o preach to us, at which I was
much pleased, being very curious to hear a Corsican sermon.

Our priest did very well. His text was in the Psalms. "Descendunt ad
infernum viventes. They go down alive into the pit."

After endeavouring to move our passions with a description of the
horrours of hell, he told us "Saint Catherine of Siena wished to be laid
on the mouth of this dreadful pit, that she might stop it up, so as no
more unhappy souls should fall into it. I confess, my brethren, I have
not the zeal of holy Saint Catherine. But I do what I can; I warn you
how to avoid it." He then gave us some good practical advices and
concluded.

The weather being now cleared up, I took leave of the worthy gentleman
to whom I had been a guest. He gave me a letter to Signor Damiano Tomasi
Padre del Commune at Pino, the next village. I got a man with an ass to
carry my baggage. But such a road I never saw. It was absolutely
scrambling along the face of a rock overhanging the sea, upon a path
sometimes not above a foot broad. I thought the ass rather retarded me;
so I prevailed with the man to take my portmanteau and other things on
his back.

Had I formed my opinion of Corsica from what I saw this morning, I might
have been in as bad humour with it, as Seneca was, whose reflections in
prose are not inferiour to his epigrams. "Quid tam nudum inveniri
potest, quid tam abruptum undique quam hoc saxum? quid ad copias
respicienti jejunius? quid ad homines immansuetius? quid ad ipsum loci
situm horridius? Plures tamen hic peregrini quam cives consistunt? usque
eo ergo commutatio ipsa locorum gravis non est, ut hic quoque locus a
patria quosdam abduxerit.[89] What can be found so bare, what so rugged
all around as this rock? what more barren of provisions? what more rude
as to its inhabitants? what in the very situation of the place more
horrible? what in climate more intemperate? yet there are more
foreigners than natives here. So far then is a change of place from
being disagreeable, that even this place hath brought some people away
from their country."

[Footnote 89: Seneca de Consolatione.]

At Pino I was surprised to find myself met by some brisk young fellows
drest like English sailors, and speaking English tolerably well. They
had been often with cargoes of wine at Leghorn, where they had picked up
what they knew of our language, and taken clothes in part of payment for
some of their merchandise.

I was cordially entertain