Fired with generous sympathy for a people who, against a fearful odds, resolved to liberate themselves from a barbarous foreign oppression, Amari relates the events of the war that followed the massacre with glowing eloquence. The history of the siege of Messina may take place beside the noble resistance of Numantia and Saragossa, with the more cheering result that it was successful. This portion of his work, and the subsequent chapters that describe the last war and death of Don Pedro of Arragon, are admirably written. You will scarcely find in any historian a more animated and graphic narration than that which tells how Don Pedro, deserted by all, hated by all, proudly and sternly, and at last successfully, stood his ground against his numerous and triumphant foes.

It is the work of a young man, and of a Sicilian, who had to learn and form the language in which he writes. The style wants elegance; the construction of the history is imperfect, and, at times, rambling; but it has the first and best merit of a work of genius—it is written from the heart. The enthusiasm of the author carries the reader along with him; you forget the imperfections in the justness of his reflections, and the sincerity of his convictions; you excuse the absence of methodical order as you are carried away by the interest which he throws over the facts he narrates.[[30]]

LETTER XVII.
Voyage to Rome.

March 20.

I left England, as you know, with very vague ideas of whither I should go. I did not dare entertain a hope that I should visit Rome. But,

“Thought by thought, and step by step led on,”

We have reached what Dr. Johnson says is the aim of every man’s desire.

My companions dreaded a long veturino journey, whose leisure is a false lure, since you always arrive too late, and set out too early, to see anything in the towns where you stop. I consented to go by sea, and Heaven rewarded the act of self-sacrifice.

We left Florence at twelve at night, in one of the most uncomfortable veturino carriages I ever had the ill fortune to enter. The moon was near its full, and its bright snow-like glare almost blinded my friends, who rode outside, and prevented them from sleeping. The morning dawned golden and still; and, although it was March, we anticipated a calm voyage. So it proved. We embarked on board the “Castor,” a small, but well-built and quick steamer, and dropped down towards Elba. The view from the sea near Leghorn is not sufficiently praised. The Ligurian Alps

“Towards the North appeared,