We steer out of this grotto, in a short time reach the open strait, and have the wonderfully grand sea-view of the rock, rising majestically with its broad, double breast to meet the advancing waves. This gigantic façade is a glorious piece of Nature's architecture. On both sides she has thrown up pillars—powerful buttresses of lime and sandstone, deeply channelled by the waves. One of them is named Timone. A colossal arch is thrown from one to the other, on which, high above, stand the white walls of Bonifazio; and in the centre a magnificent grotto forms a natural portal. I was astonished as I gazed on this huge and unparalleled structure—the prototype of human handiwork, of the temple and the palace. The tumultuous sea dashed its waves against the walls of the grotto; but within, all was calm. It does not recede far into the cliff. It is only a grand rock-niche—a rostrum, hung round in semicircles with clustering garlands if stalactites—a niche in which one might fitly erect a colossal statue of Poseidon. _Sotto al Francesco_ is its name. If we steer eastwards to the right, we find a long extent of coast undermined by curiously-shaped vaults into which he sea forces its way. I entered one of these—the fisherman called them _camere_. Hard by is one of the grandest grottos of Bonifazio—that of Sdragonato; I lack words to describe this miraculous structure. I never saw anything resembling it, and perhaps this cavern stands alone in Europe. The entrance, like that of Francesco, is a gigantic stalactitic arch, but it opens into the hill, and a little porch admits you into an inner cave completely enclosed. It was at once a fine and somewhat alarming sensation to steer through the little gorge; the water boiled tumultuously against it, spraying its white foam on the stone walls, then fell back into itself, and again threw up its seething tide. To listen to such wild commotion of the waters is truly an elemental pleasure; the Italian language alone furnishes a name which indicates the sound—_rimbomba_. The boat having been safely washed through the gorge, glided at once into a lordly, vaulted temple of immense circumference, moving over a mirror of water, here green, there deep black, here azure, and yonder again of a roseate hue. It is a wonderful natural Pantheon. Above, the cupola parts, and the clear heaven shines through; a tree bends, waving its long branches over the edge; green bushes and herbs creep further down into the fissure, and wild doves come fluttering in. The walls of this beautiful cave are almost regularly vaulted, the water trickles down their sides, and hangs them with stalactites, which, however, have not the strikingly bizarre forms of those in the cavern of Brando at Cape Corso, or in the caves of the Hartz. It either hangs round in masses, or has overspread the stone, like a coating of _lapis lazuli_. One may ply about through the grotto, or disembark at pleasure; for, all round, Nature has thrown up