We entered Genoa, as I have already said, in a religious procession.  On passing the gate we saw from the concourse of people and the many banners hanging from the windows or floating across the streets, that it was the day of a festa.  Before entering the city we reached the procession itself, which was one of unusual solemnity.  As it was impossible in the dense crowd, to pass it, we struggled through till we reached a good point for seeing the whole, and slowly moved on with it through the city.  First went a company of boys in white robes; then followed a body of friars, dressed in long black cassocks, and with shaven crowns; then a company of soldiers with a band of music; then a body of nuns, wrapped from head to foot in blue robes, leaving only a small place to see out of—­in the dusk they looked very solemn and ghost-like, and their low chant had to me something awful and sepulchral in it; then followed another company of friars, and after that a great number of priests in white and black robes, bearing the statue of the saint, with a pyramid of flowers, crosses and blazing wax tapers, while companies of soldiery, monks and music brought up the rear.  Armed guards walked at intervals on each side of the procession, to keep the way clear and prevent disturbance; two or three bands played solemn airs, alternating with the deep monotonous chanting of the friars.  The whole scene, dimly lighted by the wax tapers, produced in me a feeling nearly akin to fear, as if I were witnessing some ghostly, unearthly spectacle.  To rites like these, however, which occur every few weeks, the people must be well accustomed.

Among the most interesting objects in Genoa, is the Doria palace, fit in its splendor for a monarch’s residence.  It stands in the Strada Nova, one of the three principal streets, and I believe is still in the possession of the family.  There are many others through the city, scarcely less magnificent, among which that of the Durazzo family may be pointed out.  The American consulate is in one of these old edifices, with a fine court-yard and ceilings covered with frescoes.  Mr. Moro, the Vice Consul, did us a great kindness, which I feel bound to acknowledge, although it will require the disclosure of some private, and perhaps uninteresting circumstances.  On leaving Frankfort, we converted—­for the sake of convenience—­the greater part of our funds into a draft on a Saxon merchant in Leghorn, reserving just enough, as we supposed, to take us thither.  As in our former case, in Germany, the sum was too small, which we found to our dismay on reaching Milan.  Notwithstanding we had traveled the whole ninety miles from that city to Genoa for three francs each, in the hope of having enough, left to enable one at least to visit Leghorn, the expenses for a passport in Genoa (more than twenty francs) prevented this plan.  I went therefore to the Vice Consul to ascertain whether the merchant on whom the draft was drawn, had any correspondents there, who might advance a portion of it.  His secretary made many inquiries, but without effect; Mr. Moro then generously offered to furnish me with means to reach Leghorn, whence I could easily remit a sufficient sum to my two comrades.  This put an end to our anxiety, (for I must confess we could not help feeling some), and I therefore prepared to leave that evening in the “Virgilio.”