still blowing a little (though not enough to make any passenger
uncomfortable), the captain had turned back when nearly half across the
Adriatic, and was seeking a haven in the shelter of the snow-topped
hills. Presently we steamed into a great bay, in the narrow mouth of
which lay an island. My map showed me where we were, and with no small
interest I discovered that the long line of heights guarding the bay on
its southern side formed the Acroceraunian Promontory. A little town
visible high up on the inner shore was the ancient Aulon.

Here we anchored, and lay all day long. Provisions running short, a boat
had to be sent to land, and the sailors purchased, among other things,
some peculiarly detestable bread--according to them, _cotto al sole_.
There was not a cloud in the sky; till evening, the wind whistled above
our heads, but the sea about us was blue and smooth. I sat in hot
sunshine, feasting my eyes on the beautiful cliffs and valleys of the
thickly-wooded shore. Then came a noble sunset; then night crept gently
into the hollows of the hills, which now were coloured the deepest,
richest green. A little lighthouse began to shine. In the perfect calm
that had fallen, I heard breakers murmuring softly upon the beach.

At sunrise we entered the port of Brindisi.



IV.


The characteristic motive of English poetry is love of nature, especially
of nature as seen in the English rural landscape. From the "Cuckoo Song"
of our language in its beginnings to the perfect loveliness of Tennyson's