gnarled olive-trees. As the sunlight faded, Venus shone forth in a
luminous sky, and the deep yellows and purples overhead seemed to
mingle with the heavy scent of orange-flowers from scarcely visible
groves by the roadside. Saffron in the west and violet in the east
met midway, composing a translucent atmosphere of mellow radiance,
like some liquid gem--_dolce color d' oriental berillo_. Girgenti,
far off and far up, gazing seaward, and rearing her topaz-coloured
bastions into that gorgeous twilight, shone like the aerial vision
of cities seen in dreams or imaged in the clouds. Hard and sharp
against the sallow line of sunset, leaned grotesque shapes of
cactuses like hydras, and delicate silhouettes of young olive-trees
like sylphs: the river ran silver in the hollow, and the
mountain-side on which the town is piled was solid gold. Then came
the dirty dull interior of Girgenti, misnamed the magnificent. But
no disenchantment could destroy the memory of that vision, and
Pindar's [Greek: philaglaos Akragas] remains in my mind a
reality.[1]

[1] Lest I should seem to have overstated the splendour of
this sunset view, I must remark that the bare dry
landscape of the south is peculiarly fortunate in such
effects. The local tint of the Girgenti rock is yellow.
The vegetation on the hillside is sparse. There is nothing
to prevent the colours of the sky being reflected upon the
vast amber-tinted surface, which then glows with
indescribable glory.

The temples of Girgenti are at the distance of two miles from the
modern town. Placed upon the edge of an irregular plateau which
breaks off abruptly into cliffs of moderate height below them, they
stand in a magnificent row between the sea and plain on one side,
and the city and the hills upon the other. Their colour is that of
dusky honey or dun amber; for they are not built of marble, but of
sandstone, which at some not very distant geological period must
have been a sea-bed. Oyster and scallop shells are embedded in the
roughly hewn masonry, while here and there patches of a red deposit,
apparently of broken coralline, make the surface crimson. The
vegetation against which the ruined colonnades are relieved consists
almost wholly of almond and olive trees, the bright green foliage of
the one mingling with the greys of the other, and both enhancing the
warm tints of the stone. This contrast of colours is very agreeable
to the eye; yet when the