cotyledons is so refined that perhaps it is impossible to go farther with it.
To-morrow this letter will leave this for you. On Thursday, the 29th, I go to Palermo in the corvette which formerly, in my ignorance of sea matters, I promoted to the rank of a frigate. The doubt whether I should go or remain made me unsettled even in the use of my stay here: now I have made up my mind, things go on better. For my mental state this journey is salutary,—indeed, necessary. I see Sicily pointing to Africa, and to Asia, and to the wonderful, whither so many rays of the world's history are directed: even to stand still is no trifle!
I have treated Naples quite in its own style: I have been anything but industrious. And yet I have seen a great deal and formed a pretty general idea of the land, its inhabitants, and condition. On my return, there is much that I shall have to go over again,—indeed, only "go over," for by the 29th of June I must be in Rome again. As I have missed the Holy Week, I must not fail to be present at the festivities of St. Peter's Day. My Sicilian expedition must not altogether draw me off from my original plan.
The day before yesterday we had a violent storm, with thunder, lightning, and rain. Now it is clear again: a glorious tramontane is blowing; if it lasts we shall have a rapid passage.
Yesterday I went with my fellow traveller to see the vessel, and to take our cabin. A sea-voyage is utterly out of the pale of my ideas: this short trip, which will probably be a mere sail along the coast, will help my imagination, and enlarge my world. The captain is a young, lively fellow; the ship, trim and clean, built in America, and a good sailer.
Here every spot begins to look green: Sicily, they
