relative to
this church. "A poor man prayed to the Madonna to reveal to him some
lucky numbers for the lottery. He had a dream, in which, as he imagined,
she suggested a trio of numbers. He made his purchases accordingly, but
they turned out blanks. In revenge for this delusion, he attacked the
image of the Madonna della Consolazione, when borne in procession
through the city to the Superga, and mutilated it with a hatchet. The
mob was enraged, and would have torn him in pieces had he not been
rescued by the soldiers, and he was conveyed as a madman to a lunatic
asylum." These lotteries are a means of ruin and demoralization in every
Italian town, the lottery offices, where the winning numbers are
displayed, being only less plentiful than the _cafes_. I believe many of
the poorer people invest their savings in these "official"
gambling-places, and the majority are much the worse for so doing. But
the State evidently profits by this infatuation for gaming, just as the
pope and the priests enrich themselves by the blind superstition of the
ignorant and foolish. The suppression of these Lotto banks should be
among the first reforming acts of Italy: far wiser to substitute a
State savings-bank, on the lines of our Post-office system. Bearing to
the eastward of the Castello, up the Via di Po, we came to the Ponte di
Po, a fine bridge across the river, which greatly resembles the Arno,
but is rather cleaner in colour. Crossing the bridge, we mounted the
rather steep hill to the Capuchin Church of Del Monti at the top. This
hill has been of great military importance in a strategetic point of
view, commanding, as it does, the town, river, and valley. A little
higher up is a kind of observatory; and on ascending the stairs, we
found ourselves in the Alpine Club of North Italy. Here is an
interesting little Museum, with a very good and instructive collection
of Alpine plants, minerals, maps, etc. From the balcony outside we had a
most glorious and impressive view. Immediately below, the river Po,
pursuing its rapid course towards the sea, watering the valleys on its
way,--rich plains stretching far and wide, and the city of Turin lying
in a grand mountain hollow, spread like a map before us; beyond, like an
impenetrable barrier, and arranged in a mighty semicircle, towered the
great Alpine range. On the left, the Maritime Alps; then the Cottians,
with Monte Viso, Mont Cenis, and the Grand Paradis, the Pennines to
Monte Rosa, and