pretty waterfalls-rapidly approaches the other village of Ponte a Serraglio, so called from the bridge, whose single arch crosses the Lima, and affords a convenient lounge for all possible grades of idlers. Now we are rattling through the well-paved streets of the little Borgo, something between a village and small country town, most beautifully situated on either side of the river; the houses suspended, as it were, over the rocky banks, and shut in on all sides by lovely mountains. There is nothing more enchanting than the view from the bridge: the mountains, terraced near their base with luxuriant vineyards, shoot upwards in the most harmonious lines, the summits mantling with chesnut forests, giving a charming softness to their forms; while valleys open in different directions, revealing fresh and apparently never-ending scenes of the same romantic beauty.

Ponte a Serraglio, situated midway between the two other villages lying right and left of Bagni Caldi and the Villa, is the central point of the Bagni di Lucca; and although not itself containing any mineral spring, is principally preferred as a residence from its greater convenience. Here the utmost coolness to be found in Italy may be enjoyed during the months of July and August, as the sun disappears full two hours earlier than elsewhere. From the extreme height of the mountains and the narrowness of the valley, mosquitoes are unknown; while the rushing Lima carries off all damp or unwholesome exhalations in its rapid current, cools the atmosphere, and delights the ear with its never-ending murmur. A propos, it is the noisiest river I know; perhaps the echoes of the mountains tend to increase this most agreeable quality on a sultry day, but if I lived on its immediate banks, I really think I never should be rightly awake, so lulling is the sound as it rushes over the rocks.

The baths lie at an elevation of 555 feet above the level of the neighbouring Mediterranean, and the heat never exceeds eighty degrees of Fahrenheit, which, added to the shortness of the time that old Sol forces his rays over the overshadowing mountains, renders it a place adapted beyond all others to dream away a delicious Italian summer in a luxurious sort of existence exceedingly like Elysium. There is a curious mixture of the freedom of a country life with the restraints of the most aristocratic exclusiveness; a union, too, of luxury with simplicity in expenditure and appearance most paradoxical. Standing on the Ponte, the most magnificent equipages roll by with all the pomp and circumstance of liveried servants and splendid horses worthy of Hyde Park, while parties of ladies appear mounted on donkeys, wearing large umbrella straw-hats, and princes and peasants lounge and smoke pell-mell together, not one whit better dressed than each other; indeed, as the inhabitants of the Bagni are generally a handsome race, the peasants decidedly have the best of it.

In that portion of the Ponte village first approached there is a large and handsome hotel, belonging to Pagnini, the great hotel-keeper of the Bagni, a sort of deputy grand-duke, far more useful and estimable than the usual Simon Pure, whom no one can endure. Various shops, among which is an English store, where everything is to be purchased, are found on this side, together with an excellent livery stable from Florence, where capital riding-horses and carriages may be hired "for a consideration." But the other side of the bridge is decidedly the court-end,

and it is on this fertile ground that all the scandal and gossip, for which the Ponte is so renowned, arises. Here is the Piazza, a small space beside the river, bounded on one side by the post-office and the caffè, under whose verandah I would be afraid to tell what thousands of reputations have been sacrificed to the reigning goddess of mischief, Pandora, whose box is always in a perpetual state of opening in these regions. The remaining houses adjoining the caffè are let as lodgings at very exorbitant prices, considering their size and the rate of expenditure in Italy. On the next side appears the second hotel belonging to Pagnini, a lofty house of many stories, where charming apartments may be had at moderate prices. On the fourth and remaining side appears the mysterious form of the Ponte,—a spot I afterwards learnt never to pass without a shudder, such an abomination of scandal lingers about it; where every step is watched, every look scanned, even one's clothes canvassed, and the very form and fashion of one's coiffure made the subject of minute and earnest discussion. I proposed that a certain witty friend of mine-Mr. M'Dermott-in imitation of Ruskin, should write the history of the stones of that bridge, and make each relate the dreadful tales they had heard in successive seasons; but even he, the chief, par excellence, of cancan and gossip, professed his inability for such an overwhelming task. So the river flows on, and the Ponte stands without a chronicler courageous enough to call up the shades of those who have suffered unknown grief and mortification, exile and moral death, on that spot.

But to proceed with the outward and visible of the Bagni. Turning to the left, along the bank of the river, a row of clean, white houses conducts one to the other hotel belonging to Pagnini, the Europa, where he himself resides. The very mention of the house reminds me of his fat, punchy person, his red, jocund face and laughing eye, standing in the doorway, with a kindly word to all passers by, from the grand duchess in her carriage and four, to the poorest cripple begging a quattrino. All the world loves old Pagnini, who is the very soul of the Bagni, and keeps things and people together in a wonderful way. He knows everybody and everything; and can do anything, from lending you 100l. to finding the quietest donkey for a sick child. His good-nature and obligingness are genuine and universal; decidedly, when we all have our due, he will be created Deputy Grand-Duke of the Bagni di Lucca. It is at this hotel the great table d'hôte is held, where all the beau monde from the two other hotels collect as the clock strikes five, and are to be seen slowly approaching from all sides, with umbrellas and large hats, in recherché morning toilets, to taste the good things awaiting them, and make sarcastic observations on their neighbours' manners and deportment, to be carefully digested at home into formidable tales of scandal, duly to be reported on the morrow at the caffè or the Ponte.

Immediately adjoining the Europa Hotel, raised on a handsome platform, ascended by a double flight of steps, appears the Casino Reale, where the balls are held. It is an elegant building of dazzling whiteness, consisting of a single story, supported by columns, with a large portico; spacious windows, with bright green jalousies, giving it a very cheerful appearance. It is extremely well laid out within, and during the government of the late Duke of Lucca some splendid entertainments took place

here; but no gambling is allowed under the present régime. Beyond are knots of villas beside the river, let to visitors; on the slope of the hill is an hospital and chapel, erected by Prince Demidoff; while above are the baths of the Docce Basse, where patients rejoice in marble baths and mineral water boiling hot. There are altogether ten mineral springs at the various points, with pump-rooms, as we call them, at hand, the waters being composed of carbonic acid gas, sulphate of lime, magnesia, alumine, potash, muriate of soda, and oxide of iron. But, spite of this formidable array of ingredients, they are, medicinally, but little esteemed, either internally or externally, and the Bagni owe their celebrity not to the waters, but to the lovely scenery amidst which the waters spring. Dr. C. is appointed physician to the baths by the court, but as far as the visitors are concerned his office is almost a sinecure.

Above, on a lofty eminence bordering the valley on one side, and shaded by charming woods, lies the village of the Bagni Caldi, much smaller than the Ponte, and not so favourite a situation on account of the tremendous hill on which it stands. It is approached by a zig-zag road running at the back of the Europa and the Casino, extremely shady and agreeable on a hot day. At the Bagni Caldi the court resides, often for four months at a time, in a great ugly building, absurdly small for their requirements, but into which they manage to cram, on account of the fine view it commands of three distinct valleys. Nothing, indeed, can be more lovely than the prospect from the balcony running along the front of the palace, on which the grand duchess, unless driving out, is almost always to be seen with her children. In the rear of this temporary palace are a few houses to be let, and another pump-room, with baths prepared for the duchess.

We will now return to the Piazza at Ponte a Serraglio, and, turning to the right hand, describe the geography of that direction. There are two roads that lead to the Villa, each equally pretty, on either side of the river; but the shortest is along the same bank on which we are now standing, and is generally towards evening thronged with pedestrians and carriages. The distance may be a mile and a half, along a capital road, bordered by lovely trees covered with feathering red flowers, strewing the path with blossoms. I never saw anything more beautiful than these trees, but what they are called in English I do not know. On the left, a steep bank rises abruptly from the road, terraced with vineyards to the Below rushes the river, broader here height of several hundred feet. low the wall protects passers parapet and more rocky than at the Ponte; a by, looking over which, on the opposite bank rise the wooded heights on whose summit stands Lugliano. Deep valleys separate the line of mountains winding among the lower hills, down which lovely rivulets and streams come pouring through romantic woody glens, dancing over the masses of rock that obstruct their passage, all seeking the Lima, the reEach secluded valley is in itself a ceiver of these tributary streams. study of beautiful scenery, soft, harmonious in outline, and exquisitely green and fresh; but among the multitude of picturesque points of view many verdant passes are positively overlooked, from the impossibility of exploring each particular spot in these enchanting regions.

I never shall forget, the first evening I arrived at the Bagni, wandering along this very road. I was freshly arrived from England,

and the scene appeared so fairy-like and enchanting, that I felt as if I were walking in a dream. There was sufficient light to mark all the outlines of the surrounding mountains, while the river glided by, lit up by the moon's rays, catching the waves and foam here and there, and tinging them with silvery brightness. The beautiful fire-flies (Lucciole) were floating about the road and the trees by thousands, in all directions-now flying upwards, bright as a taper; then, as they flapped their tiny wings, becoming instantly invisible. I thought of the Happy Valley of Rasselas. I felt convinced that this was the very place, and that the old Doctor must have beheld it in a vision. An atmosphere of poetry and romance breathed around; peace hovered over a scene so heavenly, inhabited, as my imagination pictured, by a nobler and purer race of mortals than the common souls who lived on the prosaic plains. Here sorrow or suffering could never penetrate; these valleys must be consecrated to all that was good, great, and beautiful—a heaven on earth I painted it, for every step opened out some fresh scene of beauty, some feature I had not yet observed. Such were my dreams on my first arrival; but as far as the inhabitants, and the peacefulness, and the celestial serenity, and all that went, I certainly was rapidly undeceived. Here all was beautiful save the inhabitants, and they alone destroyed the enchantment, bringing the contentions, the bitterness, the sorrows, the meanness, and the intrigues of the outer world, into a retreat where nature had decreed that all should be tranquillity and peace.

But I will confine myself to my first delightful impressions, and proceed. On either side of this road various charming summer residences, embosomed in the trees and the rising hills (perfect green nests, shady and refreshing to the eye), present themselves, and are annually let to visitors. This is the favourite situation, and a good house, completely furnished, may be obtained for about forty pounds for the season. Here the Villa Broderick is situated, enshrouded in trees; lying low, on the very margin of the river, it looks more like some temple dedicated to the Nereids than any mortal habitation-the house scarcely visible amid the leafy shroud around it. Farther on, up a rising road to the left, is the English church, a square, handsome building in the Venetian style. A little above, on the same road, is a large gloomy mass of buildings, once the grand ducal palace, but now shut up, the present family preferring the more extensive view and cheerful situation of the Bagni Caldi.

Following the high road we soon arrive at the Villa, where numberless houses of various sizes and pretensions offer themselves to notice, almost all with beautiful gardens sloping down to the river side. There is a melancholy air, however, about the Villa, in which neither of the other villages share, which always made me dislike it, spite of the excellent hotels, and the good shops of all descriptions, and the many pretty houses it contains. In size it stands next to the Ponte, and every English comfort may be procured here necessary for a family. The houses all let, and yet it looks desolate and uninhabited; one cannot exactly say why, but so it is. Beyond the long street forming the village the road turns sharp down to the right, over a bridge. Crossing the Lima, along the opposite side, through beautiful overhanging woods, along which I purpose conducting the reader on some future occasion, my intention in this introductory chapter being simply to present the prominent features of

the Bagni and their locality in an intelligible manner, in order to render any future description comprehensible to the reader who is yet unfortunate enough not to have visited one of the loveliest spots in all-beautiful Italy.

In mentioning the general particulars of the Bagni life, I must make honourable mention of the ponies, which are excellent, in great numbers, and extremely cheap, a man and horse being procured for about two shillings for a long ride either in the romantic tracks along the mountains, or on the level ground below, where the roads are all so excellent one might fancy oneself transported into a nobleman's park. As soon as the sun sinks behind the mountain-tops, about five o'clock, a deep shade overspreads the whole district, when groups of equestrians gallop about in all directions.

The roads, too, rapidly fill with elegantly-dressed ladies-for the French fashions are as much regarded here as in their native Paris-accompanied by the lords of the creation, rejoicing in tremendous displays of beard, whisker, and imperials; as to dress, got up as much as possible in the brigand style. The ladies wear large hats of Leghorn straw, or Swiss or Nice, fashion, with streamers fantastic and pretty, and assimilating well with the sylvan scenery: fans, too, are in great request, and no one, however humble, is to be seen without this appendage always in active use. An Italian woman could not talk without her fan, which she whirls about unceasingly, while the English visitors endeavour to imitate these pretty graces to the best of their ability-hence arises a perpetual fluttering and buzzing of fans, in-doors and out, wherever you go.

The two seasons I spent here not a house was unlet, and the hotels were crammed; although certainly, as far as society went, it was incredible what the people did with themselves, and where they hid; for parties there were scarcely any, and sociability there was none-the Italians not mixing with the English because they were so ill-natured—(a true bill, in sober truth)-while the English shuddered at the Italians because they were Italians, so immoral, and then they did not know who their fathers and grandfathers might have been. The Americans visited among themselves; and the new converts, of whom there were several families, mixing with no one at all, but going about in the most solitary manner, with dolorous, mortified faces, grievous to behold. The only person they condescended to know was the grandduchess, who, being a bit of a dévote, took them under her especial chaperonage.

Why the English abroad are generally so dreadfully repulsive and unsociable I cannot divine. They really look as if they hated themselves and all mankind. Instead of being softened by the beauteous scenes around them, they appear determined to envelop themselves in their own pride and morgue as with an impenetrable mantle. On this account they are almost universally disliked in Italy, while French, Germans, and Russians are sought after and fêted. Perhaps it is ignorance of the language which partly occasions this absurd hauteur and distance, as our countrymen generally are renowned for their deplorable deficiencies as linguists. From whatever cause, the fact is as I have stated, and I would only request any doubters on the subject to visit the English congregation at the Bagni to convince themselves of the truth of my assertion. Here,