_10th._ We quitted Lucca at seven in the morning, and from the top of the hill beyond it, I discovered the straight blue line of the Mediterranean. Descending the hill, and driving about ten miles through groves of olives and rows of poplars, from which the vines hung down in long single festoons, we passed the boundary of the Lucchese territory, and entered the small dukedom of Massa-Carrara, and shortly after into the town of Massa, a neat and airy though old town. White marble is generally used here for the stairs, and for the facings of the doors and windows. Whilst dinner was preparing, I took a walk up to the old castle above the town, now emphatically called _the fortress_. Its only garrison, however, seemed to consist of four or five soldiers, who were provided with one old rusty cannon. The view from the ruined battlements was highly beautiful: in front lay the wide sea, glancing in the beams of the sun, so bright that the eye could not bear to look upon it; to the left, in the distance, appeared the island of Gorgona, rising like a dark blue rock out of the glittering waves; to the right, two smaller islands were seen, beyond which appeared promontory upon promontory, conveying their woods of olives far out into the sea. Below the castle a vast plain covered with vineyards and groves of olives was seen, stretching down to the edge of the water, intersected by a silvery river winding among the trees, whilst immediately under the hill, and half hidden by it, lay Massa, like the plan of a town spread open before me. Beyond it were seen the wooded hills leading to Carrara, and behind the castle rose rocky and rugged mountains, here and there spotted with a field or two of remaining snow, and, like the Alps, hiding their lofty heads in dark grey clouds. Quitting Massa, we drove over a noble bridge of one lofty arch built entirely of white marble, and after winding across a long hill, we passed through Carrara, near which, in one of the lateral vallies, are the celebrated marble quarries. A little beyond this village we entered the Piedmontese territory and the dominions of the King of Sardinia, and soon arrived at Sarzana, a small ill-looking town. It being Sunday, the road and town were covered with peasants in their holiday suits: the dress of the women is one of the oddest I have yet seen; they wear no stockings, and their clothes seem huddled on all in a bundle; their hair is drawn away from their foreheads, and tied up behind in a bag of silk, of different colours, some red, some blue, some black, and always with three or four tassels hanging down from the end, whilst on the top of this bag is stuck the funniest little straw hat possible, looking much like a soup plate turned topsy-turvy, and made of frizzled straw, ornamented with coloured ribbons. The women of a higher rank wear white veils over their heads, and no bags.