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The streamlet Trionto, my companion to Longobucco, glides along between stretches of flowery meadow-land fit emblem of placid rural contentment. But soon this lyric mood is spent.
But the Trionto was now grown into a formidable torrent of surging waves and eddies, with a perverse inclination to dash from one side to the other of its prison, so as to necessitate frequent fordings on my part. These watery passages, which I shall long remember, were not without a certain danger.
It was another long hour's march, always uphill, before I reached a spacious green meadow or upland with a few little buildings. The place is called Verace and lies on the watershed between the upper Crati valley and the Ionian; thenceforward my walk would be a descent along the Trionto river, the Traeis of old, as far as Longo-bucco which overlooks its flood.
It is pleasantly told, and there are in it many genuine touches of humour. Miss Mitford has next Little Miss Wren, a beautiful trifle for old and young; and last is the Count of Trionto, as deep a piece of Italian romance as need accompany one of Mr. Martin's designs. The poetical pieces, which are numerous, are of a less lugubrious cast than usual. Mr.
Among the more elaborate plates is an exquisite creation of Howard's pencil, the Infant Bacchus engraved by J.C. Edwards; and last, though not least in effect, is Trionto, a mountain wild and chaos of storm, from a drawing by Martin; but the engraving hardly approaches the design.
Everywhere in these stiller regions was the sound of running waters, and I soon discerned that Longobucco is an improvement on the usual site affected by Calabrian hill-towns the Y-shaped enclosure, namely, at the junction of two rivers inasmuch as it has contrived to perch itself on a lofty platform protected by no less than three streams that rush impetuously under its walls: the Trionto and two of its affluents.
Passing through Verace I had already observed, on the left, a high mountain entirely decked with them. It is the ridge marked Pale-parto on the map; the Trionto laves its foot.
On the flank inclined towards the Ionian there is a veritable chasm; the Trionto side is equally difficult of approach the rear, of course, inaccessible. No wonder the brigands chose it for their chief citadel. There is food for thought in this inscription. For if some bilious hyper-civilized stranger were its author, the sentiments might pass.
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