e memory of the dead. There are in some of the
recesses, either in the form of medallions or busts, life-like
representations of those who have gone before. But the fashion of the
day is improving upon this. In the newest sculptures there is
exceedingly little of the dead, and as much as possible of the living.

About half-way down the colonnade, entering from the right, there is a
memorable group. A woman of middle age, portly presence and expansive
dress, is discovered in the centre on her knees, with hands clasped.
The figure is life-size and every detail of adornment, from the heavy
bracelet on her wrist to the fine lace of her collar, is wrought from
the imperishable marble. On her face is an expression of profound grief,
tempered by the consciousness that her large earrings have been done
justice to. Standing at a respectful distance behind her is a youth with
bared head drooped, and a tear delicately chiselled in the eye nearest
to the spectator. He carries his hat in his hand, displays much
shirt-cuff; and the bell-shaped cut of the trouser lying over his dainty
boot makes his foot look preciously small.

These figures, both life-size, stand in an arched recess, and show to
the best advantage. Just above the arch the more observant visitor will
catch sight of a small medallion, modestly displaying, about half
life-size, the face of an ordinary-looking man, who may have been a
prosperous linendraper or a cheesefactor with whom the markets had gone
well. This is presumably the deceased, and it is difficult to imagine
anything more soothing to the feelings of his widow and son than to come
here in the quiet evenings or peaceful mornings and contemplate their
own life-sized figures so becomingly bereaved.

Mosquitoes do not meddle with woe so sacred as this; but at San Remo,
for example, which has no Campo Santo, they are having what is known in
the American language as a high old time. Along the Riviera the shutters
of the hotels are taken down in the first week of October. Then arrives
the proprietor with the advance guard of servants, and the third cook;
the _chef_ and his first lieutenant will not come till a month later. In
the meantime the third cook can prepare the meals for the establishment
and for any chance visitor whom evil fate may have led untimeously into
these parts. Then begins the scrubbing down and the dusting, the
bringing out of stored carpets, and the muffling of echoing corridors
in brown ma