The Argosy — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

140 A Day at Malta. seemed a sort of compromise between a modern gondola and an ancient Viking. Our boatman was a young Maltese, with well- shaped head and features, flashing eyes in which one would not care to waken the demon of revenge, and a skin as brown as a coffee berry. He was nearly naked, but the costume of Adam and Eve in Paradise here excites no surprise, and has no demoralising effect. It has also the advantage of economy ; whilst no time is lost in super- fluous dressing in the morning. No sooner landed than we were besieged by guides wanting to show us everything that the island contained, and much that it did not contain. On the face of the globe there is no place like Malta for this annoyance. They will not be shaken off, these men. One certain Maltese will constitute himself your guardian and factotum, and in spite of all you can say, will follow you for hours all over the place. If you take a carriage to get out of his way he will run after it, fleet as a lamplighter. You might as well endeavour to escape from your own shadow as from his persistence. We entered the deep archway, in which sat a blind beggar woman, five centuries old to all appearance. A long, crooked, uphill street leading up from the port to the town, by a succession of shallow steps. In the blazing sun and intense heat it is trying to mount this Jacob’s ladder, but it is picturesque. The narrow side streets were full of charm and colouring, with their deep balconies. Some of the women going about look curious and interesting in their black silk cloaks that come below the waist, whilst the immense hood is drawn over the head and partially screens the face from observation. ‘To see a group of them so dressed kneeling in church before a lighted altar is a singular, almost pitiable sight. They look like mourners in the last stage of misery ; or weeping penitents being shriven for some mortal sin. We soon found ourselves in the Strada Reale, the principal street of Valetta. Everything I had seen six years ago, I saw again to-day. Nothing was changed ; all the old landmarks were there. The lace-shop | of Messrs. P. P. Borg and Co., where we had spent a small fortune, _rashly plunging into matters of which we knew little or nothing. And | there was Mr. Borg himself at his door, looking not a day older, and ~ more rotund and flourishing than ever. He had evidently continued © to prosper. And—oh, miserie—I declare that he recognised me and was hastening across the road, with evidently evil intentions. ‘Delighted to see you in Malta again, sir.” (I should think so.) ‘‘ Pray come in, I have something to show you, something very special.” * ‘ Not to day, Mr. Borg; it is quite useless. I have not come to Malta this time to buy lace or anything else.” “No, sir, no. I would not ask you to buy for the world. But! | come in and see this wonderful production. It is the exact counter | part of what we sent to the Glasgow Exhibition. I should like you. to see it before anyone else.” Goin (9) JOO KS Ceol aa