e caryatide, or giant, which lies prostrate there, the last
of his race, is 27 feet long; and the remains of the columns, capitals,
ovaca, tryglyphi, &c., are all on the same enormous scale, and tend to
impress the gazer's mind with the idea that its erection was in reality
the work of supernatural agency.

The space between the temple and the town affords a beautiful prospect,
varied with undulating hills, green valleys, wooded slopes, and
sharp-pointed rocks, and interspersed with gardens in the richest
cultivation.

There is a great number of galley-slaves at Girgenti; and they must be a
happy race, if laughing and merriment be any criterion to judge by.

In the evening, Prince Butera having joined us from Alicata, we started
for Palermo. Poor Marquis St. Isodore has lost all his curiosities which
he landed here; his property being close to Girgenti. The servant who
was in charge of his baggage easily passed it through the custom-house
by means of a bribe; and, having loaded a cart, instead of going off at
once to the country, he placed it under a shed, and went to drink with
some of his companions. In the mean time, one of those on board, who had
an enmity against either the Marquis, or his man, laid an information,
that there were many contraband articles; and the officer went to the
shed and seized every thing.

[Sidenote: MARSALA.] _Saturday, 3d._--The sea has become very
boisterous, and most of the passengers are sick. We passed Marsala and
Mazzara, where an increasing people enjoy comparative abundance, and are
happy in consequence. All this benefit arises from the attention paid to
the cultivation of the grape for Marsala wine, set on foot by an
enterprising Englishman.

At two o'clock the steamer was off Trapani, and many of our passengers
landed to visit Selinuntum; more, I believe, with the desire of escaping
the horrors of sea-sickness, than for the purpose of searching after
ruined temples.

Our course now lay along the shore, which presented a succession of bold
mountainous scenery, interspersed with rich and smiling valleys. It was
evening when we approached Palermo, and the setting sun shed a flood of
golden light over each mountain summit, dark grey rock, and wooded glen:
it was a beautiful scene, and reminded me of one of those landscapes
which so often employed the immortal pencil of Claude Lorraine.

An unfortunate delay of half an hour in rounding Point Pellegrino,
prevented us from gettin