Daylight brought no disillusion as regards natural features.  I made the circuit of the little town, and found that it everywhere overlooks a steep, often a sheer, descent, save at one point, where an isthmus unites it to the mountains that rise behind.  In places the bounding wall runs on the very edge of a precipice, and many a crazy house, overhanging, seems ready to topple into the abyss.  The views are magnificent, whether one looks down the valley to the leafy shore, or, in an opposite direction, up to the grand heights which, at this narrowest point of Calabria, separate the Ionian from the Tyrrhene Sea.  I could now survey the ravines which, in twilight, had dimly shown themselves on either side of the mountain; they are deep and narrow, craggy, wild, bare.  Each, when the snows are melting, becomes the bed of a furious torrent; the watercourses uniting below to form the river of the valley.  At this season there was a mere trickling of water over a dry brown waste.  Where the abruptness of the descent does not render it impossible, olives have been planted on the mountain sides; the cactus clings everywhere, making picturesque many a wall and hovel, luxuriating on the hard, dry soil; fig trees and vines occupy more favoured spots, and the gardens of the better houses are often graced by a noble palm.

After my morning’s walk I sought the residence of Signor Pasquale Cricelli, to whom I carried a note of introduction.  This gentleman holds the position of English Vice-Consul at Catanzaro, but it is seldom that he has the opportunity of conversing with English travellers; the courtesy and kindness with which he received me have a great part in my pleasant memory of the mountain town.  Signor Cricelli took me to see many interesting things, and brought me into touch with the every-day life of Catanzaro.  I knew from Lenormant’s book that the town had a singular reputation for hospitality.  The French archaeologist tells amusing stories in illustration of this characteristic.  Once, when he had taken casual refreshment at a restaurant, a gentleman sitting at another table came forward and, with grave politeness, begged permission to pay for what Lenormant had consumed.  This was a trifle in comparison with what happened when the traveller, desirous of making some return for much kindness, entertained certain of his acquaintances at dinner, the meal, naturally, as good a one as his hotel could provide.  The festival went off joyously, but, to Lenormant’s surprise, nothing was charged for it in his bill.  On making inquiry he learnt that the cost of the entertainment had already been discharged by one of his guests!  Well, that took place years ago, long before a railway had been thought of in the valley of the Corace; such heroic virtues ill consist with the life of to-day.  Nevertheless, Don Pasquale (Signor Cricelli’s name when greeted by his fellow-citizens) several times reminded me, without knowing it, of what I had read.  For instance,