afternoon; there was a little
wind, and as the December night became chilly, I soon turned in. With
the first daylight I was on deck, expecting to find that we were near the
Italian port; to my surprise, I saw a mountainous shore, towards which
the ship was making at full speed. On inquiry, I learnt that this was
the coast of Albania; our vessel not being very seaworthy, and the wind
still blowing a little (though not enough to make any passenger
uncomfortable), the captain had turned back when nearly half across the
Adriatic, and was seeking a haven in the shelter of the snow-topped
hills. Presently we steamed into a great bay, in the narrow mouth of
which lay an island. My map showed me where we were, and with no small
interest I discovered that the long line of heights guarding the bay on
its southern side formed the Acroceraunian Promontory. A little town
visible high up on the inner shore was the ancient Aulon.

Here we anchored, and lay all day long. Provisions running short, a boat
had to be sent to land, and the sailors purchased, among other things,
some peculiarly detestable bread--according to them, _cotto al sole_.
There was not a cloud in the sky; till evening, the wind whistled above
our heads, but the sea about us was blue and smooth. I sat in hot
sunshine, feasting my eyes on the beautiful cliffs and valleys of the
thickly-wooded shore. Then came a noble sunset; then night crept gently
into the hollows of the hills, which now were coloured the deepest,
richest green. A little lighthouse began to shine. In the perfect calm
that had fallen, I heard breakers murmuring softly upon the beach.

At sunrise we entered the port of Brindisi.

IV.

The characteristic motive of English poetry is love of nature, especially
of nature as seen in the English rural landscape. From the "Cuckoo Song"
of our language in its beginnings to the perfect loveliness of Tennyson's
best verse, this note is ever sounding. It is persistent even amid the
triumph of the drama. Take away from Shakespeare all his bits of natural
description, all his casual allusions to the life and aspects of the
country, and what a loss were there! The reign of the iambic couplet
confined, but could not suppress, this native music; Pope
notwithstanding, there came the "Ode to Evening" and that "Elegy" which,
unsurpassed for beauty of thought and nobility of utterance in all the
treasury of our lyrics, remains perhaps the most ess