, but which Seguier, the old
friend of the Marquis Maffei, could no doubt have deciphered.

The sight of this monument to the courage of an ancient race, who
preferred to perish in the flames rather than surrender, excited my awe
and admiration. The priest laughed at me, and I am sure he would not have
purchased this venerable city of the dead if he could have done so by
saying a mass. The very name has perished; instead of Saguntum it is
called Murviedro from the Latin 'muri veteres' (old walls); but Time that
destroys marble and brass destroys also the very memory of what has been.

"This place," said the priest, "is always called Murviedro."

"It is ridiculous to do so," I replied; "common sense forbids us calling
a thing old which was once young enough. That's as if you would tell me
that New Castille is really new."

"Well, Old Castille is more ancient than New Castille."

"No so. New Castille was only called so because it was the latest
conquest; but as a matter of fact it is the older of the two."

The poor priest took refuge in silence; shaking his head, and evidently
taking me for a madman.

I tried vainly to find Hannibal's head, and the inscription in honour of
Caesar Claudius, but I found out the remains of the amphitheatre.

The next day I remarked the mosaic pavement, which had been discovered
twenty years before.

I reached Valentia at nine o'clock in the morning, and found that I
should have to content myself with a bad lodging, as Marescalchi, the
opera manager, had taken all the best rooms for the members of his
company. Marescalchi was accompanied by his brother, a priest, whom I
found decidedly learned for his age. We took a walk together, and he
laughed when I proposed going into a cafe, for there was not such a thing
in the town. There were only taverns of the lowest class where the wine
is not fit to drink. I could scarcely believe it, but Spain is a peculiar
country. When I was at Valentia, a good bottle of wine was scarcely
obtainable, though Malaga and Alicante were both close at hand.

In the first three days of my stay at Valentia (the birthplace of
Alexander VI.), I saw all the objects of interest in the town, and was
confirmed in my idea that what seems so admirable in the descriptions of
writers and the pictures of artists loses much of its charm on actual
inspection.

Though Valentia is blessed with an excellent climate, though it is well
watered, situated in the midst of a be