CHAPTER IV.

SANTA ROSALIA.

It was on the 22nd April, that I resolved to pay my respects to the statue of Santa Rosalia, which stands upon the high and beetling cliff beyond the Monte Pellegrino; the morning was deliciously cool, the water hardly crisped by the slightest breeze, and the atmosphere as clear as the Italian skies. I crossed the small part of the bay, and landed near the foot of the road; there is some distance to walk before you arrive at the way constructed on arches, and which, seen from afar, gives the idea of an aqueduct. The harbour presented a busy scene, the government steam-boats had mustered strong, and there was more bustle and animation than I had previously observed; but on the shore the idle boys seemed at their

usual avocation, gambling; the bronzed boatmen lay stretched in their boats, apparently careless of their business, some hideous bipeds called, par complaisance, women, were, as usual, wrangling and gesticulating, and a mass of soldiers with the eternal cigars, stood carelessly observing the dispute. There is a hot dustiness around the bay and near the harbour, and those who wish to escape the perfume of either garlic, or stale fishes, had better mend their way.

On leaving the shore, the heat of the sun became more powerful. The month of April is reckoned rather far advanced for visiting Sicily; May becomes unpleasantly hot, and as for June and a sirocco to assist it, that is a punishment which only the merchant, tied and bound in the web of affairs, can be expected to bear. Money-spinning defies even a sirocco or a pestilence. Of all the disagreeable roads, none is more disagreeable than this zig-zag which leads to the summit of the Pellegrino. It is far better to avoid the first three lines of arches, by taking a narrow path which those who frequent this mountain have made beneath; it is, of course, a sharper ascent, but you walk on ground, and not on

hard, round, slippery stones, over which those who are imprudent enough to have nails in their shoes, will find the ascent difficult and the descent dangerous. Those who have seen midshipmen in a boat, pulling themselves any long distance without any one to command them-in short, felicity-hunting-may have remarked how constantly they "lay on their oars," and look at the distant place they have to reach. The traveller in very sultry weather, with his coat on his arm, his neckerchief untied, and his handkerchief turned into a mop, continually stops, looks back to see how much of his labour he has overcome, and gives a very heavy sigh, as he surveys that he has yet to overcome, nay, very often sits down, and feels much inclined to give it up.

A sailor being in a boat rowed by Spaniards, was amused by the conversation of the boatmen, who, becoming warm in their arguments, but lax in their exertions, at last fairly laid upon their oars. Jack could only make out in the vehemence of the discussion, "si, signorno, signor," which continued, notwithstanding the boat was drifting out to sea. Observing the discussion had more charms than the labour, Jack cut short the argument thus: "Halloa,

you sirs! si, signor, and no, signor! who is to pull the boat on shore ?" and those who sit down to look back and sigh, as they look forward, had better remember the anecdote.

I aver without a blush, that more than once I wished this Mons Eveta, this mountain celebrated in the Punic wars, and its impregnable position, where the Carthaginians entrenched themselves, had been a sight done, for the hour and a quarter, which is a short time to finish the walk even to the Plateau, will not be found one of the most agreeable in life; but then I had the remembrance of the royal saint and her contemplative life to cheer me. I plucked up courage, I did not require "warmth," and continued to the grotto, in which the credulous are informed this pious and exemplary lady resided. I should be very sorry to exchange a palace for such a niche in a rock; there is a small kind of belvedere on the left, before you arrive at this grotto; and it is quite excusable, as the principal heavy work is done, to repose here a few minutes, and cast your eyes over the valley below.

The attention will be riveted on the palace of the Favorita, its little bell parasols, and

dingle dangles-for this summer palace is built

VOL. III.

H

in the Chinese fashion outside; but the interior, although it still affects this oriental garb, has its walls covered with the multitudinous holy virgins and children, which seem the staple commodity of Italian painters and engravers; but the virgins do not enjoy entire possession of the royal walls, for English prints of all sorts and conditions are interspersed with the holy family, and make a very ridiculous contrast. We may see more of the palace hereafter.

Look at the little village of Carini; has this pretty and delightfully placed village never produced a meteor which should dazzle the world? This is the ancient Hyccara, the birthplace of her, who, according to Byron and others, created an amatory revolution among the "Attic Beaux."* Yes, this little cluster of white houses stand upon the site of Hyccara, where Lais was born; she was made captive during the expedition of Nicias, and taken to Athens.

The philosophers had eyes for beauty; there is no woman who does not enjoy her conquest over the wise and the great, more than over the young, the frivolous, or even the hand

* "And envy Lais all her Attic Beaux."

Byron's British Bards.