Fair Italy, the Riviera and Monte Carlo - W. Cope Devereux

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But probably many of them are only convents.

      What very different lives people lead on this fair earth! What a contrast between the inhabitants of a great city, with its wearing cares and its exciting pleasures, and the dweller in these isolated, peaceful, silent mountain homes! To some the latter life would be intolerable while strength and human passion last; but these poor yet happy people, being nearer to Nature, are often nearer also to Nature's God.

      We now pass through groves of olive trees, whose sombre and silver tinted foliage, and wonderfully gnarled and twisted trunks, give quite a foreign tone to the landscape. Also the orange trees, with their green and golden fruit and enchantingly fragrant white blossoms; and the lordly palm, with its graceful outline clearly defined against the blue sky.

      It has frequently been a question with me which tree is the most useful to man, especially in the east—the olive, bamboo, palm, or cocoa-nut. The first carries my mind back to pleasant memories of the Holy Land and Mount Olivet, where a single tree is said to bear fruit for more than a thousand years. We know the fine and wholesome oil it yields. Its fruit is used as food, and its beautifully grained wood is highly valued for cabinet purposes. Then the bamboo, which, growing by the water-side, is so refreshing to hear whispering in the breeze, is used for very many purposes, being at once so light and strong; for carrying great burdens, for aqueducts, house-building, musical instruments, and for numerous other purposes and articles useful and ornamental; while the graceful palm, or cocoa-nut, provides food, drink, clothing, and building material. Each doubtless in its region and sphere is equally prized. But the more we examine and understand the bountiful gifts of God for our use and happiness, harmonizing so well with our needs, the greater wonder we feel that there is such an ungrateful animal as an Atheist.

      At some of the little railway stations we passed, the Gloire de Dijon and other lovely roses were clustering the walls, and growing almost wild in the hedges, loading the air with their sweet perfume. The days were gradually lengthening, and we felt as if fast approaching a warmer latitude, where—

      "The green hills

       Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass

       The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills

       Of summer birds sing welcome as ye pass;

       Flowers, fresh in hue, and many in their class,

       Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes

       Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass;

       The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes,

       Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skies."

      We reached Cannes in the last glow of the setting sun, the crimson, purple, green and orange contrasting, harmonizing, blending, and slowly settling into the neutral tints of evening. By six o'clock we were at the Hotel Windsor, and fortunately secured a bedroom on the fourth floor, from the windows of which we had a splendid view of the sea.

      The "Windsor" is beautifully situated on the hillside, some ten minutes' walk from the shore. It is surrounded by very pretty and tasteful gardens, well stocked with flowers of all kinds, roses being most conspicuous, while the perfume of the orange trees ascends from the valley below. I should think this hotel was much more healthy than those situate lower down and close to the sea, catching the upper drainage.

      The interior is well appointed in every way, with a comfortable, homely air about it. The landlord, a man of some refinement, is not above personally looking after the welfare of his visitors. But he is evidently a little too indulgent, for he allows pianofortes in the bedrooms, and the young ladies in the room next to ours strummed away till a very late hour at night, when we wished to sleep, tired with the day's travel, and anxious to rise early the next morning. We thought two good pianos in the drawing-room below quite sufficient for the musical exercise of young ladies, and for the comfort of all at an hotel. We supposed, however, that its being Christmas-time was probably the cause of the nocturnal music, of which we were the somewhat reluctant and suffering listeners.

      After engaging our room, we sauntered out on a voyage of discovery and as an appetizer for dinner, and were so fortunate as to meet an old friend, who was staying at the same hotel. Under his kind pilotage we had a very pleasant walk on the sea-shore, listening to the waves dashing and tumbling against the sea-wall.

      At Cannes there is neither harbour nor roadstead, but only a small bay or cove, appropriately called Gulfe de la Napoul; and it is indeed worthy of its name, being a miniature Bay of Naples—but without its Vesuvius. It is, however, so shallow that the coasting vessels that use it are obliged to anchor at some distance from the shore, exposed to the full action of the swell. Yet in spite of this disadvantage, Cannes is for its size a busy and populous little town.

      Immediately opposite are the Isles de Lerins, St. Honorat and St. Marguerite. On the latter is Fort Montuy, where the "man with the iron mask" was confined from 1686 to 1698, and which has more recently been the prison of Marshal Bazaine. St. Honorat has its name from a monastery founded in the fifth century by St. Honoratius, Bishop of Arles. These islands abound in rabbits and partridges.

      Until modern scientists discovered it to be otherwise, the Mediterranean was supposed to have no tide, and was called by poets "the tideless sea." It has but a very slight ebb and flow, and this in most places is scarcely perceptible. The greatest rise and fall of tide in any part of this great inland sea does not exceed about six feet. Here it appears always high water; the long stretches of sand, shingle, and rock that provide such delightful strolls to those visiting the shores of our own dear island home at low tide, are nowhere to be found in this part of the world, and thus on coming to the Mediterranean we lose one of the usual charms of a visit to the sea coast.

      We found it necessary to walk briskly, as the fall in temperature is very great in one short hour after sunset. Indeed, those who come here essentially for health generally contrive to get housed about four p.m.

      Our olfactory nerves had already told us that in this lovely little seaside paradise there are such prosaic things as defective drains. This is more detectable in the evening on the beach, than elsewhere, in the daytime; but is being rectified as the town grows.

      It was Christmas Day, and on returning to the Hotel Windsor we found the large dining-room tastefully decorated with evergreens and flowers, and, by the kind and thoughtful attention of the landlord, we felt the absence from dear home at this joyous time less than we might otherwise have done. We had our tête-à-tête dinner, and toasted our friends in Old England, who probably included us in their "absent friends and dear ones abroad."

      My wife admired the handsome net mosquito curtains around our bed, but I rather shuddered at the memories they awakened, having had some experience of tropical climates—the river Zambezi, for instance, where a single tiny insect of the Zebra species nearly drove me out of my senses when suffering from fever. Probably, however, the mosquito only visits Cannes in the summer, though my wife declared she heard a buzz, and experienced a bite. It was certainly consolatory to think that I was no longer considered tempting enough, by these insatiable torments.

      The next morning we realized something of the beauty of Cannes. It was so pleasant to dress by the open French windows, and enjoy the freshness of the morning air, the warmth of the sun, and the delicious perfume of the roses and orange blossoms rising from the gardens beneath. The birds flitting about, with joyous song; the lovely blue sea in the distance; and above, the cloudless sky. We felt in no hurry for breakfast, and in imagination pictured to ourselves dear foggy London, cold and wet as we had left it. This was indeed a grateful contrast!

      When we did descend, however, our tea and toast were thoroughly enjoyed, thanks to the appetizing air; and it was a pleasure to see our fellow-guests sunning themselves in the gardens, and making plans for the day's excursion and pleasure.

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