ch, near the sea as they were, and right in the course of the wind as
it blew against the house, made everything hotter than if there had been
no wind. "One feels it most, on first getting up. Then, it is really so
oppressive that a strong determination is necessary to enable one to go
on dressing; one's tendency being to tumble down anywhere and lie
there." It seemed to hit him, he said, behind the knee, and made his
legs so shake that he could not walk or stand. He had unfortunately a
whole week of this without intermission, soon after his arrival; but
then came a storm, with wind from the mountains; and he could bear the
ordinary heat very well. What at first had been a home-discomfort, the
bare walls, lofty ceilings, icy floors, and lattice blinds, soon became
agreeable; there were regular afternoon breezes from the sea; in his
courtyard was a well of very pure and very cold water; there were new
milk and eggs by the bucketful, and, to protect from the summer insects
these and other dainties, there were fresh vine-leaves by the thousand;
and he satisfied himself, by the experience of a day or two in the city,
that he had done well to come first to its suburb by the sea. What
startled and disappointed him most were the frequent cloudy days.[79] He
opened his third letter (3rd of August) by telling me there was a thick
November fog, that rain was pouring incessantly, and that he did not
remember to have seen in his life, at that time of year, such cloudy
weather as he had seen beneath Italian skies.

"The story goes that it is in autumn and winter, when other countries
are dark and foggy, that the beauty and clearness of this are most
observable. I hope it may prove so; for I have postponed going round
the hills which encircle the city, or seeing any of the sights, until
the weather is more favourable.[80] I have never yet seen it so clear,
for any longer time of the day together, as on a bright, lark-singing,
coast-of-France-discerning day at Broadstairs; nor have I ever seen so
fine a sunset, _throughout_, as is very common there. But the scenery is
exquisite, and at certain periods of the evening and the morning the
blue of the Mediterranean surpasses all conception or description. It is
the most intense and wonderful colour, I do believe, in all nature."

In his second letter from Albaro there was more of this subject; and an
outbreak of whimsical enthusiasm in it, meant especially for Maclise, is
followed by some