[ 458 ] [MAY, 



A NIGHT AT COVIGLIAJO. 



WHO that has seen it can forget the rich landscape which stretches to 

 the horizon from every point of the southern road to Bologna ? the 

 slow ascents that imperceptibly lift the traveller far above the common 

 haunts of men, whose distant towns and plantations, cares and interests, 

 seem scarcely belonging to him j the rich clusters of firs, cypresses, and 

 beech-trees, spread over the bosom of the Apennines ; and then the 

 occasional vallies and dells, like dimples on the face of the mountains, 

 explored by no foot, echoing no voice, a meet abode for heavenly lovers, 

 though decorated with nothing but the spontaneous beauty of earth ! 

 The succession of these scenes, for the space of forty miles from Florence, 

 is almost too rapid and various for quiet pleasure. Two grand points of 

 view might be selected, as displaying, at one glance, the choicest cha- 

 racteristics of this long and uninterrupted picture : that from the little 

 inn, called II Ghirlettoj and the more famous one from the heights 

 around Le Maschere. 



" Ardi ! ardi !" shouted the merry vetturino, as he reached the latter 

 halting-place j and his voice was sharper, and his whip cracked more 

 fiercely, as he looked at the long shadows that fell on the brow of the 

 opposite hill. " Ardi ! petit garden !" was his encouragement to the 

 leader of his team, purposely expressed in a foreign tongue, as indicative 

 of past travels, with fifty Milords, who had retained Papia Machivelli, 

 even as far as Calais or St. Petersburg. " It will be late to-night 

 before we reach Pictramala, or even Covigliajo, unless these bullocks 

 know their duty better than I know them. What a plague ! Gentle- 

 men ! you wouldn't loiter, surely, when we are just losing the sun, and 

 the road gets heavier at every step ; you'll have a poor resting-place 

 to-night, I reckon, if you keep me here much longer, brushing off the 

 flies, and losing the little patience my wife has left me !" And so saying, 

 he took a long draught of his pipe ; and the marinari, who had awakened 

 his spleen, resuming their places behind him, the lumbering machine was 

 once more put in motion. 



The party, as usual, was of a compound sort. The outside passen- 

 gers were seamen, apparently of the middle rank, between sailors and 

 officers, who had met at Leghorn, and, having the same journey to 

 perform, had thus embarked in the same vehicle, bound for Venice. 

 Within were packed an English lady and gentleman, a German lawyer 

 of Cologne, and a pseudo-gentleman of Bologna, affecting to have been 

 on a tour for mere amusement. The conversation had ceased between 

 the occupants of the interior: one was drowsy, another hungry, the 

 Bolognese sulky at the slow progress, and the lady had fears of travelling 

 after dark. But a rapid fire of discourse was still kept up by the more 

 vivacious neighbours of Papia, whose good jokes, stale songs, and 

 ex-qfficio importance worked wonders with them. Nor was this their 

 only source of amusement. Two of the seamen unshorn, tempestuous 

 dogs, old shipmates, and sworn good fellows were generally full of 

 wicked mirth at the expense of their nautical companion, who, from 

 being unlike themselves, was, by reason of the world's law, a creature 

 fairly ridiculous. Yet, perhaps, his appearance, though strange, was 

 calculated to excite feelings of n different cast. His age might be five- 



