ntibes
stands. Farther still the back-ground is surmounted by the colossal
groups of the Maritime Alps. The descent from this hill to level ground
is about seven miles of road as excellent as the former part of the
stage; the whole having been very much improved by Buonaparte; and
although the distance from Frejus to Cannes cannot be less than
twenty-eight miles, it appears to occupy a shorter space of time than
many much shorter stages.

A nearer approach to Cannes in no way disappointed us: the bay of
Napoule, in the centre of which it is situated, presents, in different
points of view, every variety of Italian scenery; and there may be
conjectures less probable than that it was called originally by mariners
the bay of Napoli, from some fancied likeness. To the latter celebrated
spot it bears somewhat of a resemblance, but a stronger still to the
Porto Venere, or bay of Spezia, both in the wilder and the softer part
of its features; and the illusion is kept up by the grouping and form of
the houses, and the Italian patois of the inhabitants, who are mostly a
colony of Genoese fishermen. Nor ought the Hotel des Trois Pigeons to be
forgotten, though its cleanliness and comfort, and the cheerful alacrity
of its inmates, remind the traveller more of some quiet country inn on
the Devon or Somerset coast, than of any thing Italian or French. It
stands on a little rock just out of the town, looking on the sea, and
facing the island of St. Marguerite; and there is perhaps no scene in
which more historical recollections are combined under one point of
view, than that which its windows command. The island, whose garrison
and buildings are distinguishable by the naked eye, was for many years
the prison of the mysterious Masque de Fer, whose identity, like that of
Junius, has hitherto baffled conjecture. In the room where we were
sitting Murat passed some of the time intervening between his expulsion
from Naples, and the crisis of his fate; and on the sands about half a
mile to the left, is the spot where Buonaparte first landed from Elba,
and bivouacked during the night, surrounded by numbers whom curiosity
had drawn out of the town to behold him. There is perhaps something
characteristic of the different fortunes of this singular man, in the
place from which he had embarked for Elba a year before, and in that
where he first set foot on his return, full of hope and confidence. The
former was Frejus, a place dreary and comfortles