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TRIP TO THE FARO-SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS.

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smothered in olive oil. Having finished this delicate and dainty dish, we started off on foot across a sandy beach to visit the lighthouse, the celebrated Pharos of the Greeks, which is situated on the sandy flats of Cape Pylorus. A small fee secured my admission, and the door being opened by a Neapolitan soldier, we ascended several flights of steps, and soon reached the top, from whence I was gratified with a panorama, the beauty of which fully repaid me for the time I had taken to visit the Faro. Northwards, and studding the sea like so many fairy islands, lay Stromboli, Lipari, Panaria, Volcano, and the whole of the Lipari group, with the promontory of Milazzo jutting out into the water to the westward. Whilst looking towards the east, the eye rested with delight on the Calabrese mountains, and the distant shores of Italy stretched along far northward in the direction of Naples. Beneath wound the blue waters, deep and dark, of the Messinese straits, near the centre of which the eddying current that flows in and out of the channel every six hours, points out the direction of the far-famed Charybdis, and jutting out from the opposite shore the steep rock of Scylla rises jagged and abrupt, the waters lashing and foaming around its cavernous base with that moaning sound, that gave rise to the fabled dogs and syrens of the ancients. The rock of Scylla is united to the Italian shore, and is not a detached portion by itself, as some have supposed. On its summit stands the town of Sciglio, containing a castle and about 300 inhabitants. On returning from the lighthouse, I found my magnificent donkey completely invigorated, and engaging a smaller one for my guide, who was much fatigued, we trotted off towards Messina, followed by half the children in the village, begging for a single baiocchi. On returning to my hotel, I called on Mr. R. the banker, an English gentleman residing in this city, to whom I bore a letter of introduction. He received me very kindly, and favoured me with a recommendatory letter to a friend of his at Riposto, a town near Giarra, at the foot of Etna, from whence I was to start on my ascent to the crater. With this essential aid I was enabled to lay down the plan for my route during the few remaining days I was to spend in Sicily, and I therefore abandoned a project whih I had entertained of visiting Stromboli, which was represented to me as impracticable, the boats being sometimes detained there for upwards of a week, owing to the surf, which runs so high upon the beach, that mariners are compelled to wait for a change of wind before they are able to launch away.

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RETURN TO ETNA HOSPITALITY AT RIPOSTO-ASCENT OF THE MOUNTAIN.

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AFTER a good night's rest at the hotel, I arose at daybreak, and shortly afterwards found the guide and mules, which I had engaged for my journey to Riposto waiting for me at the door. As the distance was great, I felt very anxious to start as soon as possible, in order to reach Riposto on the same night. Every thing was ready, when I found that my passport, which the landlord of the hotel, Signor Nobile, assured me that he would get signed in time, remained yet unsigned, and that the authorities were not in attendance at the office of the police at so early an hour. As I did not wish to run the risk of imprisonment in any of his Sicilian Majesty's gaols, I did not consider it advisable to run the chance of proceeding into another province without government permission, therefore I set off myself in search of the authorities at their respective dwellings. After a tedious search, which cost me a delay of nearly two hours, we found the officer at mass in one of the suburban churches. Here we had to wait until the old gentleman had finished his devotions, and the moment that the priests had concluded their ceremonies at the altar, he took the passport, and requesting me to step into an adjoining room, where the priests

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were disrobing, he affixed his signature, for which I paid him the usual fee. We had now to obtain the counter-signature of the head of the police, which concluded the affair. It was nearly ten o'clock before we started from the Corso at Messina. The sun was scorchingly hot, and the glare and dust rendered the roads very unpleasant. Beneath the bright blue sky of a Sicilian autumn day, the peasants, dressed in their holiday clothes, thronged the environs of the city, or followed the paths along the fiumaras, mounted upon mules. It is no uncommon sight to witness a peasant on his mule, with a barefooted lady seated hehind him, and a little child clinging to her waist. In this part of the country, the women climb the olive trees, and beat down the fruit with a long stick. In fact, they perform these out-door services in the fields and vineyards with more spirit than the men, whose employment consists chiefly in fishing.

About twelve miles from Messina, my guide, who was running behind the mule, received a severe kick on his breast from the animal, which caused him to faint. We were several miles distant from any village, upon a lonely road by the sea-shore, and I was fearful that the man would be unable to proceed any further. As he did not understand one word of English, I could not discover how much he was hurt; but fortunately, after a short delay, we were enabled to start again, the poor fellow pointing to his breast with a most rueful countenance. In another hour we reached Scaletta, a village on the sea-coast, where we stopped at a cottage to dine. This cottage appeared to be the general shop or store of the place. A number of peasants were seated around an open doorway, and after dismounting in a spacious stable adjoining, I entered the cottage, and seating myself at a small table apart from the rest, I waited whilst the good woman of the house prepared me some dinner. Here again I saw Sicilian manners in all their native simplicity, and the poor accommodation I received was amply repaid by the amusement which the scene afforded me. I was surrounded by three very lean Spanish dogs, which almost devoured me for something to eat; four or five remarkably sleek tabby cats followed their example, and I amused myself by feeding them on grapes until my maccaroni was cooked. As the cats grew more troublesome, they were driven out of the house, and flew scampering away in all directions, whilst the dogs slunk underneath the table. My dinner was by this time quite ready; it consisted of a huge pile of maccaroni, (or "tobacco pipes made easy," as it has been very aptly denominated,) with a dessert of figs, walnuts, and delicious grapes. After I had eaten a few mouthfuls of the maccaroni, I handed it over to my guide, who, despite his kick in the morning, managed to clear the trencher. The maccaroni in the Sicilian cities is good, but the home-made stuff which had been cooked for me was very unpalatable, and, indeed, was only rendered barely eatable by the addition of a sauce of red pepper, or tomatas fried in oil. The son of the landlady, a fine boy of thirteen, soon made friends with me, and when I remounted my mule to start again on my journey towards Riposto, he came with his brother and kissed my hand to wish me farewell, begging me to accept some sweet apples which were the produce of their garden. I took them, and bidding the boys a friendly good-by, resolved to make this my resting-place on my return from the mountain, having met with so kind a reception from these people. The hostess was a merry soul, and little Antonio was the prettiest page I had seen in Sicily. Leaving Scaletta we travelled on till long after dark, and, finding that it was impossible to reach Riposto on the same night, we took up our quarters at the little inn at Giardini, at the foot of the mountain of Taormina. The latter part of our journey was very lonely; it lay along the rocky shores, beyond the pass of St. Alessio, where there is a region of gloomy caves which are the nightly resort of a desperate band of smugglers. Here we were serenaded by the shrill cry of the cicada, whose pining note resounded from every olive tree when twilight had spread itself over the romantic steeps of the Nebrodes, and the light of an occasional fire-fly sparkled among the dark green foliage of the lemon and the bergamot. The accommodations of the inn at Giardini consisted of a moderately-sized apartment, with a bed in each corner; these, consisting simply of mattresses laid upon wooden tressels, are very easily removed. Presently, my old landlord came in, and, bringing me a lamp, laid a book upon the table for my amusement until the supper was ready. This was the visitors' name book, and it was nearly full of autographs in various languages, chiefly English, French, and German, accompanied here and there with droll verses and personal jokes on the old landlord himself, who, ignorant of the meaning, had treasured them up for many years, thinking, no doubt, (good and credulous soul!) that they were all eulogiums on his establishment, and the unremitting attention of himself and two old women, who formed a capital trio for the fun of merry travellers halting in a Sicilian village. Some of the jokes were so ridiculous, that, although exceedingly tired, I sat and laughed outright over the precious volume, until the supper was brought upon the table. The old folks were certainly very attentive, and they did their best to make me comfortable. I had honey from Hybla of the finest kind, and as no milk was to be procured so late in the evening, they beat up some eggs instead in my coffee. After this wholesome repast, for which I was heartily thankful, I slept soundly until four o'clock the next morning. Before leaving, I made an entry in the old man's name-book for the amusement of future guests, and having mounted my mule I started off again with my guide towards Riposto.

For the first hour it was quite dark, but a gleam of light over the Mediterranean gave indications of the approach of sunrise, and soon after the summit of Etna caught the earliest ray, and the dawn gradually spread itself lower and lower, till at last the round red sun itself peeped up above the sea, and the whole plain revealed its wealth

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of vineyards and olive groves to the cheerful light of morning. We struck out of the main road along a bye path, over rugged lavas and torrent beds, from which I enjoyed a magnificent view of Etna. The bright green vineyards circling its base, were cheerfully interspersed with numerous villages, and white cottages.

About a mile from Giarra, we turned down a sandy lane, and passing through a plantation of canes, we reached the shore. After proceeding for a short distance further on, we arrived at Riposto, which is a place of some trade, though the streets are dirty, and the people present a very miserable appearance.

Mr. Carlhill, the gentleman to whom I bore an introductory letter, received me most kindly; and as the family were just sitting down to breakfast, I joined them immediately, and dismissed my guide, who returned to Messina. The house, which has only been recently built by Mr. Carlhill, is furnished quite in the English style, and is the best I have seen in Sicily, if I except some in Catania and Messina. The dining and drawing-rooms are paved with coloured tiles, and resemble mosaic work, the climate being too warm for carpets. Mr. Carlhill's wine-presses are very extensive, and he is engaged in raising new works upon the premises. After breakfast, Mr. Carlhill, senior, who has resided many years in Sicily, favoured me with an inspection of the wine-presses and distilleries. As the vintage was nearly over, I was unfortunate in not seeing the process in active operation. A great variety of wines, both red and white, are made here, and exported to various parts, more especially to Malta and America. The wines of Etna are very superior of their kind; and there is a richness in the grape growing on the mountain which is said to be peculiar to itself. The Vino da Dama is delicious, and exceeds most cordials in flavour, though I was informed by a gentleman of Nicolosi, that it is the pure juice extracted from the grape. Vessels coming to Riposto for cargoes of wine, usually lay off about a mile from the shore, and the goods are carried out to them on rafts constructed especially for that purpose. Smaller vessels are sometimes employed; they are dragged up on the beach, and I have even seen some of fifty or sixty tons, high and dry on the shore, taking in their cargoes at Riposto. As there are scarcely any tides, the vessels are drawn up and re-launched by means of a slip, and their keels are supported by strong beams. It was a pleasant thing, when so far removed from home, to meet with an English family with whom I could hold intercourse. They dwell isolated as it were, at the foot of the great Mongibello, on that charming shore which for ages past has been the scene of classic story; and in imagination, has been peopled with Cyclops, nymphs, and satyrs. Here they live in perfect retirement, Messina being the nearest point of communication with any English family. The pleasure of meeting one's countrymen was in this instance greatly enhanced by the very kind rcception which I met with from them. Indeed it was impossible for me to have received more unostentatious kindness from any persons than I did from

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