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Soon after four o'clock, our small vessel laboured its way into Bastia harbour, and a crowd of little boats came alongside to convey us and our effects to shore. I looked down, and saw the most wonderful sea, a deep Prussian blue, tossing against the steamer's sides; looked above, and saw a long, level shore, backed by low hills, the large town of Bastia rising gently from the water's edge, with complex streets and tall, factory-like houses. In a few minutes we were landed on Corsican soil; and, whilst our things lay before the door of the custom house just opposite the landing-stage, they became the cause of a lively altercation between the many female porters anxious to appropriate them as far as the hotel. We were the centre of an admiring, or curious, crowd of about a hundred natives; and amongst these, twenty or thirty tall, stalwart women and a few boys pushed, and jostled, and fought over our possessions, with an intense determination good to see. The men, meanwhile, Corsican fashion, stood by, silent and dignified, their hands in their pockets, looking on indifferently at the struggles of their better halves. When at length we were ready to start, and the three trunks had been replaced on the hand-cart, we had to pursue and divest five women of our small handbags, sketching blocks, and bundles of wraps, with which, deprived of the trunks, they were separately consoling themselves, deciding, to their mortification, that it did not require that number of stout females, in addition to a strong cart, to carry our very moderate allowance of luggage. Three of them, nevertheless, followed us to the hotel door, where, placing the heavy boxes on their heads, they marched with stately steps up the dark and dingy staircase, and deposited them in our rooms. It is astonishing what weight Corsican women can bear upon their heads. From childhood upwards, they are accustomed to carry all the heavy domestic burdens, and to carry them on their heads. They will pile one thing on the top of another, until, in the distance, they look like an advancing phantom of monstrous form. Enormous piles of wood, two or three yards long, large baskets full of heavy family goods, great wooden or earthenware cans and jars full of water, with sometimes a baby on the arm, are their usual burdens. Nothing but a baby is ever carried on the arm; and so much more convenient has habit made it to them to use their heads rather than their hands, that I believe, if the baby could be induced to keep its equilibrium as surely as the can of water or the load of wood, it would long ago have been transferred likewise to that elevation. Here is a specimen of a woman, who, with a remarkably strong and plunging infant on her arm, and a very large jar balanced sideways on her head, remained placidly motionless for at least ten minutes before us at the village of Buchisano, to have her portrait taken. The men of Corsica never carry anything except a gun or a heavily-knobbed stick; in fact, they rarely carry themselves, as they are generally on mule or donkey back; and it is no unusual sight to meet one or two of the nobler sex jogging along, pipe in mouth, on their mules, whilst the women of the family trudge behind, bearing babe and burden.