hand. Yet beyond these stagnant pestilential lakes the breeze comes dancing freely over the ocean—at times far too freely for those about to embark on its troubled waters-and the waves are as pure as salt-water waves can be.

Graceful feluccas skim over the waters, bending under their striped canvas, while steamers of all nations and ships-of-war are dotted over the sea. All is life, motion, and varied colouring. The forest of masts, the deep-blue sea, and the brightblue sky, seen under favourable circumstances, form altogether a picture not easily forgotten.

Such was the Marsalia of yesterday; such, in many respects, is the Marseilles of to-day. And yet, as in the case of Vienna or Paris, he that has not journeyed there for ten years past will find a new, ay and a splendid city risen on the foundations of the old. The Canébière is a noble street; a grand cathedral rises day by day in vast proportions, probably now completed. The New Exchange or Bourse is a handsome pile; and, best improvement of all, the sanitary state of the city is much amended and now well cared for. The

whole of the infectious substance, heretofore allowed to collect in the streets till it rotted, and was thence carried off by violent rains into the harbours, is now daily collected and removed to the country for agricultural purposes. A new harbour of considerable dimensions is completed; and the sewage, flowing through greatly-improved drains, is no longer allowed to pour itself into the harbours. For which blessed improvement the inhabitants may cheerfully pay and be thankful.

So much for this proud city, which bids fair to rival the chief commercial cities of Europe.

Is there a traveller who wanders to foreign lands for health, business, pleasure, or bric-à-brac hunting, who does not expect ease at his inn, and who, having swallowed and paid for a pound of grease or a quart of oil, and endured a brief martyrdom from dirt, vermin, and bad attendance, does not quarrel with his lot and the author of it, and mark with a double cross in his journal the entry which warns him to avoid the Blue Boar or L'Aigle d'Or, as the case may be, for the future?

I am no sybarite, yet I confess to a love for

I am

comfort and cleanliness in my caravanserai.

no gourmet, but I own that for perfect comfort I prefer an hotel where the chief cook is an artist. I may therefore as well remark that at Marseilles I should select for choice the Hôtel de Marseilles or the Petit Louvre. I know it is the fashionalas, who leads the way that so many are wont to follow?-to select the Grand Hôtel de Paris or the Grand Hôtel du Louvre; but experience tells me that the grandeur generally exists only in the outward appearance of the house.

So, having ordered a moderate repast to satisfy the inner man at the Petit Louvre-giving strict orders for the exclusion of all provincial plats, for the inhabitants of the city are much given to garlic or oil, raw artichokes, and olives-let us walk forth to see the sights and visit the bric-à-brac shops.

As yet, though my visits to the commercial city have been frequent, I have only discovered four such shops at Marseilles. They are as follows: Esmeir, Rue Parcellis 22; Valli, Rue de Paradis 24; Pardieu, No. 43 in the same street; and Sondier, Rue Masquire. There is little to choose

between these dealers, though the two first are generally the best supplied. Their knowledge, however, of the art-gems they profess to sell is very mediocre, and their prices most exorbitant; nevertheless, the very fact of their comparative ignorance is the best chance for the practical buyer, who thus, if the wind be in his favour, may chance to carry off something worthy his collection. And as for the price demanded-bah! was there ever a correctly-judging bric-à-brac hunter who had not the courage to offer about one-half, say one-third, of that price? or was there ever a seller who had the honesty to refuse the bid? Of course I by no means include in these sweeping opinions the higher class of dealers, the sellers of first-class objets d'art.

With reference to those of Marseilles, I neither wish to be uncourteous nor unkind when I say they are by no means to be found in that society. The wherefore is easily explained. The Marseillais taste, among rich or poor, high or low, male or female, does not rank high; in fact, the city is essentially democratic in taste as in politics. Pon

derous furniture, modern pictures and modern china, big vases, much gilding, gorgeous colouring, an excessive gaudiness both in dress and decoration, with little art or beauty, prevail in that commercial hemisphere. The wealthy trader of Marseilles would pass by a lovely specimen of Wedgwood or Capo di Monte, and purchase some modern abomination in French china highly decorated and gilded, to adorn his rooms; while his wife, if he have one, would select the most gorgeous silk and the brightest Persian shawl with which to bedeck her person. Thus it is not often that anything really worthy of being added to an amateur collection is to be secured in this city. It by no means follows, however, that gems are -not occasionally met with here; and he who loves such acquisitions never neglects the smallest chance of a bargain. Nor should the collector on any account fail to explore the emporiums of Marseilles. I shall endeavour to explain the why and the wherefore.

Marseilles is essentially a thoroughfare to and from the East, as well as to Spain and Italy, by