Next morning we resolved to proceed to Spezia, but before going, drove out to the famous Campo Santo. It is situated about a mile and a half out of town, and the road to it is by no means choice; but the place itself is remarkable. The cemetery covers a good many acres of ground, and, judging from the inscriptions on the tombs, is little more than a quarter of a century old; but the mode in which it is laid out is peculiarly Italian. It was the first of the kind I had seen. We subsequently visited others in different parts of Italy; but there was not one which could be compared, for combined grandeur and tasteful, refined elegance, with that of Genoa. The main portion of the grounds is laid out in a large square, enclosing a piece of open ground, probably, speaking roughly and from recollection, six or eight acres in extent. This open ground apparently is used for the more common burials, and is in no way extraordinary, except for the contrast it affords to the enclosed portions. The monuments, thickly planted in it, are of the paltry, frippery kind,—little tumble–down, uneasy–looking crosses, gewgaw wirework, top–heavy miniature lanterns pending from poles agee,—mingled with tawdry remains of immortelles and withered flowers, so commonly seen in Roman Catholic grounds abroad, though, to do the Genoa burying–ground justice, it is much more tidy in this respect than is customary. A colossal statue of the Virgin stands in the centre of the open space. Round three sides of this ground (besides the fourth regarding which anon) there have been built, in white marble,—of which material there are quarries in the neighbourhood of Genoa,—two long, parallel, spacious enclosures or vaults. In the outer of these vaults, monumental tablets are ranged down the side walls row above row in great uniformity, recording the names (with usual dates) of the deceased persons who have been, or are presumed to have been, buried in cells of which these are the outer ends or sides. The tablets are all of white polished marble, and black lettered. There is nothing particularly striking about this part except its extent and, to our eyes, novelty. But the inner aisle or arcade and all the corners or prominent parts are devoted to statues and figures, and sometimes representations in _alto relievo_—all cut out of white marble, and erected in memory of the more eminent or more opulent citizens of Genoa, or members of their families, who are buried there. The monuments evidence possession not merely of the beautiful material out of which they are produced, but of great natural capability on the part of the Italian sculptors, and of a taste on the part of the public, either natural or educated, in that direction. Without according indiscriminate admiration, one may say that there was scarcely a piece of sculpture of which our best artists at home could reasonably be ashamed. On the one side of each arcade the memorials are, for the