yards away, along the course of a ravine, stones were gleaming
whitely like a long line of scattered bones. They told me that was
the bed of a stream.

I had been fifteen days in Sicily. On coming into the Bay of
Palermo--which opens between the two mighty naked masses of the
Pelligrino and the Catalfano, and extends inward along the "Golden
Conch"--the view inspired me with such admiration that I resolved
to travel a little in this island, so ennobled by historic memories,
and rendered so beautiful by the outlines of its hills, which reveal
the principles of Greek art. Old pilgrim though I was, grown hoary
in the Gothic Occident--I dared to venture upon that classic soil;
and, securing a guide, I went from Palermo to Trapani, from Trapani
to Selinonte, from Selinonte to Sciacca--which I left this morning
to go to Girgenti, where I am to find the MS. of Clerk Alexander.
The beautiful things I have seen are still so vivid in my mind that
I feel the task of writing them would be a useless fatigue. Why
spoil my pleasure-trip by collecting notes? Lovers who love truly
do not write down their happiness.

Wholly absorbed by the melancholy of the present and the poetry of
the past, my thoughts people with beautiful shapes, and my eyes
ever gratified by the pure and harmonious lines of the landscape,
I was resting in the tavern at Monte-Allegro, sipping a glass of
heavy, fiery wine, when I saw two persons enter the waiting-room,
whom, after a moment's hesitation, I recognised as the Prince and
Princess Trepof.

This time I saw the princess in the light--and what a light! He
who has known that of Sicily can better comprehend the words of