raph station, whence all
arrivals are signaled as soon as the ships' flags and numbers can be
made out. The view from this _torretta_, as it is called, drew forth the
admiration of Lamartine, who visited it. "From the tower of the old
palace," he writes, "Valletta is seen in all its original beauty,
appearing as if cut out of a single piece of living rock."

The area in front of the palace--no longer exclusive ground--is now a
favorite public resort, and contains two fountains brimming with sweet
refreshment. Here one of the regimental bands gives out-of-door concerts
twice a week. This is also made the headquarters of the annual carnival
displays and frequent military reviews. The Spaniards would call it the
plaza of the city.

It is true that the exterior of this historic pile is somewhat
disappointing and commonplace in its architectural effect, but the
interior more than compensates for this first impression. One enters the
lofty corridors stimulated by a throng of active memories touching the
romantic story of the chivalric order of the Knights. The impress of
that seemingly incongruous combination, the soldier and the priest, is
everywhere to be seen. We promptly recall their humble beginning
centuries ago at Jerusalem, where, actuated by pious zeal, they
fulfilled the duty of good Samaritans; how they grew in numbers and in
importance until they finally became a warlike body of soldier-monks,
knight-errants of the cross. We remember that for hundreds of years they
fought incessantly against the active power of the Porte, and, almost
single-handed, kept the Ottomans and the piratical Algerines at bay, an
enemy who, uniting, strove to extend the creed of Mohammed westward by
power of the sword, and to banish Christianity from the face of the
earth; how, successively driven from Jerusalem, Cyprus, Acre, and
Rhodes, they finally established a home for the order in this Maltese
group, in defense of which they fought heroically, spilling their blood
like water upon the ramparts of St. Elmo, and finally erecting this
noble city, where they have left such lasting monuments of their
bravery, enterprise, success, and decline.

Such thoughts are almost automatically suggested by the brain as one
enters the portals of the interesting old palace, once the court of the
now virtually extinct fraternity. Though occupied by the English
officials and kept scrupulously in order, it has an unmistakable and
most melancholy air of