winds from the north. On the day of our visit, the air possessed the temperature of May, and the softest gales breathed around us. The same causes must operate the whole year, and it may be doubted whether the frosts of winter are ever severe in this sunny vale, embosomed in the form of a crescent among the hills.

Leaving our carriage at the small inn, which bears the name of "The Two Lauras," and taking the landlord for a guide, we traced up the silver stream of the Sorgia to its fountain. Nothing can be more exquisitely beautiful. The water is clear as crystal, being as perfectly transparent as air itself, and of such depth as to exhibit all the hues of the rocky bed reflected from the surface of the current. We counted several distinct colours, such as green, purple, blue, and white, blending by the most delicate shades, and forming the most splendid piece of liquid mosaic imaginable. This is a striking peculiarity, which distinguishes the Sorgia from all other streams.

From the cascade already mentioned, at the outlet of the valley, to the fountain, the current is the whole way so rapid as frequently to break over the rocks; and in several places are falls of considerable height, the murmurs of which fill the glen and die away in echoes among the hills. The confused and perpetual uproar, sent back upon the ear in hollow reverberations from the cliffs, has an indescribable effect in soothing the mind, and in lulling the feelings into a pleasing melancholy. Sauntering along the green margin of the stream, we often paused to read Petrarch, and to think how often he had watched the descent and listened to the music of the same bright waters! So vivid are the impressions produced by the enchanting scene, that the hills seem scarcely to have forgotten the name of Laura:

Je redemandais Laure a l'echo du vallon,

Et l'echo n'avait point oublié ce doux nom."

But I have not yet conducted the reader to the Fountain itself. Let him approach with me, and gaze at the glassy, dark, and fathomless abyss of waters, sleeping at the base of an impending cliff, which rises to the height of about six hundred feet, and strikes the spectator with awe. The semicircular basin, the chord of which is formed by the shelving base of the mountain, is perhaps twenty feet in diameter.

Its bottom has never been reached by the longest lines. Not a wave, nor a ripple, nor a bubble is seen upon the unbroken surface--nothing save the reflected image of the crags overhanging the mirror, and of shrubs of evergreen lodged in the crevices. The outlet of the fountain is doublesometimes subterranean, and sometimes pouring over a bed of rocks at the surface of the ground, covered with long green moss. At the time of our visit, the upper channel was perfectly dry, being several feet above the level of the Our guide assured us, that the channel often alternates in the course of a single night. The subterranean current gushes out several rods below the fountain, and all at once forms a river sufficiently large to be navigable with boats. A literary society, manifesting more zeal than taste or judgment, have been at the expense of erecting a shapeless.column near the margin of the fountain, to perpetuate the names of Petrarch and Laura; as if the fame of the poet needed such a monument !

water.

Crossing the stream at its source, curiosity prompted us to climb the mountains which overhang the fountain and vale. But the effort cost us dear. We were obliged to creep the greater part of the way upon our hands and knees; and so great was the fatigue, that one of the party fainted on reaching the top of the hill, compelling the guide to go in pursuit of water. The prospect was worth much, but would hardly repay an adventure of this description. On the summit of the rock impending over the Sorgia, are the ruins of a castle or chateau, said by some to have been the house of Laura, and by others, a palace built by the Bishop of Cavaillon. The latter opinion seems to have the fairest claim to authenticity. Nothing now remains but the shattered walls, perched upon the precipice, and forming a picturesque object when seen from below.

Descending from the mountain by a route less arduous than the one pursued in reaching the top, we visited the site of Petrarch's cottage, at the base of a stupendous cliff, within a few paces of the river, and directly under the mountain on the brow of which the prouder mansion of Laura is said to have stood. A humble habitation covers the ruins of the poet's residence. An old lady conducted us to a crystal spring, gushing from beneath the rocks, and touching with a wand the moss growing upon the side, several beautiful trout shot from the covert, and seemed to play in the fountain at

the command of their mistress for our amusement. These waters are said to have been hallowed by the visitations of the muses, and the cool grotto to have been a favourite haunt of their solitary and impassioned votary. The spring is shaded by shrubs of laurel, branches of which the old lady permitted us to pluck, as memorials of the consecrated re

treat.

Opposite the bold and craggy projection of rocks, under which the cottage of Petrarch was sheltered, is a little green island in the Sorgia, once cultivated as his garden. It contains but a few rods of alluvial ground, lying nearly on a level with the surface of the water, and kept always verdant by irrigation. In one of his letters descriptive of Vaucluse, Petrarch remarks--“ I have made myself two gardens, which please me marvellously; I do not think they are to be equalled in all the world: they are my transalpine Parnassus. One of these gardens is shady, formed for contemplation, and sacred to Apollo. It hangs over the source of the river, and is terminated by rocks, or places accessible only to birds. The other is nearer my cottage, of an aspect less severe, and devoted to Bacchus and what is extremely singular, it is in the middle of a rapid river. The approach to it is over a ridge of rocks, which communicates with the garden; and there is a natural grotto under the rock, which gives it the appearance of a rustic bridge. Into this grotto the rays of the sun never penetrate. I am confident it resembles the place where Cicero sometimes went to declaim. It invites to study. Thither I retreat during the noon-tide hours. My mornings are engaged upon the hills, and my evenings either in the meadows, or in the garden sacred to Apollo."

:

Leaving a spot hallowed by so many interesting, associations, and passing under a long arch hewn out of the rock, we sauntered along the left bank of the Sorgia to the rustic bridge thrown across the stream, in the midst of the little village which rises in a picturesque manner upon its shores. The houses are small, and in some cases scarcely distinguishable from the cliffs and crags with which they are incorporated. There are but few inhabitants, who derive their support from the agricultural produce of the valley, and from the stock of fish with which the river is abundantly supplied. They are as simple, mild, and inoffensive in their manners,

as they were in the age of Petrarch, holding little intercourse with the rest of the world, and blest with a happy rusticity.

Neat

Having spent the greater part of the day in rambling over this enchanting and peaceful vale, we left it with regret late in the afternoon, and returned to L'Ile, where an excellent dinner of various kinds of fish from the Sorgia was prepared for us, at the Hotel of Petrarch and Laura. The apartment in which the repast was served up contained no less than six portraits of the two lovers, suspended from the walls, and tastefully ornamented with festoons of evergreen. ness and comfort are happily blended in this small inn, and its classical dinners contribute much to the pleasure of those who visit Vaucluse. To add to the romantic adventures of the day, the coachman proved to be a legitimate descendant of the Troubadours of Provence, and amused us all the way home by chanting the sweet and plaintive ballads of his ancestors. There is a striking resemblance between the simple music of this district and that of the Highlands of Scotland.

LETTER XLIII.

RIDE TO MARSEILLES-SKETCH OF THE CITY.

February, 1826.-Immediately after our return to Avignon, on the evening of the 8th, we took seats in the Diligence for Marseilles, prepared as usual to travel all night, and dream of the charms of Vaucluse. Little was seen or heard, save the glimpses of a few unimportant villages along the road, and the murmurs of the Durance, till the coach reached Aix at break of day on the following morning. The entrance into this large and ancient town from the north is beautiful, and calculated to convey a favourable impression of its importance. A massive and handsome iron gate forms the barrier. On the right is a crucifix 20 feet in height, similar to the one at Avignon. The frequent exposure of the image of the Saviour, wearing the crown of thorns, and the blood streaming down his naked body, however it may serve to remind a portion of the multitude of the author of their religion, cannot but be regarded as a barbarous custom.

From the portals of Aix, a broad, straight, and mag

nificient avenue, resembling the Boulevards of Paris, bordered with double rows of venerable elms, and lined with long ranges of stately buildings, opens into the centre of the town. Along the sides of the walk, seats are erected for repose, and several copious fountains, pour forth streams of oure water. That which terminates the vista is ornamented with a colossal statue of René, king of Provence, and a patron of the Troubadours, renowned for his skill in the fine arts, and beloved for his chivalrous virtues. He and his queen descended to the simplicity of a pastoral life, merely for the sake of rendering their subjects more happy. The monument, bearing two medallions on the sides with a classical inscription in Latin, does credit to the taste of the inhabitants.

An hour was employed in walking over the town, the streets of which are generally wide, and the houses well built. Some of the public edifices. Such as the Hotel de Ville and the new county prison, have an air of magnificence. The cathedral is a stately Gothic structure, and one of the steeples rises to the height of 200 feet. This place stands in the midst of an olive country, and its oils, manufactured in great quantities, are celebrated for their purity and excellence, It carries on an active trade with Marseilles.

On leaving Aix we plunged into an ocean of fog, so dense that objects could not be discerned at the distance of ten rods from the coach. A bright sun at length broke through and dissipated the mist, disclosing a country richly clothed in olives and almonds, the latter of which were now in bloom. The formation of the country is limestone, with starta dipping towards the west. Along the road are numerous manufactories of vitriol, which is one of the staple commodities of the district.

From the last post, the road descends by a rapid declivity the whole way to Marseilles. An eminence within three miles of the town afforded us a first and noble prospect of the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean, slumbering beneath bright skies and a vernal sun, at the bases of bold, calcareous mountains, which push their white promontories far into the wave, and form a deeply indented coast. The view came suddenly upon us, and was therefore welcomed with the livelier transports. Numerous white sails were descried at a distance, upon the azure waste of waters. Seldom have I witnessed a scene, which united more of grandeur and beauty. Something must be allowed for the influence of as