nglish have had nothing to do with bringing the baths of Lucca into
notice or fashion, although they are at present among its principal
inhabitants from June to September. Hither flock in summer the
families who have established themselves in winter-quarters at
Florence or Pisa; and here they soon get possession of all the cracked
pianos, and strolling music-masters who come on speculation, and
forthwith begin a series of screaming lessons, called singing,
executed by English young women, studious of cheap accomplishments, to
the infinite distress of all who pass by their open windows, at
whatever hour! As the baths are frequented by the little court of
Lucca, there is a _residenza_, a _casino_, and tables for play. There
are two or three good hotels or _tables-d'hotes_, and there is a
shabby little coffee-house, and a handful of _Balzacs and Paul de
Kocks_ at one circulating library. There is one butcher and one baker
at each of the villages, privileged dispensers of their respective
commodities. There is a scarcity of poultry, of fresh butter, and
vegetables; but there is abundance of maccaroni. There are two
grocers, who both supply amateurs with English pickles, Harvey's
sauce, Warren's blacking, Henry's magnesia, James's powder, and the
other necessaries of life. The houses are generally let for the
season, and the rent of the best is as high as L4 a-week. The
furniture is old and bad, but tolerably clean. Ascend any of the
hills, and you look down on roofs that have scarcely any chimneys.
Whenever you ride or walk, you have a hill on the right and left of
you, and a river making its way against the opposition of huge masses
of stone, and angular impediments from the turns of the valley itself.
On these hills, you have uniformly vines below; and when you get above
the vines, you walk entirely among the chestnut-trees which constitute
the real riches of the country. The best office, however, of the
hills, is not the production of fruit-trees, but the screen they
afford against the Italian sun. The early sunset here is worth all the
wine of the territory, which is scarce and very bad. In the evenings
of July and August, there is a turn-out of equipages that have figured
on the Boulevards and in Hyde Park, which commonly make a halt
opposite the little shabby coffee-house, to eat bad ices, and do the
agreeable to each other--the rush-bottomed chairs at the door being
occupied the while by a set of _intelligent_ young m