Between seven and eight in the evening, we entered Turin, and in the morning directed our first attention to getting our passports properly arranged for our future journey; with this view we attended the police; and afterwards the Sardinian minister, where they demanded four francs from each of us for his signature. After this we walked about the town, where my friend expressed himself uncommonly pleased with the grandeur, beauty, and regularity of the buildings, streets, squares, and shops. The inhabitants generally addressed us in French, which gave us much the impression of a French town. After dinner we visited the queen’s villa, situated on the top of a hill, half a mile out of the town, in our way to which we crossed the Po (which has its source twenty-five miles above Turin, in the recesses of Monte Viso), over a magnificent bridge of five arches, built by the French, the approach to which was through a noble street, bearing the name of the river, with arcades on either side of it. The villa possesses a most commanding view of the city, river, and country around it, but contains nothing particularly good, except that the gardens are well laid out. After this we returned to the city, and promenaded the bank of the river, but were obliged to desist from extending our ramble by the coming on of a rainy evening. After breakfast the next day, we renewed our examination of the city, visiting the boulevards, and other parts, but were again compelled to return by the weather. On this account we took shelter in a caffé, where we observed in the papers, the first official account of the death of Napoleon, a rumour of which had reached us before we left Florence. “If thou had’st died as honour dies, Some new Napoleon might arise To shame the world again— But who would soar the solar height, To set in such a starless night?”