ently caught sight of Squillace itself,
high and far, its white houses dull-gleaming against the lurid sky. The
crag on which it stands is higher than that of Catanzaro, but of softer
ascent. As we approached I sought for signs of a road that would lead
us upward, but nothing of the sort could be discerned; presently I
became aware that we were turning into a side valley, and, to all
appearances, going quite away from the town. The explanation was that
the ascent lay on the further slope; we began at length to climb the
back of the mountain, and here I noticed with a revival of hope that
there was a lull in the tempest; rain no longer fell so heavily; the
clouds seemed to be breaking apart. A beam of sunshine would have set
me singing with joy. When half-way up, my driver rested his horses and
came to speak a word; we conversed merrily. He was to make straight for
the hotel, where shelter and food awaited us--a bottle of wine, ha! ha!
He knew the hotel, of course? Oh yes, he knew the hotel; it stood just
at the entrance to the town; we should arrive in half an hour.

Looking upwards I saw nothing but a mass of ancient ruins, high
fragments of shattered wall, a crumbling tower, and great windows
through which the clouds were visible. Inhabited Squillace lay, no
doubt, behind. I knew that it was a very small place, without any
present importance; but at all events there was an albergo, and the
mere name of albergo had a delightful sound of welcome after such a
journey. Here I would stay for the night, at all events; if the weather
cleared, I might be glad to remain for two or three days. Certainly the
rain was stopping; the wind no longer howled. Up we went towards those
ragged walls and great, vacant windows. We reached the summit; for two
minutes the horses trotted; then a sudden halt, and my lad's face at
the carriage door.

"_Ecco l'albergo, Signore_!"

I jumped out. We were at the entrance to an unpaved street of squalid
hovels, a street which the rain had converted into a muddy river, so
that, on quitting the vehicle, I stepped into running water up to my
ankles. Before me was a long low cabin, with a row of four or five
windows and no upper storey; a miserable hut of rubble and plaster,
stained with ancient dirt and, at this moment, looking soaked with
moisture. Above the doorway I read "Osteria Centrale"; on the bare end
of the house was the prouder inscription, "Albergo Nazionale"--the
National Hotel. I am sor