no information respecting the history of this pile, but I should imagine it to be a relic having a similar origin to the Philosopher's Tower, at the foot of the cone.

The trees of the Bosco consist These latter, however, are princiOn the borders of the Bosco,

We now mounted our mules; for although the descent was extremely steep and dangerous, I was so overcome with fatigue that I was glad enough to avail myself of this sort of partial rest; and trusting entirely to the superior knowledge of the mules in traversing the broken lavas, I threw the reins on the back of the animal, and enjoyed the beauties of the descent as much as my extreme state of fatigue would allow me to do. We soon arrived at the first stages of vegetation; the air felt sensibly warmer, and I unburdened myself of the huge Sicilian cloak which Dr. Gemmellaro had lent me. On reaching the region of the Bosco, the air felt delightfully refreshing, and the sun was quite warm, butterflies flitted over the fern, and the American cowslip, and dog's tooth violet, enamelled the grass. principally of ilexes, cork trees, and a few pines. pally confined to the northern side of the mountain. we passed on our left a huge mass of frozen snow, which is the store that supplies the inhabitants of the plains with this luxury during the summer. I was much surprised at seeing this so low down the mountain, as I had not met with one particle on the crater; and had only observed a few patches on looking down the northern slopes of the volcano. Just as we arrived at the snow, we met a party of peasants, who had come up from Catania, to cut a supply of it, for which they were provided with spades, and large baskets, covered with flannel. My guide procured a lump for me, which I found very refreshing, as the exhaustion I had undergone caused me an intense thirst, and no water was to be obtained. The snow of Etna is a source of considerable wealth to its several proprietors; and I was informed that an individual of Bronte receives a rental of 2,000l. per annum for a single patch of it on the northern side of the crater.

Whilst my mule steadily wound his way down the tortuous paths of the Bosco, I became so thoroughly drowsy that I went off to sleep several times, and I was only awakened from my reverie by the shouts of the muleteer. The next most singular effects which resulted from the severe fatigue under which I was labouring, were the strange dreams that visited me. Once in particular, I fancied that I was sitting by a parlour fire in England, and I was not a little startled on awakening, to find that I was yet descending the mountain; and it required some moments for me to re-collect my ideas perfectly. But all my dreams did not end so easily, for I suddenly discovered that during one of my siestas, I had dropped Dr. Gemmellaro's woollen cloak, and my guide told me that we must either go back, or I must pay the owner of the garment five piastres. This latter remedy was one which I did not at all relish, so after prevailing on one of the guides to go back and look for it, I dismounted from my mule, and lay down under an ilex tree to await his return. After a delightful rest

of nearly an hour, I saw the man coming down, bearing the lost cloak which I had dropt a long way back; and as soon as we were all once more adjusted, we hastened downwards towards Nicolosi, which place we reached safely soon after two o'clock, P. M. After partaking of a vile repast of some maccaroni at Massania's inn, for which I paid half a dollar, I called on Signor Gemmellaro to make him a farewell visit. He received me, as usual, most kindly, and presented me with a small box containing a variety of lavas from the crater. After spending a short time in his museum, I took my leave, and giving a "buonamano" to the guide who had accompanied our ascent, I started for Riposto by the same route as before, with the servant and mules with which I had been provided by the politeness of Mr. Carlhill. At the end of a tedious. ride of four hours, during the two last of which it was perfectly dark, we reached Giarra, and turning down a road that leads to the sea-shore, we soon arrived at Mr. Carlhill's residence, where I was most cordially received, and congratulated on my having accomplished the ascent to the cone under such very unfavourable circumstances. Mr. C. remarked that he had been watching the state of the weather during the day, and, as the summit of the mountain was entirely shrouded by masses of cloud, he had feared that my expedition would terminate unfortunately. Had any of my friends in England seen me on entering the portico of Mr. Carlhill's dwelling, they would have been not a little amused at my appearance. My white dress was torn and dirty, and my shoes and stockings as ragged as they could well be. Dr. Gemmellaro's huge green spectacles succeeded admirably in imparting a sober dignity to the whole; for as I was still half blind with the ophthalmia from which I had suffered in Malta, the philosopher of Nicolosi had kindly lent me these spectacles, which I found of great service. After supper, one of the young gentlemen showed me two ancient leaden crosses, which had been discovered during some alterations in the premises a short time before. They were found enclosed in some earthen jars of considerable size, which the workmen broke to pieces. They are supposed to have been the workmanship of the primitive Christians, as they bear evident marks of great antiquity. Mr. C. begged in the kindest manner that I would accept of these crosses, and I still retain them among my other curiosities; the one measures five, and the other seven inches in length. In the course of our conversation, one of the ladies observed that very few of the indigenous flowers of Sicily were remarkable for their perfume, which gives a complete contradiction to Brydone's remarks, as well as the fable of Diodorus Siculus, who tells us that hounds lost their scent in hunting, from the excessive fragrance of the flowers that studded the Sicilian plains.

On the following morning I bade farewell to my kind friends at Riposto, from whom I had experienced such genuine hospitality, and taking with me the same servant and mules as before, I set off for the Castagno di Cento Cavallos, or chestnut of a hundred horse, a gigantic tree, or rather the remains of one, situated some way up on the eastern side of Etna above Giarra. As so much has been said of this wonderful tree by travellers in Sicily for ages past, I could not pass so near without paying it a visit. It is particularly marked in an old chart of Sicily, near three hundred years since, as the "giant tree," and has borne off the palm for being the largest chestnut tree in the world. It is said to derive its present name from the circumstance of the Queen of Arragon having taken refuge during a storm, attended by one hundred horsemen, within its enormous trunk; but this account may probably be fabulous.

We left Riposto about noon, and passing through Giarra, struck into a beautiful and wildly variegated torrent path that led towards the mountain. This path, though in many places very steep and dangerous, amply repays the wanderer who pursues its track by the beauty of the scenery which it presents in every direction; on one side of the road lay a deep glen, bordered with caves, and overhung by spreading chestnut trees the larkspur, flos adonis, wild thyme, and golden rod, grew upon the banks, and the blackberry blossom attracted my attention by its deep and rich colour. After passing by a pretty village, about half way up, the path became still more rugged, and the only footing for the mules consisted of blocks of slippery lava,

worn smooth by the mountain torrents that flow down these ravines during the winter season. After pursuing this wild and lonely path for six or seven miles, we at length arrived almost unexpectedly before the famous tree. At the first sight, I must confess to my readers that I was rather disappointed; but when I stood within its aged limits, and examined the five massy and tortuous stems that now form its only existing remains, I could not fail to be struck with the magnificent appearance which such a tree as this must have had when in its pristine growth and vigour. Former writers have not inaptly styled it "the glory of the forest." The Castagno di Cento Cavallos has now lost its principal attraction; the huge trunk has been destroyed by decay, and the wood cut away in large quantities for fuel when age rendered it easy to chop the bark off, so that, at the present day, instead of rearing up one large stem, the traveller sees five trees, all, indeed, noble in themselves, but surrounding a hollow space affirmed to have been once occupied by the main trunk. Many young saplings have shot up around the parent stock, and the boughs of the five trees still bear a tolerable supply of chestnuts; some of these, which had been blown down by the wind, I gathered up. Through the centre of the trees passes the road, or rather mule-track, and a stone wall connects two of the stems on the northern side. One reason which leads me to entertain the opinion that these trees were all joined together at no very distant period of time, is from the fact that the insides only of the trunks were hacked and cut away, while the outer surface of the bark remains rugged and untouched. Every traveller who visits this tree takes the liberty of obtaining for himself a bit of the wood of the "Castagno," and in a small hut, a few paces off, a hatchet is kept for this purpose by an old woman who works in the adjoining vineyards.

Whilst engaged in making a sketch of the tree, a few heavy drops of rain fell, and these were almost immediately afterwards followed by unceasing peals of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning. After a five months' drought this sudden change of weather was most delightful and welcome to the inhabitants, and the old woman smiled and blessed the saints for so genial a shower, whilst we (mules and all) took refuge in her humble shed. Fortunately, there was an abundant supply of hay, which satisfied the hunger of our mules, but for ourselves there was nothing but some carruba," or locust beans, besides the chestnuts we had gathered from the great tree. The vintage being over, the winepress that filled the greater part of this hovel was emptied of its contents, as the juice of the grape, when expressed, is carried in small kegs to the manufactories, slung across the backs of mules. Whole troops of these animals thus laden were familiar objects of encounter in the mountain pathways, followed by a troop of boys and girls singing their wild and careless songs to the god of the grape. Instead of abating, the storm increased; the lofty peak of Etna was shrouded from our view, the wind howled loudly, and, as it swept by, it