frequently you find
them acquainted with English. From Russia the mania for this tongue
has spread all over the Continent, and in Italy English seems to be
prized first among the virtues.

As we drew near Genoa, the moon came out on purpose to show us the
superb city, and we strove eagerly for a first glimpse of the proud
capital where Columbus was born. To tell the truth, the glimpse was
but slight and false, for railways always enter cities by some mean
level, from which any picturesque view is impossible.

Near the station in Genoa, however, is the weak and ugly monument
which the municipality has lately raised to Columbus. The moon made
the best of this, which stands in a wide open space, and contrived,
with an Italian skill in the arrangement of light, to produce an
effect of undeniable splendor. On the morrow, we found out by the
careless candor of the daylight what a uselessly big head Columbus
had, and how the sculptor had not very happily thought proper to
represent him with his sea-legs on.

V.

UP AND DOWN GENOA.

I had my note-book with me on this journey, and pledged myself to
make notes in it. And, indeed, I did really do something of the kind,
though the result of my labors is by no means so voluminous as I would
like it to be, now when the work of wishing there were more notes is
so easy. We spent but one day in Genoa, and I find such a marvelous
succinct record of this in my book that I am tempted to give it here,
after the fashion of that Historical Heavyweight who writes the Life
of "Frederick the Great."

"_Genoa, November 13_.--Breakfast _a la fourchette_ excellently
and cheaply. I buy a hat. We go to seek the Consul, and, after
finding every thing else for two hours, find him. Genoa is the
most magnificent city I ever saw; and the new monument to
Columbus about the weakest possible monument. Walk through the
city with Consul; Doge's palace; cathedral; girl turning
somersaults in the street; blind madman on the cathedral steps.
We leave for Naples at twelve midnight."

As for the breakfast, it was eaten at one of the many good caffe in
Genoa, and perhaps some statistician will like to know that for a
beefsteak and potatoes, with a half-bottle of Ligurian wine, we paid a
franc. For this money we had also the society of an unoccupied waiter,
who leaned against a marble column and looked on, with that gentle,
half-compassionate interest in our appetites,