So closely do the mountains infringe on the shore of the eastern bay, that in this quarter there is space on the level ground for only a single range of hotels, with a roadway in front of them. On the western bay, the level ground is much broader; it allows space for a public promenade along the beach, also a succession of hotels and villas, not very symmetrically arranged, and a long street, in which the chief business of the town is conducted. Besides this degree of accommodation, the western bay offers some scope for building in certain lateral valleys, reaching to the base of the mountains. The valley first crossed is the Gorbio, and then the Borigo and Carei, the two last mentioned being the principal. They take their names from the torrents from the north which empty themselves into the sea—that is to say, when they have any running water in them, which is not very often the case. The valley of the Carei is the most spacious, and has already been built on to a considerable extent on both sides. The thoroughfare on the right bank, overshadowed with plane-trees, is known as the Route de Turin, and conducts to the railway station. The grand thing in the scenery of Mentone is the picturesque hilly ground behind it. Standing on the bridge which crosses the Borigo at the entrance to the town, we are presented with an amphitheatre of almost matchless beauty. In the foreground is a series of round-topped hills, detached from each other, and mostly laid out as groves of olive, orange, and lemon trees, interspersed with vine terraces, and dotted here and there with the cottages of the peasant proprietors. The height of these hills, or _collines_ as the French call them, is from four hundred to six hundred feet above the sea-level, an altitude that admits of our seeing over and immediately beyond them that wonderfully striking range of peaked limestone mountains towering in fantastic masses, and prominently relieved against the clear blue sky. The scene is one which we are never tired looking at, and leaves impressions which no length of time can obliterate. I have often thought with pleasure on that singularly picturesque landscape.