and white cap, came trotting up with the unusual appendage of a watch in his pocket. He was liberally rewarded for his fidelity. I thanked him, and told him he was an honest man, to which he replied-" si, signore, sono honesto, ma molto povero"-yes, I am honest, but very poor. He shared with us an omelet and a glass of red wine, and then kissing our hands, returned to his sheep-fold or his rude hut upon the mountains, with an approving conscience. I have uniformly found the lower classes in Italy, honest, civil, and kind-hearted. Trunks, books, clothing, and other articles have daily been exposed without detriment; and only one instance of incivility is remembered. At a custom-house near Leghorn, a lad beset us for a fee. On being repulsed, he exclaimed, “ Iddio retarda vostro viaggio"-God impede your journey!

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From this point, we continued to descend the mountains, which often rise in bleak and barren ridges of sand. A high wind, which appeared to roll over in torrents from vale to vale, often involved us in tempests of dust. Some of the loftier swells presented a wide view into the vale of the Po, and the plains stretching to the Adriatic. As the atmosphere was not clear, the sea was invisible. At 4 o'clock we reached the foot of the hills, and came to the banks of the Reno, the bed of a mountain torrent, with a broad sandy channel, and a scanty rill of water. The vales here again become fertile, and the loaded vineyards appeared in all their glory.

Passing the magnificent seat of Cardinal Ferrara and the splendid suburbs of Bologna, we entered its gates, under the favourable light of a clear sunset, and saw no reason to dissent from Napoleon's partiality, who used to call it, “mia cara citta di Bologna.' The streets are broad, neatly paved, and clean; uniformly lined with arcades over the side-walks, and with ranges of stately buildings, which have a light and cheerful appearance, in comparison with the sombre castles of Florence. There is also a show of considerable magnificence in the churches and other public edifices. Excellent accommodations were obtained at the Pellegrino. While at supper, our arrival was welcomed by a serenade from the "Ciechi," a band of blind musicians, who salute all new comers, with the expectation of a fee. In one or two instances, odes of congratulation were brought to us, which had probably been previously addressed to fifty other travellers, the name only being changed.

The next day I rambled over the city alone, as my friend

was too lame to go out. At the Place of the Giant, I examined the celebrated Fountain, embellished by the chisel of John di Bologna; it appeared to me unworthy of the eulogies, which have been lavished upon it by others. The group consists of a colossal statue of Neptune, surrounded by four Sea-nymphs, and as many Cupids playing with dolphins. The bronze Mercury, in the Florentine Gallery, by the same artist, is worth a hundred such monuments.

The Square of the Giant, so named from the statue of Neptune, is surrounded by the Palazzo Pubblico, the Palazzo Vechio, and the church of St. Petronius—all of brick, ornamented with pillars and tracery, venerable in aspect, but void of architectural grandeur. My first visit was to the church. The interior exhibits the usual degree of Italian splendour. The pavement exhibits the celebrated meridian of Cellini, two hundred feet in length, and designating the progress of the sun through the zodiac. On one side, the ascending, and on the other, the descending signs are delineated. The sun is admitted through a hole in the roof, eighty feet from the floor, and falls upon the point corresponding with the day and month. At each end of the line, handsome monuments are erected against the wall, bearing inscriptions explanatory of the work, and complimentary to the genius of the artist. Near by stands a clock with two faces, pointing out with its double hands the true and the solar time. Petronius, to whom the church is dedicated, seems to have been a clever saint, who did much for Bologna, and deserved the honours which are paid to his memory.

The Palazzo Vechio is a very old building, with a fantastic tower rising in the centre. It seems once to have been a castle or fortress; but is now remarkable for little else than its antiquity. The Palazzo Pubblico is dedicated to St. Petronius, the patron of the city. At the door, I inquired of a gentleman the way to the belfry. He conducted me up a flight of Bramante's stairs, and through halls appropriated to the Governor, Police, and other officers. One of the rooms contains a good statue of Hercules in bronze. Ascending to the top of the Palace, we had a fine view of the city and its environs. Bologna is situated at the foot of the Apennines, which stretch in long lines from north to south, beyond the reach of vision. On all other sides, a level plain, rich and verdant, extends as far as the eye can reach. Glimpses of the Friuli mountains, beyond Verona,

are discernible. The hills skirting the western suburbs are covered with convents, and other buildings. On the very top of an eminence stands the church of St. Luca, with a chain of arcades, three miles in length, connecting it with the city. It is a shrine of great sanctity, to which pilgrimages are frequently performed. The expenses of the structure and its embellishments, were defrayed by the voluntary contributions of the people.

Bologna is two miles in length and one in breadth, containing 75,000 inhabitants. The buildings are nearly all of brick, with red tiled roofs. Numerous steeples and towers give an air of magnificence to the city. The arcades form the most peculiar feature, and are not less conducive to elegance than comfort, being often supported by stately marble columns. Sometimes awnings are hung from arch to arch, so as entirely to exclude the sun, and produce a covered way. The people are active, bustling, and gay; differing in dress and manners from their neighbours; and presenting new shades of colour in the mixed moral mosaic, which the various petty states of Italy compose.

My volunteer cicerone accompanied me to the Cathedral, I which is an immense pile. Its architecture has been se verely censured. The interior is lofty and splendid. One of the frescos was painted by Guido, and another is the last work of Lodovico Caracci. We went thence to the I church of St. Bartholomew. A priest was administering the sacrament to a group of females kneeling at the altar. He took the wafer between his fingers and put it into their mouths, uttering a benediction upon each. We retreated, without breaking in upon the solemn rite. In front of the church rise the two towers of Asinelli and Gasenda. The former is three hundred and twenty-seven feet in height, built of brick and topped with a cupola. It is the most conspicuous object in the city. The other tower leans like that of Pisa. It is alluded to by Dante. The Pope.held a council in one of its chambers.

My new acquaintance took me to the Gallery, which is an extensive establishment, embracing schools for drawing, architecture, statuary, and painting, like those in the Royal Academy at Florence. In the rear spreads a large Botanic Garden, which forms an agreeable appendage. The Gallery itself is small, but one of the most select in Italy, comprising the choicest pictures of the Bolognese School. Lodovico,

Annibale, and Augostino Caracci, Guido, Domenichino, Albano, and Fontana, were all natives of this city, and form a constellation of genius, which few other schools can boast. Their countrymen cherish their works with a spirit of nationality, which is highly creditable to their taste and patriotism.

In returning from the Gallery, we passed under a triumphal arch, erected in honour of the birth-day of the Madonna. It was hung with crimson tapestry, and furnished with silver candlesticks, preparatory to an illumination in the evening. We went to the church of St. Dominick, to see the shrine of its patron, who was celebrated net less for his military achievements than for his sanctity. His tomb is a proud pile of marble. The sarcophagus is supposed to contain his dust; but the scepticism of the French has thrown some doubts over this subject. In front of the shrine is a small statue of a cherub, kneeling and holding a candlestick. It is one of Michael Angelo's very best pieces, and worth all the other sculpture about the shrine, rich as it is. A convent for Dominicans is attached to the church. It has at present only eleven inmates, whose grated cells look like prisons. They were converted into barracks by the French. About this pile of buildings, are several insulated Gothic shrines, with sarcophagi cradled in the open air.

Here the intelligent and kind-hearted gentleman, who gratuitously devoted nearly the whole day to an entire stranger, took leave of me. He said he belonged to the Police. I continued my rambles over the city. Upon the walls, in some of the public squares, sonnets were posted up, with the authors' names attached to them, congratulating persons on their recent nuptials. One of them was of a very dif ferent character, containing fulsome panegyrics on a noble nun, who had just taken the veil. A play-bill sometimes divided these productions of the Italian muse. My attention was attracted to an immense crowd collected in one of the streets, near the walls of the city. On approaching, I found a popular preacher mounted upon a stage, beneath the arcades of a church, walking to and fro, and raving like a madman. In the mean time, a dozen men were passing among the prostrate multitude, shaking the money in their hats and making collections.

At evening I walked to Monte Nola, the Public Garden. It is both a promenade and drive, laid out and planted with

trees by order of Napoleon. The Corso is circular, not more than half or three-quarters of a mile in circumference, around which the coaches chase one another, somewhat in the style of the ancient chariot races. The walks are extensive, beautifully shaded, and commanding a fine view of the mountains on one side, and the vale of the Po, on the other. Great numbers of both sexes were out on the Festa of the Madonna. The women are handsome-tall, graceful, and genteel, wearing white veils and turbans, without hats, even in public. They have cheerful faces, and are remarkably gay and animated in their manners.

Two fountains refresh the Garden, about which seats are extended in the shade. On the bank of the Reno, which murmurs by, there is a modern gymnasium, ornamented with twenty Corinthian pillars. It is appropriated to wrestling, playing ball, and other athletic exercises, in which the youth were engaged. Few carriages appeared on the parade, and the attempts at style were meagre, in comparison with Rome, Naples, or Florence. Many of the higher classes were in the country, to which the Bolognese are much more partial than the other Italians.

Early next morning we resumed an examination of the town, revisiting the Piazza del Gigante, the Gallery, and most of the localities, which have already been described, together with many that were new to me. An intelligent gentleman accompanied us through the various departments of the University. It is an extensive pile of buildings, furnished with appurtenances and accommodations, which are suited to what has been one of the greatest schools in the world. The philosophical and chemical apparatus is very complete. Our polite and obliging guide, who appeared to be an officer in the institution, spoke of Franklin, Hare, and Priestly in terms of high respect. A superb monument has been erected to the memory of Galvani, a native of this city, and the discoverer of the new science to which he has given

name.

The cabinets of geology, mineralogy, and natural history are all well filled, and the articles in an excellent state of preservation. An extensive anatomical museum, which is one of the oldest in Europe, and little inferior to that of Florence, contains an infinite variety of preparations, partly of real subjects, and partly in wax. We were extremely anxious to see that philological prodigy, Professor Mezzofanti,