We judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom of Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was after.
This ain’t Goshen. This is St. Petersburg. Goshen’s ten mile further up the river.
Jackson’s Island is good enough for me; I know that island pretty well, and nobody ever comes there.
Once a day a cheap, gaudy packet arrived upward from St. Louis, and another downward from Keokuk. Before these events, the day was glorious with expectancy; after them, the day was a dead and empty thing.
Canal Street was finer, and more attractive and stirring than formerly, with its drifting crowds of people, its several processions of hurrying street-cars
Vicksburg is a town of substantial business streets and pleasant residences; it commands the commerce of the Yazoo and Sunflower Rivers
St. Louis is a great and prosperous and advancing city; but the river-edge of it seems dead past resurrection.
Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
We anchored in the open roadstead of Horta, half a mile from the shore. The town has eight thousand to ten thousand inhabitants.
Now we will descend into the crypt, under the grand altar of Milan Cathedral, and receive an impressive sermon from lips that have been silent and hands that have been gestureless for three hundred years.
The Coliseum is over one thousand six hundred feet long, seven hundred and fifty wide, and one hundred and sixty-five high. Its shape is oval.
The Venetian gondola is as free and graceful, in its gliding movement, as a serpent.
The Sphynx is grand in its loneliness; it is imposing in its magnitude; it is impressive in the mystery that hangs over its story.
Ruined Pompeii is in good condition compared to Sebastopol.
Tangier is a foreign land if ever there was one, and the true spirit of it can never be found in any book save The Arabian Nights.
From my window here in Bellaggio, I have a view of the other side of the lake now, which is as beautiful as a picture.
No--Pompeii is no longer a buried city. It is a city of hundreds and hundreds of roofless houses
The Golden Horn is a narrow arm of the sea, which branches from the Bosporus
Breve citazione, solo per riconoscere il luogo. © dell’autore e dell’editore.
