ners eight hundred feet down into the sea, has the strong sunlight
on it; and below, the row of tooth-like rocks, which are the extreme
eastern point, shine in a warm glow. We descend through a village,
twisting about in its crooked streets. The inhabitants, who do not see
strangers every day, make free to stare at and comment on us, and even
laugh at something that seems very comical in our appearance; which
shows how ridiculous are the costumes of Paris and New York in some
places. Stalwart girls, with only an apology for clothes, with bare
legs, brown faces, and beautiful eyes, stop in their spinning, holding
the distaff suspended, while they examine us at leisure. At our left,
as we turn from the church and its sunny piazza, where old women sit
and gabble, down the ravine, is a snug village under the mountain by
the shore, with a great square medieval tower. On the right, upon rocky
points, are remains of round towers, and temples perhaps.

We sweep away to the left round the base of the hill, over a difficult
and stony path. Soon the last dilapidated villa is passed, the last
terrace and olive-tree are left behind; and we emerge upon a wild, rocky
slope, barren of vegetation, except little tufts of grass and a sort of
lentil; a wide sweep of limestone strata set on edge, and crumbling in
the beat of centuries, rising to a considerable height on the left.
Our path descends toward the sea, still creeping round the end of the
promontory. Scattered here and there over the rocks, like conies,
are peasants, tending a few lean cattle, and digging grasses from the
crevices. The women and children are wild in attire and manner, and set
up a clamor of begging as we pass. A group of old hags begin beating
a poor child as we approach, to excite our compassion for the abused
little object, and draw out centimes.

Walking ahead of the procession, which gets slowly down the rugged path,
I lose sight of my companions, and have the solitude, the sun on the
rocks, the glistening sea, all to myself. Soon I espy a man below me
sauntering down among the rocks. He sees me and moves away, a solitary
figure. I say solitary; and so it is in effect, although he is leading
a little boy, and calling to his dog, which runs back to bark at me. Is
this the brigand of whom I have read, and is he luring me to his haunt?
Probably. I follow. He throws his cloak about his shoulders, exactly as
brigands do in the opera, and loiters on. At last there i