the only rational thing that I observed the other day among the Pallagonian follies. Such imitations are far better for decorations than the real agate; since the latter are only found in very small pieces, whereas the size of the former depends on nothing but the size of the artist's plate. This contrivance of art well deserves to be imitated.
Italy without Sicily leaves no image on the soul; here is the key to all.
Of the climate it is impossible to say enough. It is now rainy weather, but not uninterruptedly wet: yesterday it thundered and lightened, and to-day all is intensely green. The flax has in places already put forth joints: in others it is boiling. Looking down from the hills, one fancies he sees in the plain below little ponds, so beautifully blue-green are the flax-fields here and there. Living objects without number surround you. And my companion is an excellent fellow, the true Hoffegut (Hopeful), and I honestly sustain the part of the True friend. He has already made some beautiful sketches, and will take still more before we go. What a prospect,—to return home some day, happy and with all these treasures!
Of the meat and drink here, in the country, I have said nothing as yet: however, it is by no means an indifferent matter. The garden-stuffs are excellent, especially the lettuce, which is particularly tender, with a milky taste; it makes one understand at once why the ancients termed it lactuca. Oil and wine of all kinds are very good, and might be still better if more care were bestowed on their preparation. Fish of the very best and tenderest. We have had, too, very good beef, though generally people do not praise it.
Now, after dinner, to the window!—to the streets! A malefactor has just been pardoned, an event which takes place every year in honour of the festival of
