On the other side of the Crati valley, in full view of this garden, begins the mountain region of many-folded Sila--a noble sight at any time of the day, but most of all when the mists of morning cling about its summits, or when the sunset clothes its broad flanks with purple.

Turn westward, and you behold the long range which hides the Mediterranean so high and wild from this distance, that I could scarce believe I had driven over it.
Sila--locally the Black Mountain, because dark with climbing forests--held my gaze through a long afternoon.

From the grassy table-land of its heights, pasturage for numberless flocks and herds when the long snows have melted, one might look over the shore of the Ionian Sea where Greek craftsmen built ships of timber cut upon the mountain's side.

Not so long ago it was a haunt of brigands; now there is no risk for the rare traveller who penetrates that wilderness; but he must needs depend upon the hospitality of labourers and shepherds.

I dream of sunny glades, never touched, perhaps, by the foot of man since the Greek herdsman wandered there with his sheep or goats.