From the height here I got my first view of the open sea not far from me, and the coast and hills of Sardinia—a glorious spectacle. The sight of a foreign land suddenly unfolded to the view, here only showing its outline, and there revealing objects with forms characteristic of the country, rouses feelings at once strange and pleasing—anticipation, longing, and doubt. It resembles nothing so much as the fabulous fancy-pictures of childhood. Wholly an island! I stood for long on one of those bare masses of rock, in a violent wind, and in the full glow of the mid-day sun; with a deep feeling of desire, I gazed across the strait on the twin-sister of Corsica. It was entirely wrapt in an ethereal veil of blue; and the sea, stirred by the maestrale, dashed in foaming breakers round its shore. We rested for a couple of hours, and then resumed our journey farther along the coast. It is much broken up by arms of the sea, and wears a gloomy aspect. Little streams creep sluggishly through morasses into the sea; gray turrets surmount the cliffs which occur at intervals along the coast, and hold solitary watch there. The air is unwholesome. I perceived a couple of little villages on the slope of the hill. I was informed that they were uninhabited; the people, it seems, do not leave the mountains till the first of September. The sea at this place forms two little gulfs—Figari and Ventilegne. They resemble Fiords, and their coast-lines are often of the most irregular form, rising like rows of ash-gray obelisks. As we traverse the extreme point of Corsica towards the south-west, the tongue of S. Trinita, terminating in the Capo di Feno, the chalky coast of Bonifazio becomes visible. At the same time, the town itself comes into view, the most southerly and most singular town in the island, snow-white as the coast on which it stands, and perched high upon its rock—an unexpected and surprising spectacle in the midst of the wide and melancholy waste. The shore all round is stony and shrubby; but for half a league before reaching the town, the traveller passes through olive-groves and orchards, and is astonished to see the blessings which man, when compelled to exert all his industrial power, has been able to win from the limy soil. The little land of Bonifazio gives a full supply of olives which do not yield in quality to those of Balagna. Between chalk-cliffs we drive down to the Marina of Bonifazio, lying on the shore of the gulf. The town itself can now be reached only on foot or on horseback, for we must clamber up the steep rock on a broad path of steps. Cross two drawbridges, and pass through two old gates, and we are in Bonifazio. The fortress and the tower, between which indeed there is no distinction, lie on the flat summit of the rock.