During one of the days of the week upon which it did not rain, I took a walk with a friend to the gorge of St. Louis. The road was very muddy, in consequence of the rain which had fallen; indeed, it is very seldom this road is in an agreeable condition. It is laid with soft limestone, which is ground down by heavy carts laden with enormous stones which are being conveyed from the rocks from which they are blasted to the breakwater. The dust so formed lies about three inches deep upon the road. Every horse, carriage, and cart which passes raises a cloud; but when the wind blows, it becomes insufferable, and there is hardly any possibility of brushing the dust out of one’s clothes. Rain converts the dust into mud, and when the mud has obtained a consistency by being baked in the sun, it forms into hard ruts trying to the pedestrian. The gorge was fully two miles distant from our hotel, and was a frequent point to which we subsequently walked or drove. To reach it from the west end we may pass through the Avenue Victor Emanuele, where the shops are, and its continuation, the Rue St. Michael. The road then skirts the water by the Quai Bonaparte (so called after Napoleon I., who constructed the Corniche road, of which this is a part), and looking up, we saw the old town with its ridge upon ridge of high old dingy houses, like so many terraces one over the other—a very hanging garden (though garden is anything but the suitable word) of old roofs and chimney–tops; while, looking over the parapet wall, the water lying 15 or 20 feet below, a fine view of the bay and little harbour is had. But this part of the road is always under shade after twelve o’clock, and is exceedingly trying to invalids. I have often thought that the municipal authorities might effect a vast improvement if they would construct a diagonal road across from its commencement at the well to the Hotel de la Paix. The water is very shallow, apparently only a few feet deep; and though it would be a work of time and would require much material, it would really be of vast importance to Mentone, as then the invalid could walk or drive either to or from the east bay at any time of day without danger. The space intervening between the embankment so to be formed and the Quai Bonaparte, might afterwards be filled up and converted into a large public garden. The operation, however, would be costly, although the stone for forming it is at hand. But taking things as they are, the road continues in front of the various hotels I have already mentioned. Whether it was that the air here is more confined than in the west bay, I know not, but we never could walk along this long dusty stretch without a feeling of languor such as was not experienced in other and much longer walks, so that we were always ready to take rest on one of the seats placed by the roadside. After proceeding a good way, the road at the east bend of the bay divides, and one fork winds up to the gorge and on to Italy.