e for breaking
off from a facetious description of French inns to introduce to me a
sketch, from a pencil outline by Fletcher, of what bore the imposing
name of the Villa di Bella vista, but which he called by the homelier
one of its proprietor, Bagnerello. "This, my friend, is quite accurate.
Allow me to explain it. You are standing, sir, in our vineyard, among
the grapes and figs. The Mediterranean is at your back as you look at
the house: of which two sides, out of four, are here depicted. The lower
story (nearly concealed by the vines) consists of the hall, a
wine-cellar, and some store-rooms. The three windows on the left of the
first floor belong to the sala, lofty and whitewashed, which has two
more windows round the corner. The fourth window _did_ belong to the
dining-room, but I have changed one of the nurseries for better air; and
it now appertains to that branch of the establishment. The fifth and
sixth, or two right-hand windows, sir, admit the light to the
inimitable's (and uxor's) chamber; to which the first window round the
right-hand corner, which you perceive in shadow, also belongs. The next
window in shadow, young sir, is the bower of Miss H. The next, a nursery
window; the same having two more round the corner again. The
bowery-looking place stretching out upon the left of the house is the
terrace, which opens out from a French window in the drawing-room on the
same floor, of which you see nothing: and forms one side of the
court-yard. The upper windows belong to some of those uncounted chambers
upstairs; the fourth one, longer than the rest, being in F.'s bedroom.
There is a kitchen or two up there besides, and my dressing-room; which
you can't see from this point of view. The kitchens and other offices
in use are down below, under that part of the house where the roof is
longest. On your left, beyond the bay of Genoa, about two miles off, the
Alps stretch off into the far horizon; on your right, at three or four
miles distance, are mountains crowned with forts. The intervening space
on both sides is dotted with villas, some green, some red, some yellow,
some blue, some (and ours among the number) pink. At your back, as I
have said, sir, is the ocean; with the slim Italian tower of the ruined
church of St. John the Baptist rising up before it, on the top of a pile
of savage rocks. You go through the court-yard, and out at the gate, and
down a narrow lane to the sea. Note. The sala goes sheer up to the