The first thing which strikes a foreigner here, is the narrowness of the streets. Indeed, there are very few over which you cannot step from roof to roof. Carriages are rarely seen. Mules are the only living objects visible, beside human beings. The streets are not gloomy, however. They are lined with fine houses, built when the maritime splendor of Genoa was at its zenith. These houses are all called palaces. They have been such, but from the poverty of the nobles, or from some other cause, they have been leased out. I saw a blacksmith shop in the lower story of one of them; and little stores are not uncommon in some of the largest class. These palaces looked worn and tired; their painting spoiled, and not unlike a fine lady jaded after some grand ball. The paintings on the marble walls are rubbed and dim. The statues, almost all of them, have their noses knocked off. The fine stair cases, with their guardian marble forms, look dirty and neglected. Yet Genoa is superb; every body says so. It would not do for us to say nay, to such a community of affirmation.

I do not mean to say that there are not exceptions, though few, to this untoward appearance of the palaces. Nor would I thus depicture the inner appearance. Our visions to-day forbid. There is an air of massiveness and stoneness about the edifices, which is as striking as it is comfortless. This is as apparent in the old as in the new part of the city. The best of the palaces exhibit to the gazer moving past, a large hall, supported partly on columns, leading to an alcove, or court, surrounded by arcades, the arches of which are supported upon columns. Flights of marble steps lift themselves far up; and above and beyond is a great stair-case rising on each hand, and frequently further beyond is a small garden, shaded by oranges, and sprinkled with the spray and voiceful with the music of fountains.

We have not as yet visited the interior of any palace, though we have of some of the churches. Our first visit was to the Duomo, or Cathedral, built in the eleventh century. How dif ferent are these churches in Italy, from Westminster or Nôtre

Dame. These latter seem to be mouldering. Owing to the softer material, and a northern clime, they must of necessity first yield. To all appearance, the Duomo is as young as ever. It is of black and white marble, and is altogether out of shape. Only one tower is built where the taste calls for two. Throughout the church there is illustrated the Genoese medley. The aisles and naves are separated by fine Corinthian columns, connected by pointed arches of Gothic, and bearing a horizontal entablature; above which is an arcade supported by columns and piers. The same black and white marble appears within.

We are allowed to go within the choir. The seats are finely inlaid with musical instruments. A bronze Madonna and child, by BIANCHI, decorates the altar. After examining the two finest paintings (for in such a display of canvass and configuration one must select), we did not enter, and did not see the remains of John the Baptist, which are contained in the chapel dedicated to him. The chapel is elegant enough, with its four porphyry pillars, and a sarcophagus to contain the relics; while a splendid shrine of Gothic panels, tracery, and finieals of the most exquisite kind, is inscribed with his history.

There are several apocryphal relics in this church, as in most of the Italian churches. The prominent one is the Catino, a vessel said to be a gift to Solomon by his ancient admirer-she of Sheba; and also said to be the dish which held the paschal lamb at the last supper; and also, to be the identical dish which Joseph of Arimathea used to catch the blood from the bleeding side of our Saviour. This relic was never permitted to be seen. Some sceptical Germans, however, got access to it, and discovered it to be, instead of a single emerald, as was told, a dish of ordinary glass!

But we cannot enumerate the items of interest, sacredly hoarded up in these churches. One old relic-which I could swear to is a rescript in almost illegible Latin, to Constantine the Great, which is inlaid in the wall, and is no doubt coeval with that monarch.

We leave the Duomo with its niches, twisted columns and mixed architecture, black and white marble, with not one idea of unity and order. It has not the simplicity in variety, which in the Gothic so charms the senses and awes the soul, by the association with Infinity. The other churches are less medley, but somewhat the same impression is left. On our first entering the ungainly-looking church of Saint Sira, a perfect blaze of painting and richness arrested our sight. It seemed thronged with great masses of the pencil's populace. Angels and saints in white marble relieved the eye below; and after ranging up over the frescoed vaults, the sight found relief in a huge dome, still painted, but which opened to another dome, through which seemed hastening up to heaven the winged aspirants to the upper air, bearing through it a garlanded cross! The conception of this group, with its upward flight surrounded by forms of beauty all too lovely for earth, was only rivalled by the genius which executed it. Forty marble columns, and all the apostles and prophets in marble, gave us the idea of profusion without beauty, and maze without form. The associations connected with this church are the best part of it. Here in the fifteenth century was BOCCANEGRA created the first Doge of Genoa, amid cries of "vive il popolo." Here the eternal right of popular supremacy was asserted and embodied in him, whose fine form we just witnessed in the Ducal palace. The Genoese treasure his memory. Indeed foreigners who think the Genoese have no liberty, or resemble the other Italian cities, greatly err. I do not wonder that in the beginning of the present year (1852) Austria has made the insolent demand to have troops stationed in the arsenals of Sardinia. Sardinia is a constitutional monarchy to be sure; but her councils represent the people and control the State. Books of the republican class are unrestrictedly circulated and sold here; while at Naples all books, from the Bible and Shakspeare down to the latest French squib, are forbidden. Education in Genoa is a high object of public interest. I asked a merchant to-day in Goldsmith street,

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how it happened that so many of the people spoke English. He responded that the course of instruction in the public schools was most thorough, including French, German and English. It is getting to be a great mark of nobility on the continent to speak English. We are in for that rank, finding it more easy than French. Custom is mighty.

We visited the Ducal palace and the chamber of the grand council. It is pillared and frescoed off finely; while ranged around, are the casts of statues which formerly stood in marble in the same niches, but which during Bonaparte's time, were thrown from their pedestals. The city has not yet lost the traces of the French. It was held by Massena for a long period, while besieged even to the starvation point by the Austrians.

We also visited other churches in Genoa. They bear the same general appearance as the Duomo; a style resembling the Arabian, or Saracenic commingled with the Gothic. In all, there is the same blaze of fresco, which, owing to the peculiar manner of the incorporation of the color with the lime in its wet state, gives out a lustre more brilliant than oil. The columns are of marble-red, white, and spotted; some of them spiral. The Church of the Annunciation gleams with fretted gold. We noticed there, a fine painting of St. Francis dreaming of his Bride, Poverty, with the angels surrounding the slumberer. Also, a painting of the Last Supper. describe or criticise the paintings. upon a few gems and study them. paintings, as we must do, is but to tickle the optic nerve for a moment. It leaves no impress upon the memory. After going through the Church of Santa Maria-which is unlike all others, being purely white within and without; after passing through the Church of the Jesuits, wherein fresco and tracery, substance and shadow, are intermingled so as to be confounded; after listening to the monotone of the chanting Franciscans, seeing the strange confessional with its penitent trembling at the ear-hole of the Father; after being shown about by sly Italian priests,

We could not begin to Our only mode is to fix To run the eye over fine

until seeing and hearing became a burden, we ascended the hills: and found, oh! how grateful a relief, in the promenades and villas above the city.

Let me give you a single description. Uno disce omnia. A long promenade hedged with telio, and winding about orange groves and fountains, led us to a flight of steps. Having ascended we were immediately in the midst of numerous fountains in artificial grottoes. Above, are clinging to the rocks and bared to the sight, the smooth twisted roots of the fig-trees. We ascend at this vestibule of verdure, through arched grape vines, and with the walls skirted with roses up-up-past terraces wherein are growing orange trees, full of golden fruitage, and exceedingly tempting to larceny. Here, we stop upon a variegated pebble pave, while before us rises a yellow and white marble palace. Herein resides the poet and owner, the Marquis De Najora, whom we are informed is not yet arisen from his slumOh luxurious idler and dreamer. All this paradise surrounds thee, but to woo thee to repose in that closed chamber. But it is of no use to moralize. Ethics must bend to beauty; subjectivity to objectivity.


All around the palace, amidst the foliage, are busts of the celebrated Genoese, among whom "COLOMBO" claims my first regard. Around, too, are cool, large grottoes made of shells, mirrors and spars. Other grottoes are frescoed upon the walls in mockery of the cool originals near. Paths lead through them and up to a higher vantage ground. Can it be possible? Must there be a higher heaven yet? Stay! Here is a name that rivets the attention, and there is a bust familiar as an American landscape. Under it is inscribed,


Canova stands near. Below his bust is a billiard room.


on is a seat, at least 300 feet above the city, from which we may grasp Genoa in one glance, Near by upon another hill is a

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