The Mysteries of Udolpho

offensive sound, winds

His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,

Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.* (* Collins. [A. R.])

The travellers crossed the Arno by moon-light, at a ferry, and, learning

that Pisa was distant only a few miles down the river, they wished to

have proceeded thither in a boat, but, as none could be procured, they

set out on their wearied horses for that city. As they approached it,

the vale expanded into a plain, variegated with vineyards, corn, olives

and mulberry groves; but it was late, before they reached its gates,

where Emily was surprised to hear the busy sound of footsteps and the

tones of musical instruments, as well as to see the lively groups, that

filled the streets, and she almost fancied herself again at Venice;

but here was no moon-light sea--no gay gondolas, dashing the waves,--no

PALLADIAN palaces, to throw enchantment over the fancy and lead it into

the wilds of fairy story.

The Arno rolled through the town, but no music

trembled from balconies over its waters; it gave only the busy voices

of sailors on board vessels just arrived from the Mediterranean;

the melancholy heaving of the anchor, and the shrill boatswain's

whistle;--sounds, which, since that period, have there sunk almost into

silence. They then served to remind Du Pont, that it was probable he

might hear of a vessel, sailing soon to France from this port, and thus

be spared the trouble of going to Leghorn. As soon as Emily had reached

the inn, he went therefore to the quay, to make his enquiries; but,

after all the endeavours of himself and Ludovico, they could hear of no

bark, destined immediately for France, and the travellers returned to

their resting-place. Here also, Du Pont endeavoured to learn where his

regiment then lay, but could acquire no information concerning it. The

travellers retired early to rest, after the fatigues of this day;

and, on the following, rose early, and, without pausing to view the

celebrated antiquities of the place, or the wonders of its hanging

tower, pursued their journey in the cooler hours, through a charming

country, rich with wine, and corn and oil. The Apennines, no longer

awful, or even grand, here softened into the beauty of sylvan and

pastoral landscape; and Emily, as she descended them, looked down

delighted on Leghorn, and its spacious bay, filled with vessels, and

crowned with these beautiful hills.

She was no less surprised and amused, on entering this town, to find

it crowded with persons in the dresses of all nations; a scene, which

reminded her of a Venetian masquerade, such as she had witnessed at the

time of the Carnival; but here, was bustle, without gaiety, and noise

instead of music, while elegance was to be looked for only in the waving

outlines of the surrounding hills.