We started about 4 for La Superga in a nice light basket carriage and pair of strong little horses. It was rather interesting driving all through the town, which is comparatively small--one is soon out of it. The streets are narrow, once one is out of the great thoroughfares, with high houses on each side. Every now and then an interesting cornice with a curious round tower and some funny old-fashioned houses with high pointed roofs and iron balconies running quite around the house, but on the whole it is much less picturesque and colder looking than the other Italian cities. The road was not very animated--few vehicles of any description, a few fiacres evidently bound for the Superga like us. There were not many carts nor many people about. What _was_ lovely was the crown of green hills with little chestnut groves--some of the little woods we drove through were quite charming, with the long slanting rays of the afternoon sun shining through the branches--just as I remember the Galleria di Sotto at Albano--the chestnuts grow high on all the hillsides. We had quite a stiff mount before we got to the church (but the little horses trotted up very fairly) and a good climb after we left the carriage. One sees the church from a long distance. It has a fine colonnade and a high dome which lifts itself well up into the clouds. We followed a pretty steep, winding path up to the top, quantities of wild roses, a delicate pink, like our eglantine at home, twisting themselves around the bushes. There is nothing particularly interesting in the church. It is the burial place of the Kings of Savoy, and their vault is in the crypt. The last one buried there was Charles Albert. Victor Emmanuel is buried in the Pantheon in Rome. We found a nice old sacristan who took us about and explained various statues to us--also all the glories of the Casa di Savoia, winding up with an enthusiastic eulogy of Queen Margherita--but never as Queen of Italy, "nostra Principessa." She has certainly made herself a splendid place in the hearts of the people--they all adore her. We climbed up to the roof, and what a view we had, all Turin at our feet with its domes and high, pointed roofs, standing in the midst of the green plain dotted all over with villas, farms, gardens, little groves of chestnuts, the river meandering along through the meadows carpeted with flowers, and looking in the sunlight like a gold zig-zag with its numerous turns--always the beautiful crown of hills, and in the background the snow peaks of the Alps. It was very clear--they looked so near, as if one could throw a stone across. Our old man pointed out all the well-known peaks--Monte Rosa, Mont Cenis, and many others whose names I didn't catch. He said he had rarely seen the whole chain so distinct. It reminded me of the view we had of the Bernese Oberland so many years ago--the first time we had seen snow mountains. On arriving at Berne we were hurried out on the