alls with roses straggling over them and occasional
glimpses of the sea dotted with fishing boats and, now and then, of the
land covered with olives, almonds, and vines.

We stopped in the corso at the Albergo della Madonna (con giardino) and
were received by a young man who introduced himself as Peppino, the son
of the landlord. He also said he remembered me, that he had been a
waiter in a restaurant in Holborn where I used to dine; I did not
recognize him, though, of course, I did not say so. There was something
in his manner as though he had recently been assured by my banker that
the balance to my credit during the last ten years or so had never fallen
below a much larger sum than my passbook had been in the habit of
recording. He would not hear of my doing anything about my luggage or
dinner, he knew my ways and would show me to my room at once. It was a
very fine room with two beds, and he promised that no one should be put
into the second bed, not even during the festa which in a few days would
fill the town with pilgrims. He then departed to bring up my luggage and
I went out on to the balcony.

Before me lay one of those stupendous panoramas which are among the
glories of Sicily. First a garden of flowers with orange and lemon trees
whose blossoms scented the air, then a thicket of almonds full of
glittering goldfinches, then a drop of several hundred feet; beyond, to
the right, a great mountain with snow on its rocky summit, its lower
slopes and the intervening country highly cultivated; to the left the
sea, an illimitable opal gleaming in the sunset. Between the mountain
and the sea the coastline went in and out, in and out, in a succession of
bays and promontories that receded and receded until sea and land and sky
were blended into one distant haze. Across the first bay was the port
and, as the dusk deepened, constellations of lights gathered and glowed
among the shipping. I took possession, thinking that if, like Peppino's
parents, I might spend my declining days here, the troubles of life, and
especially those attendant upon old age, might be easier to bear. And
yet, possibly, a stupendous panorama might turn out as deceitful as
proficiency at whist, or great riches, or worldly honours, or any of the
other adjuncts of age popularly supposed to be desirable; for I suspect
that most of these things fail and become as naught in the balance when
weighed against a good digestion, a modest competency