As I could not make out what it all meant, I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, the usual token by which in this country you get rid of those whose address or question you either cannot, or do not wish to, understand.
"What does all this mean?" I asked of my friend the shopkeeper, who, with a very significant mien, and somewhat stealthily, pointed to a lank and haggard gentleman, who, elegantly dressed, was walking with great dignity and indifference through the dung and dirt. Frizzled and powdered, with his hat under his arm, in a silken vest, with his sword by his side, and having a neat shoe ornamented with a jewelled buckle, the old man walked on calmly and sorrowfully. All eyes were directed toward him.
"It is Prince Pallagonia," said the dealer, "who, from time to time, goes through the city collecting money to ransom the slaves in Barbary. It is true, he does not get much by his collection, but the object is kept in memory; and so it often happens that those who, in their lifetime, were backward in giving, leave large legacies at their death. The prince has for many years been at the head of this society, and has done a great deal of good."
"Instead of wasting so much on the follies of his country-house," I cried, "he might have spent the same large sum on this object. Then no prince in the world would have accomplished more."
To this the shopkeeper rejoined: "But is not that the way with us all? We are ready enough to pay for our own follies. Our virtues must look to the purses of others for their support."
Count Borck has very diligently worked before us in the mineralogy of Sicily, and whoever of the same mind visits the island after him, must willingly ac-
