How safe and sure-footed these laborious Portantini are, we had almost daily experience during our residence in Genoa—in our visits to the villa of Santa Anna*, one of the finest and most elevated of those that command the beautiful Bay-scenery of Genoa.

 *The villa Santa Anna is the favourite summer-residence of the Marchesa Theresa Pallavicini. We were present there at one of the most picturesque fêtes that can well be imagined, and in which Religion accidentally mingled her rites, with a very singular effect. It was the feast of Saint Anne—the saint-day of the younger Marchioness (daughter-in-law to Madame Pallavicini), in honour of whom the entertainment was given. As we were carried up the steep and dark acclivities, on the summit of which the villa and its gardens, brilliantly illuminated, blazed like meteors, we observed several little shrines, erected by the votarists of the Saint, lighted with wax tapers and decorated with flowers. Bands of children and young women sang choruses, and suffered them to fade away in dying cadences, which were taken up by other groups, and echoed back.

 The entertainment at the villa was a concert, ball, and supper—the two latter under an awning,and in the open air, delicious from the softness of evening and the profusion of flowers. About midnight the moon rose,—and the Bay, with its shipping—the Apennines—a light-house—a fortress—the town beneath, all touched with silver rays, or partially bid in deep shadows, completed the scene.