The same night we touched at Curzola, and at 4 A.M. on
September 3 anchored at Gravosa, the port of debarcation for Ragusa.
Taking leave of my friends on board, I landed at about 5 A.M.,
and, having committed my luggage, a small bullock trunk, saddle-bags,
and a saddle, to the shoulders of a sturdy facchino, and myself to a
very rickety and diminutive cart, I proceeded on my way to Ragusa. The
drive, about a mile and a half in distance, abounds with pretty views,
while the town of Ragusa itself is as picturesque in its interior
detail as it is interesting from its early history. The grass-grown
streets, the half-ruined palaces, and the _far niente_ manners of the
people, give little indication of the high position which the Republic
once achieved. Yet, despite all these emblems of decay, there are no
signs of abject poverty, but rather a spirit of frugal contentment is
everywhere apparent.

Arriving at an hour when, in the more fastidious capitals of Europe,
housemaids and milkmen hold undisputed sway, I found groups of the
wealthier citizens collected under the trees which surround the café,
making their morning meal, and discussing the local news the while.
Later in the day ices and beer were in great demand, and in the evening
the beauty and fashion of Ragusa congregated to hear the beautiful band
of the regiment 'Marmola.' The hotel, if it deserve the name, is scarce
fifty yards distant; it possesses a _cuisine_ which contrasts favourably
with the accommodation which the house affords.

The _table d'hôte_ dinner is served in a kind of vaulted kitchen, the
walls of which are hung round with scenes illustrative of the Italian
campaign. The series, which comprises desperate cavalry charges, death
wounds of general officers, and infantry advancing amidst perfect
bouquets of shot and shell, closes appropriately with the pacific