I toiled
industriously up the surrounding hills and mountains, visited the
huts of the lower classes, witnessed their national dances, etc.,
determined that here at least I would become acquainted with
everything.
On some of the hills, especially on the Serra Allegri, there are the
most lovely country-houses, with elegant gardens, and a most
beautiful view over the sea. The prospect inland is not so fine, as
chains of tall, naked, ugly mountains rise up behind the hills, and
completely shut in the scene.
The huts of the poor people are miserably bad, being mostly built of
clay and wood, and threatening to fall down every moment. I hardly
ventured to enter them, thinking that the interior was of a piece
with the exterior, and was consequently astonished at seeing not
only good beds, chairs, and tables, but very often elegant little
altars adorned with flowers. The inmates, too, were far from being
badly dressed, and the linen hung out before many of these hovels
struck me as superior to much that I had seen at the windows of some
of the most elegant houses situated in the principal streets of the
towns of Sicily.
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