Few will refrain from hiring a voiture to make a trip across the frontier by the Pont St Louis, as far at least as that projecting part of the mountains on which stands the old tower of Grimaldi. From the level space in front of the hotels in the East Bay, the Corniche ascends amidst gardens and villas until, at the distance of a mile, arriving at the ravine of St Louis, it is carried by excavation along the face of the precipice. It is really a grand work of art. The ravine, rugged and singularly picturesque, is spanned by a bridge of a single arch, connecting France and Italy. A rivulet trickling down the hollow is conducted by artificial channels to the immediately adjoining gardens, and issues some hundreds of feet below on the sea-beach. To have a proper idea of the value of the road, we would need to walk along the bottom of the cliffs bordering on the sea, making use of fragments of that ancient Roman way which was the sole thoroughfare previous to the construction of the Corniche. The walk is a scramble, with barely footing for a single individual. It is, however, in various respects worth seeing. We here have an opportunity of visiting several caverns in the overhanging cliffs, in which bones and flint weapons of the pre-historic era have been discovered, and may likewise see the arch of a Roman bridge, which spans like an attenuated thread one of the ravines. The road from the Pont St Louis, cut by blasting out of the rocks, is the finest part of the whole Corniche. On our left we have the huge overhanging cliffs, and on our right the Mediterranean—view superb. Tourists will remember that at the top of the ascent, the road wheels round to the left, and becomes a little more tame in character. Just at the point of turning, we are opposite the old tower, which had been a residence of the Grimaldis. It resembles a Border keep, stuck high on the side of the hill, with a good outlook seaward. Adjoining it, and reached by an awkward pathway over some broken rocky ground encroached upon by a quarry, is a garden made in the face of the steeps by Dr J. H. Bennet. The thing is a marvel of artificial beauty. Five hundred feet above the Mediterranean, and with incalculable labour and taste, has this garden been established, ‘with a view to the cultivation of flowers, and to the tranquil enjoyment of invalid lazaroni life.’ Such is Dr Bennet’s own explanation of this singular garden among the rocks of Grimaldi. On entering, you walk along an avenue with built pillars on each side, whereon climbing plants are ingeniously trained. At my last visit, the garden had been considerably extended by a fresh purchase of rocks. Where the earth comes from, is at first sight a little puzzling. It is discovered to consist of what through ages had accumulated amidst small crevices in the gray limestone, and being carefully preserved when making the pathways, is found to be of immense fertility. Dwellers in