I was once in a yacht skirting along the shores of the Principato Citeriore and admiring the two mountains, Monte Sacro and Monte Cervato are their names, if my memory does not fail me, which remind one of two sweet-corns upon the instep of Italy, when I fancied I caught sight of some ruins. We managed to make a landing and climb the cliff, and there I found myself, sure enough, among the few remains of that most metaphysical of towns, Velia, which gave its name to the school of Parmenides and Zeno. Desiring to drink to their august memories, I sent a peasant to the neighboring village of Valle, the same modernized, for a bottle of wine. But it was so long coming that I fell asleep; and in my sleep I had the honor of a visit not from the