the world of
spirits; over this woodland, seen on the verge of twilight, brooded a
silent awe, such as Dante knew in his _selva oscura_.

Of a sudden the dense foliage was cleft; there opened a broad alley
between drooping boughs, and in the deep hollow, bordered with sand and
stones, a flood rolled eastward. This river is now called Sinno; it was
the ancient Sins, whereon stood the city of the same name. In the
seventh century before Christ, Sins was lauded as the richest city in
the world; for luxury it outrivalled Sybaris.

I had recently been reading Lenormant's description of the costumes of
Magna Graecia prior to the Persian wars. Sins, a colony from Ionia,
still kept its Oriental style of dress. Picture a man in a long,
close-clinging tunic which descended to his feet, either of fine linen,
starched and pleated, or of wool, falling foldless, enriched with
embroidery and adorned with bands of gay-coloured geometric patterns;
over this a wrap (one may say) of thick wool, tight round the bust and
leaving the right arm uncovered, or else a more ample garment,
elaborately decorated like the long tunic. Complete the picture with a
head ornately dressed, on the brow a fringe of ringlets; the long hair
behind held together by gold wire spirally wound; above, a crowning
fillet, with a jewel set in the front; the beard cut to a point, and
the upper lip shaven. You behold the citizen of these Hellenic colonies
in their stately prime.

Somewhere in that enchanted forest, where the wild vine trails from
tree to tree, where birds and creatures of the marshy solitude haunt
their ancient home, lie buried the stones of Sins.

CHAPTER VII

COTRONE

Night hid from me the scenes that followed. Darkling, I passed again
through the station called Sybaris, and on and on by the sea-shore, the
sound of breakers often audible. From time to time I discerned black
mountain masses against a patch of grey sky, or caught a glimpse of
blanching wave, or felt my fancy thrill as a stray gleam from the
engine fire revealed for a moment another trackless wood. Often the
hollow rumbling of the train told me that we were crossing a bridge;
the stream beneath it bore, perhaps, a name in legend or in history. A
wind was rising; at the dim little stations I heard it moan and buffet,
and my carriage, where all through the journey I sat alone, seemed the
more comfortable. Rain began to fall, and when, about ten o'clock, I
alighted at Cotro