o one day for those arriving from Greece or Turkey, and three
days for those from Egypt and Syria. In our case, it was reduced to
sixteen hours, by an official courtesy. I had intended proceeding directly
to Naples; but by the contemptible trickery of the agents of the French
steamers--a long history, which it is unnecessary to recapitulate--am left
here to wait ten days for another steamer. It is enough to say that there
are six other travellers at the same hotel, some coming from
Constantinople, and some from Alexandria, in the same predicament. Because
a single ticket to Naples costs some thirty or forty francs less than by
dividing the trip into two parts, the agents in those cities refuse to
give tickets further than Malta to those who are not keen enough to see
through the deception. I made every effort to obtain a second ticket in
time to leave by the branch steamer for Italy, but in vain.

La Valetta is, to my eyes, the most beautiful small city in the world. It
is a jewel of a place; not a street but is full of picturesque effects,
and all the look-outs, which you catch at every turn, let your eyes rest
either upon one of the beautiful harbors on each side, or the distant
horizon of the sea. The streets are so clean that you might eat your
dinner off the pavement; the white balconies and cornices of the houses,
all cleanly cut in the soft Maltese stone, stand out in intense relief
against the sky, and from the manifold reflections and counter
reflections, the shadows (where there are any) become a sort of milder
light. The steep sides of the promontory, on which the city is built, are
turned into staircases, and it is an inexhaustible pastime to watch the
groups, composed of all nations who inhabit the shores of the
Mediterranean, ascending and descending. The Auberges of the old Knights,
the Palace of the Grand Master, the Church of St. John, and other relics
of past time, but more especially the fortifications, invest the place
with a romantic interest, and I suspect that, after Venice and Granada,
there are few cities where the Middle Ages have left more impressive
traces of their history.

The Maltese are contented, and appear to thrive under the English
administration. They are a peculiar people, reminding me of the Arab even
more than the Italian, while a certain rudeness in their build and motions
suggests their Punic ancestry. Their language is a curious compound of
Arabic and Italian, the former being