GIBRALTAR-GENOA.

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burying their heads in the smoky sky; towers, fortresses, abrupt rocks, smiling villages; vineyards in which nestled white cottages; a continent on either hand and the blue Mediterranean before me; all coming or passing on my sight, and shifting every moment, made it seem like a wizard land. At length Gibraltar-that grey old solitary rock-stood before me. Lying somewhat diagonal to the straits, and apparently isolated from the main land, it rose almost perpendicularly 1470 feet above me, cutting with its thin naked ridge the air in an irregular waving line.

As we passed it, the booming of cannon came over the water and died away on the shore of Africa. That rock was to me for a while the centre of association. Grand and gloomy it stood and had stood while ages had slowly rolled away-itself alone unchanged. It once looked down on the Roman galleys and on the vessel that bore Cæsar and his fortunes on. It had seen the pride of nations come and go with the same haughty indifference. It took no note of time, for time left not its mark upon it.

Its stern gravity had not changed with changing empires. It had felt the shock of cannon, and the hot meeting of foes had made its sides red with the blood of men, and yet it retained its old composure. As I looked on its grey top, it seemed conscious of its own greatness, and to utter a silent mockery on the pride of man. It is now England's, but the hand that grasps it is slowly crumbling away. The conflicts for that mountain of stone are not yet ended.

Whose next shall it be?

The night came, and with the full moon over our heads, on her way to the mountains of Grenada, we fled over the blue waters of the Mediterranean. Islands came and went-days and nights vanished away, till, with the mountains of Piedmont on our left, we slowly passed up the gulf of Genoa. One morning found us within a few miles of the city, and the approach to it fully sustained the character it had borne. The rising sun gilded the tops of the Apennines before us, and threw its light on the snow-clad summits of the Alps on our left, that lay pale, and white, and silent far up in the heavens.-The shores on either hand that bent up to the city were lined with villages— the back-ground of hills was belted with vineyards, and dotted

with white churches and palaces; while far distant before us mountain interlocked mountain, each naked ridge crowned with a fortress, and receding away till a sea of summits flowed along the distant sky. At the base was Genoa, la superba,' throned like a queen upon her hills and looking down upon the sea. The city lies in the form of a half circle, and rises away from the shore like an amphitheatre. There is no plain, and it is but a short distance from the shore to the base of the hills. These are cultivated to their very tops, and literally covered with terraced gardens and palaces. As we drew near, the fragrance that fell down to the water was like the mingling of all sweet scents. This may seem almost a fancy sketch, but the first impressions, after a six weeks' voyage, of one of the loveliest scenes the sun ever shone upon, must be vivid but not necessarily overwrought. It was a holiday when we entered port, and added to all this beauty and sweetness, the chime of a hundred bells came merrily down to the bay. Yours, &c.

AN ITALIAN WOMAN.

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LETTER III.

First Impressions-An Italian Woman-Lunatics.

GENOA, October. DEAR E.-I cannot convey to you the strange feelings with which I first stepped on a foreign shore, and that shore, Italy. When one goes to Europe through England, he is gradually prepared for the strong contrast that exists between his own country and the countries he visits. But I had no preparation; the last thousand miles of sea were just like the first thousand, and I had simply taken one step, and had passed from New York, with its English language and home habits, into Genoa, with its queer customs and unintelligible jargon. Everything was changed so suddenly, that I wandered about like one in a dream. Now a tall mustached officer, wrapped in his long military cloak, would meet me, and eye me askance as he passed; and now a blackrobed priest shuffled by, not deigning me even a look as he went. How many times during the day have I stopped and questioned my own identity !

The other day I was leaning over the balcony of our window at the hotel, watching the motley groups that passed and repassed, and listening to the strange Genoese jargon that every one seemed to understand but myself, when my attention was attracted by an elegantly dressed woman who was sauntering leisurely along up the street that my window faced. As she came near, her eye fell on me, and, her curiosity apparently excited by my foreign look, she steadily scrutinized me as she approached. My appearance might have been somewhat outré, but still I did not think it was worth such a particular scrutiny, especially from a lady. But she had not the slightest concern about my thoughts on the matter. She wished simply to gratify her own curiosity; so when she had got within the most convenient reconnoitering dis

When she had

tance, she deliberately paused, and lifting her quizzing-glass to her eye, coolly scanned me from head to foot. finished, she quietly replaced her glass in her smile of self-satisfaction on her face, walked on.

belt, and with a

Yesterday I visited the Lunatic Asylum, which stands in a valley between the outer and inner walls of the city. In this part of the city, the inner wall seems to have been built against a high bank, on the top of which the houses stand. This is fortified, and the space left on the top furnishes a beautiful carriage way and promenade, carrying you out to where the wall rises directly out of the Mediterranean, and giving you a view of the whole of the Ligurian Bay. From this promenade you can look down into the area of the Asylum. The building itself you will understand by comparing it to a wheel; the centre building, oval in form, is the hub, from which radiate on every side, like spokes, six long buildings. Around the extremities of these, passes a circular wall, making, of course, between these radiating wings, six triangular areas. In each of these areas a certain class of lunatics are allowed to range: the mild are put together, and the violent kept by themselves. If any one becomes fractious, the strait-jacket is clapped on him, and he is turned loose again, with nothing but his tongue and feet free. Nothing can present the contrasts of life stronger, than a stroll along this elevated promenade of a bright evening. The bright Mediterranean is sleeping like a summer lake as far as the eye can reach, and the feelings are Iulled by the scene and the hour into tranquillity, when suddenly the sabbath stillness of the soul is broken by the scream of a maniac, raving below you. Leaning over the low parapet that guards this high wall, I often watch of an evening the laughing groups that fill the winding promenade before me, while shouts of mirth and bursts of music, coming at intervals on the night air, furnish strange interludes to the wild and confused accents that fill the valley at my feet.

But I liked to have forgotten my visit to the interior of the building. The officer who showed me over it was a very civil man. The lower room of the central oval building is a chapel, into which the long halls from each of these wings enter. Among other peculiarities, I noticed one room with a wooden floor and

In

billiard table in the centre. Inquiring the design of this, I was told it was built for any insane gentleman, who could afford his own servant, and thirty francs a month for the use of it. Love and religion appeared to be the predominant causes of insanity. A poor creature sitting by herself, and counting her beads, had gone mad on religion. Among the quiet class was a tall, fine, dark looking man, who slowly paced backwards and forwards, with his head bent and his lips compressed, carrying an open letter in his hand. The profoundest melancholy sat on all his features, and his tread was like that of a man to a funeral. the full freshness and hope of life he had received by the same letter the news of the loss of his fortune, and the falseness of his betrothed bride. His mind had stopped at the end of that letter, and had never advanced another step-the one terrible calamity it revealed, filled his mind for ever after. Standing on one of the windows, and looking down into the area of the incurables, I saw at the farther extremity, under a sort of shed, two heaps of rags, lying at a short distance from each other. They covered two women, who went every morning as soon as they were released from their cells, to the self-same spot, and there, crouching close under the wall, lay silent and motionless till aroused again by their keepers. The history of one I could not learn. The other was the wife of a gentleman, and had been in the Asylum sixteen years. I inquired why the husband did not furnish her with better clothing? The officer replied that he did, and also paid a high price to have particular attention and service rendered her; but the moment decent apparel was placed on her, she became wild with passion and refused all control until it was removed. This told her story, before the keeper related it to me. Young, lovely, and fiery-hearted, she had given her affections and oath to one who was her inferior in rank. But marriage is contracted here by the parents, and the daughter has no more voice in it than she had in her creation. This young and passionate creature was thus bartered away. Usually in such cases, the woman considers herself sold by a mercenary parent, and clings to her lover, while she is willing her husband should also follow his inclinations. And when we remember in what manner marriages