This gave me ample time to recall the different aspect of Palermo when first I saw it, in 1849.  I had accompanied the noble squadron, English and French, which carried to the Sicilian government the ultimatum of the King of Naples.  The scenes of that troubled time passed vividly before me:  the mutual salutes of the Admirals; the honors paid by each separately to the flag of Sicily, that flag which we had come to strike,—­for such we all knew must be the effect of our withdrawal.  I recollected the manly courtesy with which the Sicilians received us, their earnest assurances that they did not confound our involuntary errand with our personal feelings; and how, when a wild Greek mountaineer from the Piano de’ Greci, unable to comprehend the intricacies of politics, and stupidly imagining that those who were not for him were against him, had insulted one of our officers, the bystanders had interposed so honorably and so swiftly that even the hot blood of our fiery Cymrian had neither time nor excuse to rise to the boiling-point.  I recalled the scene in the Parliament House, when the replies to the King’s message, which had been sent by each chief town, were read by the Speaker:  the grave indignation of some,—­the somewhat bombastic protestations of others,—­the question put of submission or war,—­the shout of “Guerra! guerra!” ringing too loud, methought, to be good metal; the “Suoni la tromba” at that night’s theatre,—­the digging at the fortifications,—­women carrying huge stones,—­men more willing to shout for them than to do their own share,—­Capuchin friars digging with the best,—­finally, the wild dance of men, women, cowled and bearded monks, all together, brandishing their spades and shovels in cadence to the military band.  With this came to me the mild smile and doubtful shake of the head of the good Admiral Baudin, and his prophetic remark,—­“I have seen much fighting in various parts of the world; and if these men mean to fight, I cannot comprehend them.”

While this mental diorama was unrolling, even Sicilian laziness had time to reach the shore; and passing by a rough mass of rocks, where our second cutter had once run too close for comfort, and the Friedland’s launch had upset and lost two men, we at length landed close to the city gate.  A custom-house officer pounced on us for a fee, notwithstanding our examination on first landing, and ("uno avulso, non deficit aureus alter,”) at the city gate, not thirty yards distant, a third repeated the demand, equivalent to “Your money or your keys.”  A capital breakfast at the Trinacria hotel was the fitting conclusion to these oft-recorded troubles, and the gratifying news that the Viceroy had just left the island for Naples obviated the necessity of a formal visit, and left us free to enjoy the notabilities of Palermo.