of the water, "glassing softest skies," makes Lake Como the most lovely spot on earth.

The principal manufacture of Milan is silk. This is the great central depot for the silk market of Italy. For miles around the city, in fact, through the whole of Northern Italy, the mulberry abounds and is the main growth, on the leaves of which the silkworm is fed. There is a great deal of style here. The streets are well paved, and the equipages gotten up with great taste. While here, I have visited the Opera, La Scala. It is the largest Opera House in the world, and can comfortably seat 6,000 persons. The opera given was Cleopatra; the ballet was magnificent. There were 500 ballet girls at one time on, the stage, and such a standing on big toes, and sailing of " dry goods," and piroueting around generally, was never seen before. The dancers are young and pretty, and dress with great taste. Only imagine 500 beautiful fairy forms before you, cutting up all sorts of didos. It is enough to run a man perfectly crazy, and make him wish that he were another Briareus, with a hundred arms, to hug them all at once. I began this letter at Lake Como, and am now finishing it on the battle-field of Magenta. I shall mail it at Turin, and sleep to-morrow night at Genoa.

Adieu,

Very truly yours,

H. W. A

LETTER NO. XXV.

EDITORS ADVOCATE :

GENOA, ITALY, Oct. 1, 1859.

Since I wrote you last I have visited Turin, Alessandria, and Genoa. I found Turin quite a city, and most beautifully situated in a valley between high mountains. It has a population of 125,000 inhabitants, and is the capital of Piedmont, and of the now great kingdom of Sardinia. Victor Emanuel resides here in great state, and seems to govern a prosperous and happy people. Of all the crowned heads of Europe, he and Napoleon are the only ones who have smelt "the villanous saltpetre," on the battle-field. The Sardinian king looks every inch a soldier, and is evidently no carpet knight.

The Royal Palace is a very fine building, elegantly furnished with all sorts of royal finery. In it are many fine paintings. In this palace is a full suite of rooms, now unoccupied, belonging to the sister of the king. She had married "a right

royal husband," in the person of a distinguished prince, and was most elegantly domiciliated in the palace. A few years ago her husband died, and the disconsolate widow married an humble colonel. Court etiquette could not brook this misalliance, and now, on the banks of Lake Como, the widow and the colonel are as happy as two turtle-doves.

Turin has a most delightful climate. It lies between the Alps and Apennines, on the banks of the Po. This river here is quite small at present, but rises to a great and fearful height in the spring, when the snows melt. Even here large levees have to be erected, to keep in the "swelling flood," and when they break a vast country overflows, carrying death and destruction through the land.

The fruits here are very fine. The grapes and figs are sweeter than in any part of Italy. At the hotels they give you bread baked in a very singular shape. Imagine a handful of pipe-stems about 18 inches long, baked brown, and placed by the side of your plate, and you can form some idea of the fashion of baking bread in Turin. The place has the air of a capital city; is the centre of the military and civil power of the kingdom, and is blessed with beautiful fountains and wide streets. The second stories of all the houses project over the street, in such a manner as to make delightful walks and promenades, even in bad weather. I have seen only one other city in my travels, where these comfortable sidewalks are so well arranged, and that is Berne, the capital of Switzerland.

The inhabitants of Turin are principally engaged in the manufacture of silks. The surrounding country produces rice and Indian corn in large quantities.

Victor Emanuel seems to be very popular here with all classes, and has in a large degree the affections of his people. For several years a strange quarrel has been going on between him and the pope. The court of Sardinia, at the suggestion of Count Cavour, the prime minister, has sold a very large property belonging to the church and the monasteries, and placed the proceeds in the treasury of the state. The church, of course, protested, and the pope was appealed to. The Holy Father ordered the sales to be cancelled and the property restored, but unfortunately Victor Emanuel is king in his own realm, and sets the decrees of the pope at defiance. It is said that a bull will soon be issued from "Imperial Rome."

The political excitement here is very great. Count Cavour has resigned, and retired to the country to live, for he boldly says that Piedmont is now nothing but a dependence to France. The Zouaves are still in Milan in large numbers, while the streets of Genoa are filled with soldiers. From one end of Piedmont to the other drums are beating, bayonets are gleaming, and all seems ready for another conflict.

From Turin to Genoa you go by railway; distance 103 miles; fare 16 francs. On the route the most remarkable places are "the battle-field of

Marengo," and the fortress of Alessandria. This celebrated battle-field lies close to the village of Marengo, and is seen from the railroad. The village is insignificant in itself, but has given the name to one of "the bloodiest pictures in the book of time." It is an elevated plain on the banks of the Tanaro, and not far from Alessandria, where the Bormida joins the Tanaro, making quite a stream. Alessandria has for ages been a fortress that is deemed impregnable. It is considered the key to the whole of this country, and is kept in good repair and well garrisoned. It was to this place that poor old Melas, the Austrian general, rode in great haste to inform the authorities that he had gained the victory at Marengo. But most unfortunately for him, Desaix came up and rallied the French soldiers, when upon a second charge the tables were turned; the Austrians were vanquished, and poor old Melas had to sue for peace, and take such terms as Napoleon saw proper to give.

The country around here looks unhealthy. It is all subject to overflow, and breeds terrible fevers. Before reaching Genoa the face of the country, for many miles, assumes a rugged and broken appearance. The cork-tree here assumes its amplest proportions, and presents its bare and naked trunk to the curious gaze of every passer-by. This corktree is a species of glandiferous quercus, and resembles in a great degree our live-oak. It is an evergreen, and grows to a large size. Our pat