The horrors of that night are not to be described. Animated nature of every description abounded in all the rooms; and, although No. 3 had her window open all night, it was necessary to burn incense (fortunately taken out from England) every half-hour or so; whilst No. 2 never retired to rest at all, but spent the dark hours in pacing up and down, reflecting on the humbug of fine scenery combined with filthy inns, and registering a vow never again to set foot in this wretched village, or any like it, for the sake of any natural beauties whatever. In this nocturnal pacing she was accompanied by a regiment of rats overhead, who played high jinks in the men's attic, undismayed by the occasional boot flung at them by some disturbed sleeper.
Bocognano is situated at some height amongst the hills, and its nights are no doubt considered cold by the inhabitants. This doubtless accounted for the fact that, after instituting a search (to explain the extraordinary warmth of the bed) No. 3 found two large fur rugs, or rather undressed sheepskins, carefully laid upon the top of the mattress, wool upwards.
With an inward groan, these receptacles for fleas were dragged across the room, and transferred to the window, whence, in company with the dirty quilt and the only strip of carpet in the room, they hung outside for an unaccustomed airing.
But enough of such like tortures, which are but described for the edification of future travellers, who are warned that they had far better sit the night out in their carriage, if a miserable fate brings them to Bocognano, than spend it (for I will not use the ironical word "sleep") at Hôtel Mouvrages.
I would warn them, too, to beware of printer's errors.
In Mr. Roden Noel's account of Corsica, given in a late Temple Bar number, he mentions a filthy place called Borognano, warning travellers to avoid it.
This account we studied carefully, but, unfortunately, were induced, by the differing letter, to imagine it a distinct place, or we should scarcely have had courage to go thither. I have no doubt now that Mr. Noel's Borognano was our Bocognano.
"With quaking hearts we watched them come,
From curtain, carpet, rug,
In countless hordes, half-famished brutes—