The Sun.
London, England, 1859-06-21 00:00:00

GENOA.

A letter from Genoa, dated June 16, says :—The
French here are landing chests, four feet square,
marked in English " Navy bread," with the gross
weight, tare, and net, of each box ; and these do
not lie at all on the quay, but are immediately put
on the trucks, passed through the tramway tunnel
to the station at St. Pier d'Arena, and so sent for-
ward without delay ; sacks of flour landed by hun-
dreds follow more slowly, each pile sleeping one
night, perhaps, wrapped in sheets of canvass to
protect it against the damp air before disappearing,
when its place is soon supplied.bY-another. Num-
bers of casks from New York, containing each " 30
pieces of prime pork," are loaded on waggons or
taken to the University, in Strada Balbi, one of the
finest buildings in Genoa, and now used as a store.
Great barges, piled like Pickford's vans, with cases
of liqueurs, extrait d'absinthe, Muscat de Frontig-
nan, and cognac, are rowed in each by a single
man through the port to the Sanita quay, to be
discharged and put in store.

Yesterday about 800 Austrian prisoners arrived,
looking haggard and 'worn, but not otherwise objects
that would excite much pity ; their general demean-
our is quite unnatural, so dogged and indifferent
do they seem ; neither gay and careless as French-
men would probably be under such circumstances,
nor showing dejection and mortification as Italians
would do at the loss of liberty. Of course among
the number were bright exceptions; some fine young
men were pointed out to me as Hungarians, but the
mass were simply heavy-looking, stupid, and
bored.

Two days ago I saw a curious sight at the Bu-
salla railway station, where ends the great tunnel,
running through Monte Giove, which connects the
Piedmontese plains with Genoa,—no less than a
long train full of soldier butchers and bakers !
I did not at first observe that the numbers on
their caps showed them to be of many different
regiments, and was quite taken aback when a
merry fellow sang out in answer to my question,
" Nous sommes tous boulangers." They could
not start for half an hour, for a double engine,
patented by Stephenson, drags them up the
steep incline of the tunnel, rendered still steeper
by some unfortunate engineering mistake or
unavoidable difficulty of the ground, which has
made the tunnel rise from both sides, its highest
point being under ground, and meanwhile they
laughed and talked and sang vaudeville songs with
a good chorus, some ,uning their voices to a
" childish treble" to improve the harmony, or

rather melody, for they did not take parts, but
sang in unison. They were very eager to get down
to the war, and confident of success, showing me
their muskets and cartridges when I asked if bakers
fought, and doubtful whether the Emperor was at
Milan or Mantua. One wished very much to give
news of his safe arrival to his friends at home
but smiled at the idea of writing. No letter from
the camp, said he, would reach the French shores ;
Napoleon had no idea of exposing his plans or his
losses to be criticised by every man qui mettait
du noir sur du blanc—i. e., black ink on white
paper. The complaint about non-delivery of let-
ters is quite true. It is acknowledged that no
seal is respected at the post-office, and written
news from the camp more explicit or exten-
sive than what is given in the bulletins runs
great risk of total extinction. A friend of mine
was told on application that there was a letter for
him, but he was begged to return for it in an hour,
at the end of which time he received it with the seal,
bearing evident tokens of tampering; and the great
movement which preceded the battles of Palestro
and Magenta was marked by a total interruption
of communications for a week, during which time
wives and mothers, tormented by constant reports
of fighting and loss, had no resource but patience.