The Coast-Road Whence Camoglia Is Descried So Far Below, Is Famous,
In The Warm Season, Especially In Some Parts Near Genoa, For Fire-
Flies.
Walking there on a dark night, I have seen it made one
sparkling firmament by these beautiful insects:
So that the
distant stars were pale against the flash and glitter that spangled
every olive wood and hill-side, and pervaded the whole air.
It was not in such a season, however, that we traversed this road
on our way to Rome. The middle of January was only just past, and
it was very gloomy and dark weather; very wet besides. In crossing
the fine pass of Bracco, we encountered such a storm of mist and
rain, that we travelled in a cloud the whole way. There might have
been no Mediterranean in the world, for anything that we saw of it
there, except when a sudden gust of wind, clearing the mist before
it, for a moment, showed the agitated sea at a great depth below,
lashing the distant rocks, and spouting up its foam furiously. The
rain was incessant; every brook and torrent was greatly swollen;
and such a deafening leaping, and roaring, and thundering of water,
I never heard the like of in my life.
Hence, when we came to Spezzia, we found that the Magra, an
unbridged river on the high-road to Pisa, was too high to be safely
crossed in the Ferry Boat, and were fain to wait until the
afternoon of next day, when it had, in some degree, subsided.
Spezzia, however, is a good place to tarry at; by reason, firstly,
of its beautiful bay; secondly, of its ghostly Inn; thirdly, of the
head-dress of the women, who wear, on one side of their head, a
small doll's straw hat, stuck on to the hair; which is certainly
the oddest and most roguish head-gear that ever was invented.
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