We drove over a bridge which spans the united current, and entered a narrow street, climbing abruptly between houses so high and so close together as to make a gloom amid sunshine.

It was four o'clock; I felt tired and half choked with dust; the thought of rest and a meal was very pleasant.

As I searched for the sign of my inn, we suddenly drew up, midway in the dark street, before a darker portal, which seemed the entrance to some dirty warehouse.

The driver jumped down--"Ecco l'albergo!" I had seen a good many Italian hostelries, and nourished no unreasonable expectations.

The Lion at Paola would have seemed to any untravelled Englishman a squalid and comfortless hole, incredible as a place of public entertainment; the _Two Little Lions_ of Cosenza made a decidedly worse impression.