Another but more lengthened excursion can be recommended—that to the heights of Ste Agnes (pronounced _Anèse_). Invalids and persons stiff in the limbs will find the journey too fatiguing to be undertaken on foot. They will require to hire a donkey at a _Station des Anes_, and either a boy or woman will go to lead it up the steeps. Walking, however, is preferable, if the fatigue can be encountered; for much of the pleasure consists in sitting down now and then to loiter over and mark the beauties of the scenery. The route is, for about a third of a mile, along the right bank of the Borigo, and then the ascent commences. First, it winds by the usual broad and rudely made steps amidst orange and lemon gardens, laid out in terraces, irrigated at certain seasons by water gathered with the greatest possible care in well-built tanks. The design apparently is to conduct all the rain that falls by channels and gutters into these receptacles. When I made the ascent, the tanks were either wholly dry, or had a residuum of dirty fetid water. What the dwellers in the cottages did for water, was past my comprehension, unless supplies were brought to them in small barrels on the backs of donkeys. The solitude, the simplicity of these hill-dwellings, furnish interesting matter of contemplation. Of the old Ligurian type, and speaking a blended patois of Italian and French, with some words of Arabic and Spanish, the people occupying the slopes of the hills cling with tenacity to their old usages and habits. From generation to generation, they have occupied their small properties. Simple and frugal in their way of living, consuming no foreign or taxable luxuries, they follow out their obscure destiny in a manner that entitles them to respect. Conquered by the Romans, harassed by the Grimaldis, they have been so fortunate as to suffer no absolute robbery of houses and lands. Dynasties may come and go. It is pretty much the same who are their nominal superiors. What they have to do is to attend to their patch of olives, oranges, or lemons. All the year round, the sun beats down on their little properties; and provided they can secure a proper supply of water for irrigation, they bask amidst permanent luxuriance. Water is to them most precious. Every proprietor must have a tank for receiving the runs of water from the pathways, in case of rain; and all along the hill-sides are constructed channels for bringing supplies from distant sources. With such appliances, a craggy steep, with but faint traces of soil, becomes fertile and beautiful. In buying pieces of ground, therefore, care is taken to stipulate for some sort of water privilege; such, for instance, as a right to have water turned on one or more days, or hours, per week. When there has been a long drought, as was the case previous to my visit, the suffering is considerable; though personal inconvenience is less thought of than loss of crops. In summer, when the