which he passed, of seeing the iris round
every misty light turn red—he went home
for shelter.

TROOPS AND JOBS IN MALTA.

AT anchor in the harbour of Valetta!
Awake in my berth, missing the usual lullaby,
the roaring of the waves, and thumping of
the engine, I heard the rain as it came pattering
down on the deck. There was clear sky
in the morning and a brilliant sun. The
harbour was astir; Coldstream and Grenadier
Guards crowded the windows of the houses, and
the veranda of the Lazaretto, the decks of the
troop-ships recently arrived, were red, black,
and white with soldiers, in every state of
dress and undress; gay boats were at work,
dancing about upon the surf between the
shore and ships, carrying to land soldiers,
who stepped out in full parade dress, boat-
load after boat-load, from among the motley
crowds of their companions. There was much
cheering and laughter floating fitfully about.
I meant to make myself at home in Malta
for at least a fortnight, and was very much
disposed to do so. It was then Sunday morning,
in March, and I said to myself, I will
put on my boots and go ashore to breakfast.

Let the geographer describe Valetta; to
do that is not my task. I went up the Strada
St. Lucia to look for the Imperial Hotel—a
caravanserai beloved by midshipmen, and
therefore methought a very good place for a
gentleman unattached. Thither, accordingly,
I went, and there had breakfast in the coffee-
room, with half-a-dozen guardsmen and sea-
captains. All were possessed by a most
eager curiosity for news; and, as our vessel
brought none of importance, there was great
disappointment. Nobody knew when the
Russians were to be attacked. That being
settled, all joined in a general assault upon
the trenchers of eggs, fowls, ham, and legs of
mutton, served in London style, at London
prices. The Imperial Hotel might, for
anything that I saw foreign about it, be the Cock
in Fleet Street.

I made haste out, therefore, into the
streets, and soon saw that it was not
England when I got into the bustle of the
Strada Reale. The whole pavement, and
portions of the road as well, were occupied
with people; the inhabitants of Valetta and
of the surrounding villages were there in
Sunday dress, going to mass, coming from
mass, or killing the time between one mass
and another; walking about, standing about,
leaning against walls or closed shop shutters,
very many of them busily engaged—
women especially—in looking at and talking
about, the blue-coated, red-coated, and
gold-laced strangers. Broad-brimmed priests
walked to and fro like kings, parting the
crowds before them as they went, and as
indignant at the tokens which surrounded them
of a crusade in favour of the infidels, as the
old knights of Malta would themselves have
been, if they could have broken through
the mosaic floors of the churches in which
they lie, and have come out to see what
was afloat under the sun. The female
population of the town and neighbourhood had
turned out, to a woman, for a good Sunday
inspection of the newly-arrived troops.
Maltese ladies of rank generally dress in
ordinary European style, only with more decided
preference for warm and sombre colours.
Natives belonging to the middle and the lower
classes commonly adhere to the old island
costume, wearing black dresses, white collars,
and large black shawls, gathered into a great
many folds at one side, and drawn so far over
the head, as to throw the face into shadow.
The old women are quite interesting for their
ugliness, the young ones for their beauty, and
for exposing the English forces to considerable
peril; many of our soldiers will, I fear, leave
Malta vanquished men.

I have fairly fulfilled my design of spending
fourteen days in Malta, and at the end of them
I now set down my notes of Maltese experience,
and of the talk that I have heard commonly
among the people. I may repeat much that is
incorrect, for I am no more than a reporter
of opinions and tales that I found current in
the place. But, as they are opinions and
tales that I found universally accredited, I
think it proper to make them known.

Though the Maltese air seemed to me—
coming as I did from the smoke of London—
genial and bracing, the weather sunny and
most delightful, the Maltese themselves were
grumbling about cold. The winter had been
severe, and the spring they said was late;
then again, prices were so high that they
thought a famine was impending. I need
give no details about the climate, for I
am not describing Malta. I did find the
nights extremely cold and damp; and, granting
it to be true as everybody said, that there
was no necessity for such exposure, I did
think it a wrong thing that any of our
soldiers should be sleeping under canvas.
They will have plenty of unavoidable hardships
to endure, time enough hereafter for "roughing
it." Why not let them be well lodged,
if good lodging exist? The fears of famine
are now over. An advance in the prices
soon allured to Malta, fowls and vegetables
from Sicily, and beef from Tunis. Some
fragments of the beef from Tunis are, I
believe, to this hour clinging between my
teeth. It was good wholesome beef, and
there was plenty of it, but its prime joints
had the texture of the toughest gristle. The
soldiers in Malta must take what provisions
they can get; but as to lodging accommodation,
people want to know why the demand
does not produce a sufficient supply.
The material, it is said, exists. On a
former occasion, when a concentration of
troops took place at Malta, house-room was