The railway from Nice to Mentone, forming part of the line from Paris and Marseilles, terminates at the frontier, where it is to be united to the line from Genoa. The Italian portion, however, is in a very backward condition, and to all appearance years may elapse before it is completed; on which account many travellers for Genoa do not trouble themselves with the railway so far as it is made, but hire carriages and horses at Nice for the whole journey. Vehicles with two, four, or sometimes five horses are seen daily passing southwards through Mentone. The railway does credit to its constructers. Piercing Cap Martin by a tunnel, it crosses the several valleys by bridges, holding close by the hills behind the town. The station, situated on the right bank of the Carei, and reached by the Route de Turin, is about a quarter of a mile northwards from the main street. Omnibuses in connection with several hotels, likewise an omnibus for the general service of the town, and the diligence for Genoa, attend the arrival of the trains. Visitors designing to remain for the season can have no difficulty in getting apartments in any of the hotels having omnibuses, until they look about them and make a choice of a dwelling. To help them in their selection, a few general observations may be offered. Mentone, as has been shewn, is a town in two divisions, locally known as the East and West Bays. The first thing, accordingly, for a stranger to do is to make up his mind in which he prefers to reside. The two bays are very different in character from each other. The East—that which is farthest away on arriving from Nice—is reputedly the warmest, and best adapted for invalids with pulmonary or bronchial affections. Sheltered on the west by the projecting hill on which the old town is built, and on the east by Cap Murtola, and closely overhung on the north by the mountains, it is, I believe, the most sunny warm nook in the whole Riviera. So completely is it enclosed that there is only space in front for the roadway from the Quai Bonaparte. The hilly ground in the rear, clothed in olive, orange, and lemon trees, is intersected by the small and not very accessible valley of Garavan, which imparts its name to the quarter. Far up, on the bare acclivities, are seen gray, sun-dried cottages, though who live in them, or how they are reached, no one can understand. Near at hand, on the lofty cliffs to the east, is the Corniche road, pursuing its way by the Pont St Louis.