LETTER XXIII.


I must now lead you up to the highest part of the mountain; it is a long
way up, not less than three thousand five hundred paces from _St.
Madalena_, and over a very rugged and disagreeable road for the feet,
which leads, however, to the cell of _St. Geronimo_; from the two
turrets of which, an immense scene is opened, too much for the head of a
_low-lander_ to bear; for it not only takes in a view of a great part of
the mountain beneath, but of the kingdoms of _Arragon_, _Valencia_, the
Mediterranean Sea, and the islands; but as it were, one half of the
earth's orbit. The fatigue to clamber up to it is very great; but the
recompense is ample. This hermitage looks down upon a wood above a
league in circumference, in which formerly some hermits dwelt; but at
present it is stocked with cattle belonging to the convent, who have a
fountain of good water therein. Near this hermitage, in a place they
call _Poza_, the snow is preserved for the use of the _Religieux_. The
inhabitant either was not within, or would not be disturbed; so that
after feasting my eyes on all sides, my conductor led me on eastward to
the seventh hermitage, called _St. Antonio_, the father of the
Anchorites; it stands under one of the highest PINES, and the access to
it is so difficult and dangerous, that very few strangers visit it;--a
circumstance which whetted my curiosity; so, like the boy after a
bird's-nest, I _risqued it_, especially as I was pretty sure I should
_take the old bird sitting_. This hermit had formerly been in the
service; and though he had made great intercession to the Holy Virgin