ir palaces, their sculpture, fountains, and flowers. On the
summit of almost every hill there is a fortress, and often ramparts
which are silhouetted, in dark masses, against the sky. Orange groves
abound on the terraces, often showing the golden fruit, buds, and
blossoms all at the same time.

Genoa is fairly a metropolis of sculpture. The great families have
themselves perpetuated in portrait statues rather than in painted
portraits. In one of the grand ducal palaces in the Via Balbi the
visitor may see, not only the life-size statues and the busts of the
family ancestry, but one group comprising nine figures, where three
generations are represented, in both sitting and standing poses,
ingeniously combined.

The churches of Genoa are among the richest in Europe. That of the
Annunziata, the special monument of the Lomellini family, glitters and
gleams with its gold ceilings and rich frescoes. The cathedral has the
special allurement of the emerald dish which King Solomon received as
a gift from the Queen of Sheba. The little "street of the jewellers" is
an alluring place,--so narrow that one can almost stand in the centre of
the road and touch the shop windows on either hand, and these windows
dazzle the eye with their fascinating glitter of gold and silver
filigree work and their rich jewels.

[Illustration: CAMPO SANTO, GENOA
_Page 453_]

Beyond all other curious excursions that even a Magic Land can offer is
that to the Campo Santo of Genoa. A cloistered promenade encloses a
square, and above are terraced colonnades, each and all revealing
statues, and monuments, and groups of sculpture whose varied beauty,
oddity, or bizarre effects are a curious study. Some memorials--as one
of an angel with outstretched wings; another of a flight of angels
bearing the soul away; another combining the figure of Christ with the
cross, and angels hovering near--are full of beauty. Others are a marvel
of ingenious and incongruous combination. One of the latter represents
the man whose memory it commemorates as lying on his bed in his last
illness; the physician stands by, his fingers on the patient's pulse;
on the opposite side a maid is approaching with a dish holding some
article of food, and near the physician are grouped the wife, with a
little child clinging to her skirts; the son, holding his hat with both
hands and looking down on it, and the daughter, a young girl, with her
eyes raised to heaven. Each