The asthmatic person to live in Genoa. There is too much climbing necessary in perambulating the streets. women are often pretty and have in general a Spanish look. Formerly they universally wore the long and graceful white muslin veit flowing backward as the Milanese did the black. Many have now adopted the more artificial style of French costume. The facchini are uncommonly impertinent, and the people for the most part, very saving and quiet, rather proud and generally industrious. Genoa now exports little but silk or velvet, although she continues to furnish the best mariners in the Mediterranean. The Sardinian flag is often seen in the Brazils, and West Indies, though rarely in the East. Among the by-way oddities of the place are the numerous parrots and little naval officers arrayed in the costume of adults, although sometimes only nine years old. In the street of the jewellers, there is a very pretty Madona about two centuries old, the painter of which was killed by his master from jealousy. The jewellers have been offered large sums for this picture, but, considering it as their guardian saint, they will not part with it on any terms. In one of the thoroughfares a tablet perpetuates the infamy of two traitors; and at an. other angle, as if to atone for the shameful record, an inscription upon an ancient palace, sets forth that it was the gift of Genoa to the brave Admiral Doria, in acknowledgement of his courage and patriotism. Opposite to this interesting monument is the church where the bones of the gallant hero are said to repose. BOLOGN A. What solemn spirit doth inhabit here, Galt. ITALY is a land of contrasts. Its various cities are not only characterized by diversity in the schools of painting and architecture; but the natural scenery, the climate and the dialect and manners of the people are, alone, sufficient strongly to identify the different towns. It is not a little surprising in the view of one habituated to the facilities of communication existing in England and the United States, to witness such striking contrasts between places separated by a space of only one or two hundred miles; and it is to be explained only by recurring to the original distinctions of the different republics, and to the absence of those motives for frequent intercourse which operate so powerfully to equalise and assimilate commercial districts. This contrariety is nowhere more observable than between Florence and Bologna. We leave a city seated in the midst of hills, over whose broad slopes, dotted with gnarled, grey olive trees, are scattered innumerable villas; where our eyes have grown familiar with the airy architecture of the bridges, the massive dome of the cathedral, and the graceful lightness of the campanile; where flowergirls, loitering pedestrians, and gay equipages give life and variety to the scene, in spite of the gloomy style of the palaces, and the unfinished façades of the churches. A few hours are passed in winding amid the Appenines, and we walk the streets of a capital, where long lines of porticos shade the thoroughfares, were a half-barbarous accent destroys the sweetness of the language, and a certain moroseness marks the manners of the people. There is certainly a kind of natural language in cities as well as in individuals, an inexplicable influence, which produces a spontaneous impression upon our minds. Otherwise, why is it that so many continental sojourners feel perfectly at home in the Tuscan metropolis, and quite out of their element in many other cities of Italy, boasting more interesting society, and a more agreeable round of amusements? In the passage of the Appenines, a lover of mountain scenery will not be without the means of enjoy. ment. The picturesque defiles and wild ranges, the barren peaks and fertile slopes, the pebly dells and broad undulations, though on a comparatively small scale as regards grandeur, are yet sufficiently pleasing to yield that sweet charm to the imagination which such scenery is fitted to inspire. The only remarkable object of natural curiosity encountered in the route is a species of volcano. It was a beautiful evening when we left the miserable village where we were to lodge, and sought this singular spot. We were in the very midst of the Appenines. The air was cool and bracing, and over the western horizon, lin. gered the rich, rosy glow that succeeds a fine sunset, as if the portals of heaven were half-opened to the longing gaze. Along the rocky path above us, several peasant girls were carrying vases of water on their heads from a favorite spring, singing as they went, and their clear voices came with a kind of wild melody to our ears. The whole scene was calculated to convey that soothing idea of the repose of pastoral life, which, at intervals, fascinates even those least inclined to solitude. We found the object of our search in the midst of a stony soil. Flames, evidently of ignited gas, issued from the ground in a circle of about ten feet in diameter. About the centre, the largest flame was red, and burned steadily; but the others were of a pale violet color and quivered incessantly, seeming to creep along the ground as the night breeze swept over them. In truth the appearance of the fire was precisely that which we might imagine of the magic circle of some ancient sorcerer; and the dreary loneliness of the spot seemed finely adapted to the idea. The flames burn more brightly after a rain, but no one in the neighborhood, recollects any particular change in the volcano. It has never been known to disgorge sulphurous matter, or exhibit any different phenomena than at present; but ever burns with a constant and apparently inextinguishable fire. Porticos line all the principal streets of Bologna; and however convenient their shelter may prove to a pedestrian on a rainy day, it requires no little time for the stranger to become reconciled to the sombre impression they prodace. The most extensive line of these arches is that which leads from the city to the Church of St. Luke, a distance of three miles. The promenade on a fine day, displays at every turn, beautiful views of the surrounding plains; and the elevated position of the temple of the patron saint of the Bolognese, approached by such a noble range of porticos, strikes the traveller as a well conceived idea. The passion for this style of building has extended to many of the adjacent towns, and the three first tiers of the spacious threatre of Bologna present the same favorite form. The gloomy aspect of this species of street architecture, is enhanced by the solitude that prevails in many parts of this extensive town ;--and late in the evening, when the lamps shed a dazzling light at intervals through the long and silent vistas of the less frequented ways, a scenic effect is produced favorable to romantic impressions. I remember being struck, upon entering the city after night-fall by one of its most solitary gates, with the picture formed by a decrepid and withered old woman, seated at the foot of one of the pillars of a dark portico, roasting chesnuts. The lurid glare of her charcoal fire shot up, in fitful flashes to the top of the arch, bringing her haggard features into strong relief, while all around was involved in deep shade. Perhaps the most impressive of the traveller's experience in this unprepossessing city, is the view from the summit of the old leaning tower in the piazza, and two or three of the faces depicted on the inspired canvass of the old masters in the academy. The eye of Raphael's |