[Footnote ***:  By recent registers found in Corsica, it has been determined that this island also gave birth to the discoverer of the new world.]

The sun rose from behind the Apennines and masts and towers became visible through the golden haze, as we approached the shore.  On a flat space between the sea and the hills, not far from the foot of Montenero, stands Leghorn.  The harbor is protected by a mole, leaving a narrow passage, through which we entered, and after waiting two hours for the visit of the health and police officers, we were permitted to go on shore.  The first thing that struck me, was the fine broad streets; the second, the motley character of the population.  People were hurrying about noisy and bustling—­Greeks in their red caps and capotes; grave turbaned and bearded Turks; dark Moors; the Corsair-looking natives of Tripoli and Tunis, and seamen of nearly every nation.  At the hotel where I stayed, we had a singular mixture of nations at dinner:—­two French, two Swiss, one Genoese, one Roman, one American and one Turk—­and we were waited on by a Tuscan and an Arab!  We conversed together in four languages, all at once.

To the merchant, Leghorn is of more importance than to the traveler.  Its extensive trade, not only in the manufactures of Tuscany, but also in the productions of the Levant, makes it important to the former, while the latter seeks in vain for fine buildings, galleries of art, or in interesting historical reminiscences.  Through the kind attention of the Saxon Consul, to whom I had letters, two or three days went by delightfully.

The only place of amusement here in summer is a drive along the sea shore, called the Ardenza, which is frequented every evening by all who can raise a vehicle.  I visited it twice with a German friend.  We met one evening the Princess Corsini, wife of the Governor of Leghorn, on horseback—­a young, but not pretty woman.  The road leads out along the Mediterranean, past an old fortress, to a large establishment for the sea bathers, where it ends in a large ring, around which the carriages pass and re-pass, until sunset has gone out over the sea, when they return to the city in a mad gallop, or as fast as the lean horses can draw them.

In driving around, we met two or three carriages of Turks, in one of which I saw a woman of Tunis, with a curious gilded head-dress, eighteen inches in height.

I saw one night a Turkish funeral.  It passed me in one of the outer streets, on its way to the Turkish burying ground.  Those following the coffin, which was covered with a heavy black pall, wore white turbans and long white robes—­the mourning color of the Turks.  Torches were borne by attendants, and the whole company passed on at a quick pace.  Seen thus by night, it had a strange and spectral appearance.