weed, with caustic odor, its tides being scarcely our voluntary humiliation, and our brief exaltaperceptible. A less pleasing peculiarity of the shore at Nice, and, as far as my observation extends, of the entire coast of the Mediterranean, is its appropriation by the common people as a laundry. As we sauntered through the elegant Promenade the contrast between our right and left hand views was sharply marked. On the right was a continuous stream of fashion and display; gilded carriages, with huge flunkies without and ladies in opera costume within; horsemen and horsewomen on dashing steeds; promenaders in gala dress which, with gentlemen at least, is considered incomplete without the Nicene umbrella-an absurd gray linen parasol, lined with blue, green, or brown. On the left hand, as far as the eye could see, were men, women, and children washing household and body linen in small pools of water, with an indescribable accompaniment of pounding, singing, scolding, rubbing, and shaking; while the entire extent of pebbly coast was spread with garments in process of drying. Woe to that woman (and to all within reach of the vials of her wrath) whose half-dried linen became the prey of some frolicsome wave, creeping slyly up beyond its fellows. The result of that promenade was the impression that the world is divided into two great classes, linenwearers and linen - washers, the latter being somewhat in the majority. Apropos to this subject, and to the surprise I expressed that garments not only survived these destructive processes, but actually come forth in wearable order, I was informed confidentially by a young Briton, a graduate of Cambridge University, that it was only in England that the use of hot water and soap for the laundry was known! Oh wives, daughters, and servantmaids of America! rest assured that I was equal to the occasion, and asserted your rival claim to this root of all knowledge. We bade farewell to Nice even more reluctantly than we entered it, committing ourselves to the mercies of a little dirty punt-the universal medium of transport, whether for man or merchandise, from the dry land to the Mediter ranean steamers. I have squandered many minutes and much ingenuity in devising a dainty mode of insinuating an offensive fact connected with this portion of my travels; but finally, rejecting all euphuisms, I state boldly that we took secondclass tickets by the Italian steamer from Nice to Genoa. The day being perfect, and the route following the incomparably beautiful shore at so little distance that every object was distinctly visible, we could hardly leave the deck, even for the time occupied by our déjeuner; and as this was served for us in the first cabin (at the instigation of the captain, and doubtless in compliment to our distinguished appearance), we had every desirable advantage of other first-class passengers. The young Englishman whose saponaceous pride I have already celebrated shared VOL. XXXI.-No. 183.-BB tion. Although our privileges included full sweep of the entire deck, yet we fancied that in the bow we saw nature, human and otherwise, to best advantage, and accordingly there we sat, upon a coil of rope, absorbed in the attractions of the shore and the distractions immediately about us, as long as daylight lingered. The vetturino journey over the Reviera is very celebrated for its beauty; yet it would seem that the nearer hills must often close in about the land traveler and rob him of the vision of remoter mountain summits which tower gloriously in full view from the steamer's deck-which steamers (with all deference to Mr. Murray, who declares that "they generally perform the voyage by night") make the trip by daylight, and, in our experience, the journey was rather like a quiet sail along a river's bank than like an ocean voyage. In the exquisite Bay of Villafranca, which is so sheltered by its hills that the sharp breath of the snow Alps can not pierce to it, two Russian ships of war lay at anchor, surrounded by a bevy of little sail-boats: these were doubtless sent by the Czar to watch about his absent Ursa Major. Further on, perched upon a lofty peak (and looking as if it had gone there with the intention of sliding down hill, but had thought better of it), was the village of Esa, with its castle; and, indeed, wherever a particularly inaccessible height presented itself, there, upon its very barrenest tip, clung the habitations of men, who build, like the robins, after the traditions of their fathers, although all necessity for such isolation and elevation passed away long ago with the abrogation of the law "That he should keep who hath the power, The sun, which blesses alike the evil and the good, fairly flooded that absurd little pocketmonarchy Monaco as we passed by, and beckoned the unwary to its gilded vice from glittering walls and towers. Above Mentone tower picturesque dolomite mountains, whose shelter renders the neat little city below specially attractive to northern invalids, who, however, on arriving, find that Italian physicians send their consumptive countrymen to Sicily, whose inhabitants are setting sail for Cairo, from whence delicate Egyptians flee to Algiers to discover that the Poor Joes of that country must still "move on," seeking a healthful clime in that yellow segment of the other hemisphere which is mysteriously labeled “Unexplored;" and what further sanitary expatriations lie between this latter refuge and "that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns" deponent saith not. Bordighera is interesting to us from having produced a true Yankee, who inexplicably went thither to be born, following the example of a little friend of mine, who, on being asked was she born in New Jersey, indignantly replied, “No, indeed! I used to live there, but I went hoary with age, perpetuated in the art of ancient Thebes, quoted by Cicero, and practiced by even the beggars of modern Italy. It has even originated an admirable proverb, which, alas! is not likely to become worn by use in "Rome of to-day"-He is so trust-worthy one may play Morra with him in the dark. For a fuller description of this and other peculiarly Roman games vide Mr. Story's "Roba di Roma," and be sure and try the game of Morra for yourself. to Vermont to be born!" This misborn hero was one of the multitude which watched the fruitless efforts at raising the huge Egyptian obelisk of the Piazza of St. Peter's, when six hundred workmen, one hundred and forty horses, forty-six cranes, the Pope's benediction, and High Mass itself utterly failed to lift the ponderous mass of red granite. Then Yankee ingenuity, embodied in a Bordigheran sailor, broke the awful silence which had been ordained during the solemn ceremony with the canny suggestion, "Why don't you wet the ropes ?" which But our approach to Porto Maurizio interbeing done the 1,284,720 pounds assumed their rupted the sport of the handsome Genoese and present position, and Pope Sixtus V. conferred sharp Neapolitan, who had been for half an hour upon the townspeople of the brilliant Bresca incessantly "flashing their fingers" at each oth(the Yankee's surname) the privilege of grow-er-as the old Latin picturesquely expresses it— ing all the sacred palm-branches which shall and our vessel here lay to long enough to receive figure at St. Peter's on Palm Sunday through-passengers brought in little boats from the town out all ages. Accordingly, when we looked out upon the palms of Bordighera last December, they were done up in curl-papers preparatory to the Easter festival, their leaves being swathed in order that they might acquire a pious unhealthiness of hue befitting their sacred destiny. Just beyond this historic town there opened to us through a gorge in the nearer hills a superb view of four distinct ranges of mountains, the loftier peaks snow-crowned and seeming to shine by their own light. As we drift smoothly on, other vessels, with quaint rigging and triangular sails, pass by us, and as the breeze springs up we ourselves spread a sail and spin over the blue water. I, being well read in my Bible, have keen suspicions that the Euroclydon is brewing, but am reassured by the calmness of crew and passengers, and speedily become engrossed in watching the now familiar game of Morra, then seen for the first time. This game, which was in fashion two thousand years before Christ's advent, and which is universally and untiringly played throughout Italy to-day, is on this wise. Two persons sit opposite each other with their right hands closed and their left held up to keep the reckoning of the game. The sport consists in each throwing out at once one or more fingers toward his antagonist with a sudden motion, and crying out, explosively, the number which he guesses their combined fingers will make“Tre!” “Otto!” “Tutti!" Whoever guesses the true number wins a point (unless his antagonist also guesses the same, when it counts nothing), which is told off by an uplifted finger of the left hand. This simple game is, as has been said, which crowns the summit of a rocky promontory utterly destitute of trees except a fringe about the foot. At this point of our journey, or rather at Oneglia, the half-way town, our adjectives entirely failed us, and we found ourselves reduced to monosyllabic ejaculations and exclamation points. There surely can not be a more delectable panorama in all the world than this on some rare day when the hills are bluer than ever Titian dared to paint, and the atmosphere and quiet bays more "luminous" than Tilton kindles, and the snow Alps shine in transfiguration robes, white and glistering. Our first impression of Genoa left us no desire to challenge her title as La Superba. The blue heavens were shining above us, and the perpendicular streets of the city, also spangled with innumerable lesser lights, rose before us. But the heavenly vision was rudely disturbed by an influx of Charon's boatmen, who rushed madly at us and into and over each other in their clumsy craft, with a wild accompaniment of jokes, bickering, and swearing, occasionally bursting into amazing bravuras, which reminded us painfully that "Italy is the land of song." Verily, had the illustrious Genoese been so set upon at his first approach to our continent he might have been forgiven if he had incontinently fled and borne back such a tale of dread that we had remained undiscovered to the present day. But we were mercifully delivered alive from the hospitalities of our foster-brothers, and regarded it as a happy coincidence that our first landing on Italian shores should be in the birth-place of Christopher Columbus. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. BY CHARLES DICKENS. IN FOUR BOOKS.-BOOK THE THIRD. A LONG LANE. CHAPTER XV. THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN AT HIS WORST. TH HE breakfast-table at Mr. Boffin's was usually a very pleasant one, and was always presided over by Bella. As though he began each new day in his healthy,natural character, and some waking hours were necessary to his relapse into the corrupting influences of his wealth, the face and the demeanor of the Golden Dustman were generally unclouded at that meal. It would have been easy to believe then that there was no change in him. It was as the day went on that the clouds gathered, and the brightness of the morning became obscured. One might have said that the shadows of avarice and distrust lengthened as his own shadow lengthened, and that the night closed around him gradually. sage from Mr. Boffin begging her to come to his. Mrs. Boffin was there, seated on a sofa, and Mr. Boffin was jogging up and down. On seeing Bella he stopped, beckoned her to him, and drew her arm through his. "Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said, gently; "I am not angry with you. Why you actually tremble! Don't be alarmed, Bella, my dear. I'll see you righted." "See me righted ?" thought Bella. And then repeated aloud in a tone of astonishment: "sec me righted, Sir ?" "Ay, ay!" said Mr. Boffin. "See you righted. Send Mr. Rokesmith here, you Sir." Bella would have been lost in perplexity if there had been pause enough; but the servant found Mr. Rokesmith near at hand, and he almost immediately presented himself. "Shut the door, Sir!" said Mr. Boffin. "I have got something to say to you which I fancy you'll not be pleased to hear." "I am sorry to reply, Mr. Boffin," returned the Secretary, as, having closed the door, he turned and faced him, "that I think that very likely." "What do you mean?" blustered Mr. Boffin. "I mean that it has become no novelty to me But one morning, long afterward to be remembered, it was black midnight with the Golden Dustman when he first appeared. His altered character had never been so grossly marked. His bearing toward his Secretary was so charged with insolent distrust and arrogance, that the latter rose and left the table before breakfast was half done. The look he directed at the Secretary's retiring figure was so cunning- to hear from your lips what I would rather not ly malignant, that Bella would have sat astound-hear." ed and indignant, even though he had not gone the length of secretly threatening Rokesmith with his clenched fist as he closed the door. This unlucky morning, of all mornings in the year, was the morning next after Mr. Boffin's interview with Mrs. Lammle in her little car-hood too. riage. Bella looked to Mrs. Boffin's face for comment on, or explanation of, this stormy humor in her husband, but none was there. An anxious and a distressed observation of her own face was all she could read in it. When they were left alone together-which was not until noon, for Mr. Boffin sat long in his easy-chair, by turns jogging up and down the breakfastroom, clenching his fist and muttering-Bella, in consternation, asked her what had happened, what was wrong? "I am forbidden to speak to you about it, Bella dear; I mustn't tell you," was all the answer she could get. And still, whenever, in her wonder and dismay, she raised her eyes to Mrs. Boffin's face, she saw in it the same anxious and distressed observation of her own. Oppressed by her sense that trouble was impending, and lost in speculations why Mrs. Boffin should look at her as if she had any part in it, Bella found the day long and dreary. It was far on in the afternoon when, she being in her own room, a servant brought her a mes "Oh! Perhaps we shall change that," said Mr. Boffin with a threatening roll of his head. "I hope so," returned the Secretary. He was quiet and respectful; but stood, as Bella thought (and was glad to think), on his man "Now, Sir," said Mr. Boffin, "look at this young lady on my arm." Bella involuntarily raising her eyes, when this sudden reference was made to herself, met those of Mr. Rokesmith. He was pale and seemed agitated. Then her eyes passed on to Mrs. Boffin's, and she met the look again. In a flash it enlightened her, and she began to understand what she had done. "I say to you, Sir," Mr. Boffin repeated, "look at this young lady on my arm." "I do so," returned the Secretary. As his glance rested again on Bella for a moment, she thought there was reproach in it. But it is possible that the reproach was within herself. "How dare you, Sir," said Mr. Boffin, "tamper, unknown to me, with this young lady? How dare you come out of your station, and your place in my house, to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses?" "I must decline to answer questions," said the Secretary, "that are so offensively asked." "You decline to answer?" retorted Mr. Bof fin. "You decline to answer, do you? Then I'll tell you what it is, Rokesmith; I'll answer for you. There are two sides to this matter, and I'll take 'em separately. The first side is, sheer Insolence. That's the first side." The Secretary smiled with some bitterness, as though he would have said, "So I see and hear." "It was sheer Insolence in you, I tell you," said Mr. Boffin, "even to think of this young lady. This young lady was far above you. This young lady was no match for you. This young lady was lying in wait (as she was qualified to do) for money, and you had no money." Bella hung her head and seemed to shrink a little from Mr. Boffin's protecting arm. "What are you, I should like to know," pursued Mr. Boffin, "that you were to have the audacity to follow up this young lady? This young lady was looking about the market for a good bid; she wasn't in it to be snapped up by fellows that had no money to lay out; nothing to buy with." "Oh, Mr. Boffin! Mrs. Boffin, pray say something for me!" murmured Bella, disengaging her arm, and covering her face with her hands. "Old lady," said Mr. Boffin, anticipating his |