Which he
always insisted on looking out, with his own sea-sick eyes,
declining to entrust the book to any man alive.
Like GRUMIO, I might have told you, in detail, all this and
something more--but to as little purpose--were I not deterred by
the remembrance that my business is with Italy. Therefore, like
GRUMIO'S story, 'it shall die in oblivion.'
CHAPTER IX--TO ROME BY PISA AND SIENA
There is nothing in Italy, more beautiful to me, than the coast-
road between Genoa and Spezzia. On one side: sometimes far below,
sometimes nearly on a level with the road, and often skirted by
broken rocks of many shapes: there is the free blue sea, with here
and there a picturesque felucca gliding slowly on; on the other
side are lofty hills, ravines besprinkled with white cottages,
patches of dark olive woods, country churches with their light open
towers, and country houses gaily painted. On every bank and knoll
by the wayside, the wild cactus and aloe flourish in exuberant
profusion; and the gardens of the bright villages along the road,
are seen, all blushing in the summer-time with clusters of the
Belladonna, and are fragrant in the autumn and winter with golden
oranges and lemons.
Some of the villages are inhabited, almost exclusively, by
fishermen; and it is pleasant to see their great boats hauled up on
the beach, making little patches of shade, where they lie asleep,
or where the women and children sit romping and looking out to sea,
while they mend their nets upon the shore.
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