smal scenes accompanied us half the way. We then entered the
Bolognese, and things began to look a little better. Bologna, though
under the Papal Government, has long been famous for nourishing a hardy,
liberty-loving people, though, if report does them justice, extremely
licentious and infidel. Its motto is "_libertas_;" and the air of
liberty is favourable, it would seem, to vegetation; for the fields
looked greener the moment we had crossed the barrier. Soon we were
charmed with the sight of Bologna. Its appearance is indeed imposing,
and gives promise of something like life and industry within its walls.
A noble cluster of summits,--an offshoot of the Apennines,--rises
behind the city, crowned with temples and towers. Within their bosky
declivities, from which tall cypress-trees shoot up, lie embowered
villas and little watch-towers, with their glittering vanes. At the foot
of the hill is spread out the noble city, with its leaning towers and
its tall minaret-looking steeples. The approach to the walls reminded me
that below these ramparts sleeps Ugo Bassi. I afterwards searched for
his resting-place, but could find no one who either would or could show
me his tomb. A more eloquent declaimer than even Gavazzi, I have been
assured by those who knew him, was silenced when Ugo Bassi fell beneath
the murderous fire of the Croat's musket.

After the death-like desertion and silence of Ferrara, the feeble bustle
of Bologna seemed like a return to the world and its ways. Its streets
are lined with covered porticoes, less heavy than those of Padua, but
harbouring after nightfall, says the old traveller ARCHENHOLTZ, robbers
and murderers, of whom the latter are the more numerous. He accounts for
this by saying, that whereas the robber has to make restitution before
receiving absolution, the murderer, whether condemned to die or set at
liberty, receives full pardon, without the "double labour," as Sir John
Falstaff called it, of "paying back." Its hundred churches are vast
museums of sculpture and painting. Its university, which the Bolognese
boast is the oldest in Europe, rivalled Padua in its glory, and now
rivals it in its decay. Its two famous leaning towers,--the rent in the
bottom of one is quite visible,--are bending from age, and will one day
topple over, and pour a deluge of old bricks upon the adjoining
tenements. Its "Academy of the Fine Arts" is, after Rome and Florence,
the finest in Italy. It is filled with the w