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It was one very lovely evening in so steep that they become rugged the early autumn that I first became steps, only to be trodden by man acquainted with the little village of and the sure-footed mule.

The San Jacopo.

main road of the Riviera runs some I was staying at Nice with my miles inland, and the fisher populatwo daughters, the youngest of tion live on from year to year unwhom had been ordered abroad for disturbed by visitors. her health; and occasionally, when The sun had just gone down, and wearied by the monotonous routine the after-glow of the warm south of our life, I used to amuse myself tinged every object with its golden by making excursions of some days' light. The sea lay calm and still length in the neighbourhood. as a lake, scarcely ruffling itself into

These journeys often brought me little glistening wreaths of foam, as upon beautiful and secluded villages, it played with the base of the rocks. unknown to the ordinary traveller, Myrtle and arbutus, and masses of and passed by as merely far-off emerald vegetation, grew down to features of the surrounding land- the very water's edge. scape; but seldom have I beheld a It was growing late, but I could more picturesque scene than that not resist the temptation of going presented to me by my first sight down into the village ; and I was of San Jacopo.

well rewarded. Through quaint, The village lies in a bay, huge narrow streets, overhung by the rocks closing it in on every side ex- wide projecting roofs of the houses, , cept on the south, where the sea I walked till a sudden turn brought ripples to its feet, intensely, won- me into the piazza of the village. drously blue, as only the Mediter. It was large for so small a place. ranean can be. The sole access to On one side the little church, with it is by steep paths, cut in zigzag its tall slender belfry, and in the lines down the cliffs, in some places midst a large fountain—the clear

voL, cxL.-xo. DCCXI.

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