then, going back to the ship, looked up at the frowning rock threaded by
those English galleries, which, upon occasion, can pour forth from their
windows such a deadly hail.

Leaving the harbor, the ship passed slowly along between the "Pillars of
Hercules," for so many centuries the western limit of the Old World, and
entered the blue Mediterranean. And was this low dark line on the right
really Africa, the Dark Continent, which until then had seemed only a
dream--a far-away dream? What a sure reality it would ever be after
this!

Mrs. Douglas had chosen happily when she decided to land at Genoa
instead of at one of the northern ports; for aside from the fact that
the whole Atlantic passage was calmer than it otherwise could have been,
the beauty and interest of the days on the Mediterranean are almost
without parallel in ocean travel.

The magnificent snow-capped mountains of the Spanish shore; the rugged
northern coasts of the Balearic Islands; the knowledge that out just
beyond sight lies Corsica, where was born the little island boy, so
proud, ambitious, and unscrupulous as emperor, so sad and disappointed
in his banishment and death; and then the long beautiful Riviera coast,
which the steamships for Genoa really skirt, permitting their
passengers to look into Nice, Bordighera, Monaco, San Remo, etc., and to
realize all the picturesque beauty of their mountain background--all
this gave three enchanting days to our little party before the ship
sailed into the harbor of Genoa, _La Superba_, a well-merited title.

The city seemed now like a jewel in green setting, as its softly colored
palaces, rising terrace above terrace, surrounded by rich tropical