Ottilia's name, Mackay, the learned author of the "Flora Patlandica,"
discovered the Mediterranean heath,--such a flower as I have often
plucked on the sides of Vesuvius, and as Proserpine, no doubt, amused
herself in gathering as she strayed in the fields of Enna. Here it
is--the self-same flower, peering out at the Atlantic from Roundstone
Bay; here, too, in this wild lonely place, nestles the fragrant memory
of my Ottilia!

In a word, after a day on Ballylynch Lake (where, with a brown fly and
a single hair, I killed fourteen salmon, the smallest twenty-nine pounds
weight, the largest somewhere about five stone ten), my young friend
Blake Bodkin Lynch Browne (a fine lad who has made his continental tour)
and I adjourned, after dinner, to the young gentleman's private room,
for the purpose of smoking a certain cigar; which is never more pleasant
than after a hard day's sport, or a day spent in-doors, or after a good
dinner, or a bad one, or at night when you are tired, or in the morning
when you are fresh, or of a cold winter's day, or of a scorching
summer's afternoon, or at any other moment you choose to fix upon.

What should I see in Blake's room but a rack of pipes, such as are to
be found in almost all the bachelors' rooms in Germany, and amongst them
was a porcelain pipe-head bearing the image of the Kalbsbraten pump!
There it was: the old spout, the old familiar allegory of Mars, Bacchus,
Apollo virorum, and the rest, that I had so often looked at from
Hofarchitect Speck's window, as I sat there, by the side of Dorothea.
The old gentleman had given me one of these very pipes; for he had
hundreds of them painted, wherewith he used to gratify almost every
stranger who came into his native town.

Any old place with which I have once been familiar (as, perhaps, I have