The Argosy — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

50 Letters from Majorca. lead up to them are worn away with use; you must hang on and find your level as best you can. ‘The very walls themselves are often broken and crumbling. Their material is not imperishable. ‘They will not last for ever. But they are beautiful and romantic beyond description. .They | throw their influence and atmosphere over the town upon which we looked down. Upon narrow streets with their quaint bits of antiquity ; ancient and carved doorways, and ironwork cunningly wrought. ‘There is wonderful ironwork in many parts of Mallorca, but Palma is simply full of it. Flat roofs, here as elsewhere, help to give the town its Eastern aspect. Some of them of course held cages for pigeons, and the restless birds wheeled round and round and flashed in the sunlight. Alcudia altogether stands out as one of the remarkable places of the world. It holds its place apart, and leaves a lasting impression on the memory: as the Alhambra, the Ruins of Pompeii, Tangiers, or Wisby with its decayed monasteries, churches, towers, and walls : a distinctive, unfading impression. But, as I have before remarked, the less said about its people the better. You cannot put up at the inn. It is the worst, and in all ways, even in the matter of honesty, the most objectionable in Mallorca. ‘The only way to meet the landlord, after receiving his claim, which is extortion, is to pay him the amount which appears to you justice: ‘referring him to your solicitor ” for the balance. He may use strong language—as e had to do (I like to make it plural) to that wretched, assassinating Jariver in Palma; but if hard words break hearts, they do not break heads—and our "hearts are safe from destruction at the hands of the landlord of the inn at Alcudia. A terrible sentence, this ; something like the House that Jack built ; yet I do not quite see how to point it otherwise. We went round the walls with many a false step, I say, but luckily not any beyond redemption. We walked on, admiring, dreaming, en- chanted, photographing. At last we reached the ancient gateway and looked across on to the Bay of Alcudia. No steamer was visible to-day, but there was the very spot at which I had landed; the very same officer with his gun, pacing the breakwater ; the house in which { had taken temporary refuge. It wasa picture of still life ; alznost sad and melancholy in its seclusion from the world. Here our walk ceased. The carriage had come round to meet us. We had soon turned our backs upon Alcudia, and were bowling rapidly towards the Albufera. A delicious drive ; a delightful day. One of those days one remem- bers when, years afterwards, the recollection of many surrounding days and events have faded from memory. It was somewhat of a new experience ; and the only experience of its kind to be found in Mallorca. ‘The Albufera was originally nothing but one great marsh, unproductive, uncultivated. It is ECOMNICLOOKS.CO m