Somewhat of Spain, perhaps, might also be traced in an incident, promisingly romantic, but coming to a most lame and impotent conclusion, which occurred this afternoon to one of our party.  While busily sketching, in the Martorana church, the previously mentioned mosaic of Roger’s coronation, a hand protruded from the gilded lattice above, and a small scroll was dropped, not precisely at the feet, but in the neighborhood of the amazed artist.  Sharp eyes, however, must be at work; for, ere he could appropriate this mysterious waif on Love’s manor, a side-door opened, and an attendant in the very unpoetical garb of a carpenter bore off the prize.  It maybe presumed that the next confessor who occupied an arm-chair in the church would have somewhat of novelty to enliven what some priests have stated to be the most wearisome of the work, namely, the hearing of confessions in a nunnery.

This evening was passed in the house of the British Consul, who, in amusing recognition of our nationalities, comprising, as they did, both branches of the Anglo-Saxon race, treated us to Lemann’s captain’s-biscuit and Boston crackers.  Notwithstanding the interesting conversation of our host, who had not allowed a residence of many years in a mind-rusting city to impair his love of literature, a love dating from the time when Praed edited the “Etonian,” and Metius Tarpa contributed to the “College Magazine,” we were obliged to leave early.  Our arrangements for a very early start next morning were completed, and a thirty miles’ ride lay before us.

To save further allusion to them, it may be as well to describe these arrangements, which were made for us by Signor Ragusa, landlord of the Trinacria hotel.  A guide, Giuseppe Agnello by name, took upon himself the whole responsibility of our board, lodging, and travelling, at a fixed rate of forty-two (?) carlini a head,—­which sum, including his buonamano and return voyage from Syracuse or Messina, amounted to about twenty francs each per diem.  For this sum he furnished us with good mules, a hearty breakfast at daybreak, cold meat and hard eggs at noon, and a plentiful dinner or supper, call it which you choose, on arriving at our night’s quarters.  Agnello himself was cook, and proved a very tolerable one.  This is essential; for Spanish custom prevails in the inns, whose host considers his duty accomplished when he has provided ample stabling for the mules and dubious bedding for his biped guests.

[To be continued.]

* * * * *

THE PROFESSOR’S STORY.

CHAPTER XV.

PHYSIOLOGICAL.