I turned in with a feeling of relief not easily imagined, and forgave the fleas willingly, in the comfort of a shelter from the storm.  When I awoke, it was broad day.  A fresh breeze was drying the deck, and the sun was half-visible among breaking clouds.  We had just passed the Isle of the Titan, one of the Isles des Hyeres, and the bay of Toulon opened on our right.  It was a rugged, rocky coast, but the hills of sunny Provence rose beyond.  The sailor came up with a smile of satisfaction on his rough countenance, and said:  “You did sleep better, I think; I did tell them all!” coupling his assertion with a round curse on the officers.

We ran along, beside the brown, bare crags till nearly noon, when we reached the eastern point of the Bay of Marseilles.  A group of small islands, formed of bare rocks, rising in precipices three or four hundred feet high, guards the point; on turning into the Gulf, we saw on the left the rocky islands of Pomegues, and If, with the castle crowning the latter, in which Mirabeau was confined.  The ranges of hills which rose around the great bay, were spotted and sprinkled over with thousands of the country cottages of the Marseilles merchants, called Bastides; the city itself was hidden from view.  We saw apparently the whole bay, but there was no crowd of vessels, such as would befit a great sea-port; a few spires peeping over a hill, with some fortifications, were all that was visible.  At length we turned suddenly aside and entered a narrow strait, between two forts.  Immediately a broad harbor opened before us, locked in the very heart of the hills on which the city stands.  It was covered with vessels of all nations; on leaving the boat, we rowed past the “Aristides,” bearing the blue cross of Greece, and I searched eagerly and found, among the crowded masts, the starry banner of America.

I have rambled through all the principal parts of Marseilles, and am very favorably impressed with its appearance.  Its cleanliness and the air of life and business which marks the streets, are the more pleasant after coming from the dirty and depopulated Italian cities.  The broad avenues, lined with trees, which traverse its whole length, must be delightful in summer.  I am often reminded, by its spacious and crowded thoroughfares, of our American cities.  Although founded by the Phoceans, three thousand years ago, it has scarcely an edifice of greater antiquity than three or four centuries, and the tourist must content himself with wandering through the narrow streets of the old town, observing the Provencal costumes, or strolling among Turks and Moors on the Quai d’Orleans.

We have been detained here a day longer than was necessary, owing to some misunderstanding about the passports.  This has not been favorable to our reduced circumstances, for we have, now but twenty francs each, left, to take us to Paris.  Our boots, too, after serving us so long, begin to show signs of failing in this hour of adversity.  Although we are somewhat accustomed to such circumstances, I cannot help shrinking when I think of the solitary napoleon and the five hundred miles to be passed.  Perhaps, however, the coin will do as much as its great namesake, and achieve for us a Marengo in the war with fate.