sumptive person, had been eating rather imprudently, and had afterwards gone to sleep in one of those suffocating state-rooms below, where he was found in the morning in a state of insensibility. He sat upright on one of the settees, his eyes half closed-his face deathly, and streams of perspiration coursing down it, from the labor with which he drew his breath. A person whom we took for the ship's doctor occasionally offered a bottle of salts, and at each ear was a priest-the Greek on one side, the Romish on the other, whispering-words of exhortation or consolation, I suppose. But nothing was done to save his life. The captain took no more notice of him than he would have done of a dog; and indeed the dying man's dog was the only creature that seemed deeply concerned. Perhaps the case was evidently hopeless to those who understood it, but to us spectators the coolness of those about him was most trying. The poor man was able to hold himself upright; had his senses, evidently, and seemed in a condition to have admitted of some attempt at remedy. At least we felt that at home we should have thought so.

The first symptom of interest in the captain was a desire to put the dying man ashore, lest the vessel and all on board should be subjected to twenty days' quarantine, in case he should breathe his last on board. So the boat was lowered, and the poor dying creature lifted down to it-a most distressing sight. I saw him, as they placed his head too low, catch at the seat and raise himself, and I had the satisfaction of throwing down another pillow. They rowed to the shore,-to the hospital-and the poor

artist was dead in a half an hour. He left a wife and child in Milan, to whom he was going home after a two years' absence. The Roman priest never left him while he lived, and when he came back to the ship, he brought the little dog with him.

We lay off Leghorn from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon, a weary while to me, for I did not feel able to go ashore in the heat of the sun. Many of the people from the shore came on board to look at the vessel, as a sort of curiosity; and as their explorations were very thorough, I had but little undisturbed time for rest or reading. Most of our passengers leave us here. We are to be in Genoa in the morning.

GENOA, JULY 17.-Our poor femme de chambre on board the steamer, who was a most obliging creature, complained most bitterly that of all the ladies who left the steamer at Leghorn, not one gave her a sous. When we were coming away, the head-waiter tried to prevent our giving her anything, saying that whatever was given by the passengers was put into a common fund and divided among all the servants. But as there were several to whom we owed no personal civility, and we had a general impression that the men in such cases, as in most others, are apt to get the lion's share, we chose to follow our own leadings and give the stewardess a separate gratuitywith which she was somewhat consoled. These things do not appear to be very well managed.

We came to the Croce di Malta, for the sake of being with some American fellow-travellers; but we should have much preferred our pleasant Hotel Feder; besides that we make it a rule always to go again where we

have once been well-served. No pleasanter Hotel than the Feder can be found, and while it is under the same management we shall always make it a point to send our friends there.

After a very good breakfast we set about making up packages of letters and journals to send on towards home by the Sesostris, which goes directly to Marseilles, from which place our missives will be forwarded with all speed to London. We feel quite near home, at the thought that our letters will so soon be aboard of a Liverpool steamer, and reach New York in a few days afterwards. Our friends proceed to Milan in their own carriage, while we take the malle-poste.

MILAN.

We were eighteen hours in the Diligence, and the road was dusty and not very interesting. Our company consisted of a youthful and rather pretty dame going to her husband at Lodi-dressed à l'Italien, with short sleeves and bracelets, and no shawl; three young men very polite and attentive, and a very civil and obliging conductor. The young wife was modest and well-behaved, though there was a sort of unaffected, innocent freedom in her manners, which could hardly be judged safe under the circumstances. We rode all night, and in the morning, at Pavia, were met by a friend of the husband's, who had been deputed to meet the young lady, her natural protector not being able to leave his post. This person, a young mar

ried man, whose wife was the intimate friend of our fair companion, rallied the latter unmercifully, on having come in pursuit of her husband-on having disappointed him several times when he expected her-etc., all which she bore with wonderful good humor and self-possession, though the fellow was a perfect buffo, and kept every body screaming with laughter at his fun, all which was delivered with a face of the most immovable gravity.

We ought to have been provided with credentials for seeing the celebrated monastery called the Certosa, near Pavia, but having neglected this, we were obliged vexatiously to pass it by unvisited. It lay uninhabited and neglected for some years, but was again opened by authority in 1843, and is now subjected to partial inspection which it well rewards by its ancient and curious splendors. It was built by one of the fierce and cruel Visconti, upon the scene of whose bloody reign we now enter.

Pavia interested us, of course, but we could not stop to explore its antique towers and rich Duomo, where they keep the lance of Orlando, the famous Paladin,-a great shaft like a mast. Such relics remind me of the offer to exhibit the dagger which Macbeth thought he saw; a vial of the milk of human kindness, etc. There is however more of reality in the possession of the body of St. Augustine which lies here, in a magnificent four-story tomb. The women of Pavia wear a black silk veil or scarf drawn round the face and crossed over the breast, as those of Genoa wear the white one. The covered bridge over the Ticino is their fashionable promenade.

Milan, though a walled city, has a summer-like aspect,

and looks like the abode of a pleasure-loving community— as I suppose it is. It possesses the most beautiful boulevards, now in all their luxuriance; and the verdure in gardens, meadows and public walks, is I think the richest I ever saw. Such moist and full vegetation in July has even an unwholesome look, though it is too lovely to suggest such a thought. The city is seven miles about, and contains some hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. No inland town could be more beautiful; its site is about four hundred feet above the level of the sea.

We entered by the Porta Ticinese-the same by which Napoleon entered after the battle of Marengo. Our destination was the Albergo Reale, an excellent house, where we have the best service, and an elegant table d'hôte. The master of the house, Sr. Broschetti, has a picture gallery which contains some fine specimens, but above all the David of Guido, than which we have seen nothing finer by that master. It is a most delicious picture, and will doubtless find its way into the collection of some rich Englishman, for whom it is kept in reserve. Lord Ward seems to be the great English lover and patron of art, just now. We hear of him everywhere, and he is talked of as having some idea of purchasing this splendid Guido.

After we had breakfasted, napped, dressed and dined, we went to the Duomo-that unique and splendid edifice which some one thinks to have been suggested by the Alps with their snow-covered pinnacles, an idea at once natural and ingenious. The whole building bristles with pinnacles, or aiguilles, as they are called, and the façade is nearly pyramidal in shape, like the pictures of ice-bergs. This front was finished under the auspices of Napoleon,