with its thickly-wooded hills, and shady lanes, and murmuring
river; while the irregularity of the villages, or clusters of houses
where travellers are generally lodged, give variety and interest to
the landscape.

The first of these groups of buildings is the Ponte a Serraglio. Here
are the principal hotels; the post-office; the English reading-room
and club; the Casino; a few small shops dignified by such names as
'Magazine of Novelties,' and 'The Real Bazaar;' and a caffe; where
congregate all the idlers of the community.

About a mile further on, attainable by a pretty road, winding at the
foot of a mountain bordered by acacia trees, and overhanging the river
Serchio, is situated the Villa--another range of tenements, the
inhabitants of which arrogate to themselves greater staidness of
demeanour than their brethren at the Ponte, thinking, perhaps, that
the vicinity of the English chapel--a handsome structure, in the style
of an ancient Venetian palace--may vindicate this assumption of
decorum. There is but one hotel at the Villa--calm, dignified, and
frigid; the remainder of a long rambling street of which the place is
composed, consists entirely of lodging-houses, having gardens attached
to each, where little children may be seen playing at the doors, and
English nurse-maids pursuing their laborious avocations. This
preponderance of small children at the Villa, is as much its
characteristic distinction, as whatever relates to gaiety, or novelty,
or scandal, may be considered the peculiar attribute of the Ponte.

A distinct race inhabit the Bagni alla Villa--a group of houses
inaccessible to carriages, rising on a hill behind the palace
belonging to the ex-duke of Lucca. A fourth division of dwellings is
the Bagni Caldi, the highest point of all, the occupants whereof have
to descend as if from an eyrie, to gain any of the other localities.
They are a set of whom little seems to be known--quaint and unsocial
personages, venturing out at dusk like bats and owls, and looking
grimly on all but their immediate neighbours: the gentlemen, mostly
gouty, or otherwise disabled; the fairer sex, isolated and ancient,
with a marked predilection for close straw-bonnets, large brown
parasols, and blue veils.

Thus much for the first outline of the place and its frequenters. We
must now take a glance at their pursuits and enjoyments.

The general tenor of a day at the baths is easily described. Till
about five in the aftern