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gets on famously by bullying and swearing. Only the telegraph clerk is unmoved; for a moment, he is seized by the weakness of humanity, and seems about to throw his arms around his next-door neighbour the tobacconist, who passes by with an enticing look; but his mind reverts to his wrongs, he conquers the weakness, and remains firm and patient. In-doors and out-of-doors it is the same thing. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, all sorts of relations by birth or in law, are clattering in their sabots along my passage to salute the Captain and his family-to kiss each other on both cheeks, sip a petit verre, and go off, happy, to repeat the same ceremony elsewhere. In the lobby, awaiting me, is a tiny independent-looking fellow of seven, clad in fisherman's blouse and big sabots. "I salute you, m'sieu," he says, with a polite bow, "the bonne année." I have never seen my visitor before, but I thank him with a profound obeisance. But instead of going away, he stands in silence, gazing expectantly up at me. I ask him if he has anything more to say. He smiles compassionately at my ignorance. "It is customary," he says, "at the New Year, to give to the boys—sous; some, the poorer classes, m'sieu, content themselves with giving one or two; but others, more liberal, give more -from five to ten sous. Give me what you please; I shall be content." Delighted with his coolness, I rewarded him to the height of his ambition. He places his hand upon his heart, bows again, and walks away; but he is not far from the threshold when his boy's blood gets up, he gives a peep round to see if I am looking, and satisfied in that particular, bursts into a run and a shout.

I naturally expect that he will put his comrades on the qui vive, and that I shall have more calls of the kind. But no! he is a boy of honour. Having succeeded with

me as a private speculation, he is too high-minded to make me the public prey.

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

B

II.

A SUMMER IN THE PROVINCE OF NICE.

WHIL

HILE the city of Nice is one of the best-known places in Europe, the province to which it gives its name, and of which it is the capital, is seldom visited, and is little known. So much is this the case, that, having been advised to spend the summer in the interior of the province, we found it impossible, even in the city of Nice itself, to obtain complete or even accurate information regarding the country and the climate. It may therefore prove interesting and useful to persons situated as we were three years ago, desiring to reach a good summer residence without a long and fatiguing journey, to learn what our experiences were during an abode of three months in that part of Sardinia, as it was then,-of France, with which it has since unhappily been incorporated, and of which it now forms the south-eastern frontier.

This ignorance of the Niçois themselves is explained by their singularly uninquisitive and stay-at-home character. The travels of even the wealthier classes among them seldom extend beyond their annual migrations

from their country villas-which they universally let to strangers in winter-to apartments, often of a very humble character, in town, and back again, when the returning sun drives the wealthier visitors to cooler regions. In the middle of June, the heat and its accompaniment, the mosquito, having now rendered not only the town but the neighbourhood of Nice intolerable, we set out on the great road to Turin, intending to halt at St Dalmas, and if we found this place unsuitable, to proceed as far as the Grande Chartreuse, or whatever other place we might hear of that appeared favourable. After travelling ten or twelve miles, we began to ascend the lower ridges of the Maritime Alps. The country becomes beautiful, and the situation of some of the towns-as for example Scarena-is so picturesque and peculiar, that to see them would richly reward a tour. The tradition is, that the towns were perched upon those almost inaccessible elevations as a protection against the Saracens, by whom, in the middle ages, these parts of Western Italy were devastated. Certainly convenience had nothing to do with the selection of such sites, especially the grand convenience of obtaining water, the want of which has caused some of those old towns to be finally deserted within very recent times. The passing of those cols, of which there is a regular succession, formed a very difficult enterprise, but the splendour of the scenery when the summit was at last reached always proved a rich reward. The road on the side of these cols zig-zags so much, that in some cases, as above Sospello, a distance of three miles as the crow flies, requires one to travel twelve miles of road; and looking from below, these roads, con

structed with incredible labour, have the appearance of an enormous fortification, rising wall above wall for miles together. The road, in ascending the Col di Tenda, which is beyond St Dalmas, makes no fewer than eightytwo turns; and it is amusing to watch the curious positions into which the surrounding mountains and valleys are successively thrown by those incessant turnings. It would be perhaps difficult to find anywhere a more splendid panorama than one beholds from the top of the col above Giandola, which is itself a singularly curious-looking and picturesque little place, unlike anything we have ever seen elsewhere. Surrounded with mountains to the south, west, and north, it stands upon the west bank of the Roya, now forming the boundary between France and Italy. This rapid river flows here under the nearly perpendicular face of a mountain, which rises to a great height on the east of the river and of the little village, as if Nature had intended one little spot of earth at least to be secured from the possibility of being touched by that scourge of all living things, the east wind. Giandola is remarkable as being the point where one takes leave, without regret, of the mosquitoes. We had much of their company, and suffered greatly from their attentions, the night we remained there, not to speak of other uninvited visitors; and we never met them again till, on our return, three months after, we slept, or tried to sleep, in the same place. Along with the virtues which the Italians have begun to display, all travellers will sincerely hope they may acquire that half-virtue of cleanliness, as Aristotle calls it, without which the others don't render man's abode quite comfortable upon the earth.