Pavia is a very curious old place. Of all the old garlic-smelling, dirty, and badly-drained cities of North Italy, it is the most garlic-smelling, the dirtiest, and the worst drained; but it is very quaint withal. The old marketplaces, the projecting roofs, and the curious outdoor shops give it a wonderfully “old-world” appearance, and we enjoyed this ramble through the old city greatly, notwithstanding the horrible smells and the difficulty we had to find our way about the place. After wandering for some little time, we came to the Piazza del Duomo, which is most picturesque, and the effect was much enhanced when we were there, as it was market time. The vast quantity of old women, dressed in the most quaint manner, selling the oddest of wares, added no little to a scene which must always be paintable to a degree. The cathedral, rising on one side of the piazza, with its huge campanile, though picturesque, can scarcely be called beautiful. It has never been finished, and when we were there it was in a terrible state of dilapidation. Of the interior we could see nothing except a heap of scaffold-poles, as it was in course of restoration, and even the shrine of the great St. Augustine was concealed from view. The most interesting church in Pavia is San Michele, and, though we were rather pressed for time, we determined to see it. San Michele is an early Romanesque church of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and is very beautiful, both externally and internally. The façade is richly ornamented with bands of carving and small open galleries, and the chancel internally is on a much higher level than the nave, and is approached by a great flight of steps, giving it a most dignified appearance. After leaving San Michele we tried to find our way to the station; no easy matter, as we found to our cost. We think we must have made the circumference of the city three times before an Italian boy, rather more intelligent than his fellows, at last pointed us out a place which proved to be the station, from whence we returned to Milan. The Brera Gallery contains a magnificent collection of pictures. In an article like this it is impossible to give a detailed description of these paintings, and a mere list of works of art is both uninteresting and uninstructive; besides which no description of pictures is of any value unless it is prefaced by an account of the various schools to which the artists belong—a task which has been admirably done already by Miss Emily Macirone in the pages of this magazine. However, we may mention that the gallery is a complete history of Italian art.