she will not now say a word. She was pleased to see him here, and near to her; she likes him as a friend; but she continues cold to him as the lover, and believes that she can never become otherwise, and this state of affairs, and its consequences, begin to trouble me. His kindness, and his noble-minded affection, have won all my sympathy, and I am again too much interested in a romantic espisode of human life.
August 5th.—The syrens still sing on the coast of the syrens, and it is difficult not to be captivated by the song, more particularly as it does not involve dangers such as those in the days of the Odyssey, when it dragged the listeners into the abyss of death. Life here has seemed to us so beautiful, so good, and so innocent in its beauty, that one cannot avoid wishing that it might always remain thus. Our enjoyment is now also increased by a lovely garden quite close to our hotel, where we often spend the evenings. Its proprietor, the Prince of Tri Casi, is traveling, and his beautiful Villa stands unoccupied. From its marble steps, we watch the sun set over the sea, or magnificent lightning-flashes illumine the horizon. The garden has various walks, shaded by lovely trees, and bordered with blossoming oleanders, and other flowering shrubs. Vines, with their rich clusters, hang in garlands here and there over the paths. Orange and lemon groves are, as everywhere around, beautiful to the eye, but not to walk in. The earth is dug up between the trees, in order to preclude the rain-water from draining off, and this necessarily renders it unfit for walking upon. These groves are a kind of noble or cultivated wilderness.
