Only the memory of the waterfall, with its amazing fernery, like a hanging garden above the rocks of the gorge, was preserved in Mrs. Gould's water-color sketch; she had made it hastily one day from a cleared patch in the bushes, sitting in the shade of a roof of straw erected for her on three rough poles under Don Pépé's direction.
Thrice ore the caddow I mine armes outſpred: / Thrice did I fall, before I once could riſe: / Leaning vpon mine elbow for a reſt, / Nodding, I knockt my chin againſt my breſt. // Then ſigh’d, ſlipt downe, and twixt the ſheete and pillow / I nuzled in, joyn’d knees and chin together: / I dream’d I wore a garland of greene willow. / But ſnuffling low, I prickt me with a fether; / So wakt, the bolſter for my backe I choſe, / And yawning thrice, I rub’d mine eyes and roſe.
These cruelties are not, indeed, chargeable on Mr. Hastings personally; but when I state, that he levied an unjust war, the consequences that follow he is guilty of.
For the transliteration of the Oriental characters into European notation the musical world is indebted to the care and ability of Mr. Evstratios Pappadopoulos, Protopsaltis of the Church of the Panaghia in Stavrodromion, Pera, Constantinople.
