand, the officer summoned another, who also spoke English, and whose duty it was to despatch foreigners to their several destinations in the city: this person, in his turn, after learning the quarter of the city we wished to reach, calling two railway porters, transferred our luggage to a carriage in waiting, told the driver in French where to carry us, and ourselves in English what we were to pay for the service, and, bowing politely, turned on his heel, and we were once more rattling over the smooth asphalt pave of Paris, the streets and cafés of which were ablaze with gas, the windows gay with brilliant display of goods, and the broad Boulevards thronged with crowds of pedestrians.

Having experienced the swindles and inconveniences of the Grand Hotel and Hotel de l'Athenée, we were more than grateful to find an excellent American boarding-house upon the Boulevard Haussman, fronting the Rue Trouchet, commanding an extended view of the Boulevard and the Madeleine, and kept by Miss Emily Herring, a New York lady, where excellent accommodations, prompt service, and good _cuisine_ were had, and no vexatious swindling "extras" or "bougies" put in the bill, French fashion, which is so exasperating to the English and American tourists.

Having sight-seen Paris so much at a former visit, one might imagine but little remained to be done; but such is not the case in this great capital, though now, with our faces set, as it were, homewards, there was but little time remaining for that purpose. A visit to the sewers was an excursion that we desired to make, especially with the remembrance of Jean Valjean's experiences, in Victor Hugo's story, Les Misérables, fresh in mind. Having obtained a permit from the proper authorities, we found, on arriving at the point designated, that we were one of a party of a dozen ladies and gentlemen. We looked somewhat askant at the silk and muslin dresses of the former, as being hardly the costume one would select for going down into a drain with, and wondered whether the olfactories of the wearers would be proof against what might assail them during their visit. But our doubts, as will be seen, were soon removed on this point.

Descending through a large iron trap-door in the sidewalk, near the Church of the Madeleine, by a stone staircase, we found ourselves in a handsome, vaulted, stone tunnel, twenty feet high, with granite sidewalks on each side, between which, in a space perhaps ten feet wide and five deep, ran the sewage. By some admirable system of ventilation, these sewers are kept so clean and sweet that no more offence is done to the olfactories than in a wash-room. Overhead run great iron pipes, by which the city is supplied with pure water; also telegraph wires, enclosed in lead pipes, by which communication is had with the police and official stations in different parts of the city. But we were to make a trip through the sewers. Two or three open cars, with cushioned seats, holding twelve persons, and lighted by a brilliant carcel lamp in front, were in readiness, and into these the ladies and gentlemen of the party were bestowed. The car runs on a track placed on the edge of the flowing sewage, and is propelled by men who run on a narrow stone pathway, and push it.

Away we went, through the great arched tunnel, now and then hearing the faint rumble of vehicles sound above, as we pass beneath some great thoroughfare. We know exactly what quarter of the city we are beneath by the little blue china signs, bearing the names of the streets, which are posted at intervals along the walls, and every now and then pass intersecting sewers discharging their floods into the main artery. We ride smoothly along for a mile or two, are switched off into side passages, back into the main one, ride perhaps a mile or so more, then come to a stop, and ascend into a square of the city far distant from where we started, convinced that this is the most admirable system of sewage that could possibly be devised, and that for sanitary purposes nothing could be better. Not only, let it be borne in mind, is the sewage carried off beneath the ground, but even the very sewers themselves kept so clean and neat, and withal so perfectly ventilated, that ladies and gentlemen may pass through them without soiling their clothing or offence to the senses.

We were told that, when completed, there would be nearly four hundred miles of these sewers, and that not only could they be made use of for conveying the waste drainage of the city away, but could be used for the purpose of underground communication of troops from one point of the city to another, in case of revolutionary riots, when passage above ground might be disputed for four times the number.

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