is that of the Arno, whose silvery stream
in ordinary times is seen winding and glistening amid the olives and the
chestnut groves which border its course. When evening came, a deep
spiritual beauty pervaded the region. As we swept along, many a romantic
hill rose beside our path, with its clustering village, its mantling
vines, and its robe of purple shadows; and many a long withdrawing
ravine opened on the right and left, with its stream, and its crags, and
its olives, and its castles. What would we have given for but a minute's
pause, to admire the finer points! But the engine held its onward way,
as if its course had been amidst the most indifferent scenery in the
world. It made amends, however, for the enchanting views which it swept
into oblivion behind, by perpetually opening in front others as lovely
and fascinating. The twilight had set, and the moon was shining
brightly, when we reached the station at Pisa.

The Austrian soldier who kept the gate challenged me as I passed, but I
paid no attention, and hurried on. Had he secured my passport, I would
infallibly have been detained a whole day. I traversed the long winding
streets of the decaying town, crossed the Arno, on which the city
stands, and, coming out on the other side of Pisa, found myself in
presence of its fine ecclesiastical buildings. A moon nearly full, which
seemed to veil while it in reality heightened their beauty, enabled me
to see these venerable edifices to advantage. The hanging tower is a
beautiful pile of white marble; the Cathedral is one of the most
chastely elegant specimens of architecture in all Italy; the baptistry,
too peculiar to be classic, is, nevertheless, a tasteful and elegant
design. Having surveyed these lovely creations of the wealth and genius
of a past age, I returned in time to take my seat in the last train for
Leghorn.

The country betwixt Pisa and the coast is perfectly flat, and the
flooded Arno had converted it into a sea. I could see nothing around me
but a watery waste, above which the railway rose but a few inches. I
felt as if again amid the Lagunes of Venice. After an hour and a half's
riding, we reached Leghorn, where I took up my abode at Thomson's hotel,
so well and so favourably known to English travellers. After my long
sojourn in Italian _albergi_, whose uncarpeted floors, and chinky
windows and doors, are but ill fitted to resist the winds and cold of
winter, I sat down in "Thomson's,"--furnished as it