DEPARTURE FROM GENOA. 275 Many of the streets are too narrow even to permit a carriage to pass, and some funny stories were told of Milor Inglese, who insisted upon attempting it, and finding themselves stuck fast, were obliged to be dragged out at the top. of the carriage, as the doors were jammed against the walls on either side of the street. Our favorite Parodi was absent from Genoa at. a villa she has bought some twenty miles away, where she lives, surrounded by her family, whose prosperity and comfort she has secured by the fortune she gained while in America. We remained in Genoa some days, and then took the Anatole, a diminutive steamer, not as large as an American ferry-boat, for Marseilles. As we were on board some time ere the anchor was weighed, we had the benefit of several concerts around us. There were groups of singers in small boats, singing most vivaciously, and looking most imploringly upward at the passengers. When part the first was ended, a pretty little girl sprang up the side, and handed around a little box, which was soon filled with sous. Part the second was still unfinished when we steamed away. The day is lovely, the sea calm and intensely blue, and the atmosphere of such wonderful clearness, we can distinguish perfectly objects on the shore. There seems a rivalry between sky and sea, or, perhaps, a love one for the other; for the sea appears but a mirror wherein is reflected the azure of the " upper deep." Afar off are the mountain-tops covered with snow, while we are in delicious summer weather. I am seated on the deck, pencil in hand, to describe the going down of the sun. It is just approaching a snow-tinged peak, which it turns to a rose color. slight gauzy cloud has come over it, and from beneath streamed down the golden rays, precisely like the halo around the virgins of Murillo. It is passed, and the sun Now a has touched the summit of the Apennines. They glow like fire as it sinks from view. But rich hues of amber and crimson yet linger; slowly it is fading, fading, fading, and purple twilight is here. It was a glorious sunset upon the “Middle-Earth Sea," and as a beautiful picture it shall be cherished in memory. But darkness has almost come, and I can scarcely write. Still it is not darkness; for though "The moon is up, it is not night; The night had such bewitching loveliness, we could not think of sleep; thus we passed the hours until nearly dawn upon the deck of the small steamer. The sky was without one cloud, and the "full-orbed moon" cast a long train of brilliant light over the calm surface of the Mediterranean, revealing to our eyes the little villages on the shore, the mountains which crowded to the very verge of the sea, and the sails of distant ships. CHAPTER XXIX. By morning we were amid curious conical rocks which rise abruptly from the water, and appear of volcanic origin, as though some convulsion of nature had upheaved them. Then we came to Chateau d'If, immortalized by the "Monte Christo" of Alexandre Dumas. It is a dreary, desolate spot, well suited for the living death of imprisonment. The harbor of Marseilles is strongly fortified, and the numerous ships give earnest of its immense commerce; it is a city of vast antiquity, for it was founded long before Rome. It is busy, noisy, and merry; all varieties of costume and complexion are seen. There are Turks, Greeks, Moors, Africans, sailors, soldiers, and a peculiar specimen of humanity in the shape of boatmen, wild and reckless creatures, who speak a frightful patois, and were frantic in their supplications for us to go on shore in their boats. From the custom-house we drove through the principal streets, and along the prado to our banker's; then to an hotel, where we dined. In the afternoon we left by the railway, for Avignon. Our route was for many miles along the shores of the Mediterranean, and lovely prospects were constantly disclosed to us. The hills and valleys were planted with olive trees; these were small, and more like a shrub than a tree. The foliage is of a dull green, as though ashes had been sprinkled over them. We passed through a tunnel of wondrous length, and about twilight found ourselves at Avignon, where we passed the night in most elegant apartments, with the rare luxury of a fine piano-forte. Avignon is a very ancient city, with turreted walls and narrow streets. It has many churches, and the Palace of the Popes, wherein are the dungeons used in the "Iron Days" for the Inquisition. There are the rooms of torture, and the oubliettes, where human beings were cast when insensible to the agonies of the rack. The old palace is now used as a barrack for soldiers, and one end is a prison. Above it is a tower where Rienzi was a captive, until liberated by the entreaties of Petrarch; and it was in Avignon that Petrarch first saw Laura, and in the Franciscan convent she is buried. The remembrance of their love was as a ray of sunlight over the gloomy town. How potent is the spell of constant affection! its remembrance has lived through long centuries, and is still beaming upon us, and investing even the most ordinary objects with interest. At Vaucluse, not many miles from the city, Petrarch lived for a time, and there is the famous fountain and his house. Early in the morning we left Avignon, in a sharp narrow steamer, three hundred feet long, and went up the "arrowy Rhone." The current is exceedingly strong, thus our progress was not very rapid. As the weather was damp, all the passengers were crowded into the small cabin, where there were only a few sofas. To my satisfaction, I was seated by the side of the most antique old begging friar, just like a picture of Titian. His dress was of brown serge, with a large rope for a girdle, and sandals fastened across his feet by heavy cords. He had no covering for his head, which was bald on the top THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 279 but a magnificent beard of snowy whiteness hung from his chin far over his gown. He was plump and rosy, and had the merriest twinkle in his eye one can imagine. To his ropegirdle depended a rosary of great beads; these he told over very devoutly. He was pleasantly spoken, too, and his poverty did not appear to have saddened his life. There were several Sisters of Charity on board. Among them was a girl of striking beauty, with an angelic expression of face. As she caught my eye very often, at last she came to me, and began talking in a sweet, low voice. How great was my curiosity to know why one so lovely should have left the world! Not being willing to appear curious, I diplomatically hinted at the subject, when she sighed and said, "There are some sorrows so profound, they render life but the tomb of hope, and make the exercises of our holy religion our only refuge." She was silent, and I became so too, looking at her, and wondering and wondering what were the great griefs of that young heart, until the boat stopped where she was to land with the others at a little village. She clasped my hands warmly, and whispered, Many thanks for your sympathy; I shall say a prayer for you to-night," and ere I could reply, she was gone; but the thought of her was long in my mind. The Rhone seemed an old friend to me; we had journeyed upon its banks when it was but a rushing torrent, and had seen it leave the Lake Leman, bright, blue, and clear; now it was turbid and dark, like the Arve, with which it there mingled. The Rhone has a strong family likeness to the Rhine, but is neither so grand nor so picturesque. There were towns along its margin, where the river was confined within its banks by strong stone walls. Far above, amid the cliffs, were villages and vineyards, on the side of precipices; the |