March 21st.—After a delightful sail of two days along the shores of Albania, Santa Maura, and Cephalonia, we this evening came to an anchor in the roadstead of Zante. This island, particularly the coast opposite Elis, is extremely beautiful; the hills, though abrupt and rugged, are magnificently wooded, and its green slopes and shady olive groves still vindicate for it the title of "Nemorosa Zacynthus.'' […]
[…] The town of Zante, which contains 16,000 inhabitants, is built at the foot of a semicircular range of hills which form the harbour, and the houses being all white-washed, it has a peculiarly gay and lively appearance. The hills to the rear are formed of a sort of white clay, and in every spot where they are not precipitous or washed away by the mountain-torrents, they are thickly planted with olives and vines. Behind them lies the celebrated valley of Zacynthus, which, in point of beauty and extent, approaches nearer to the unrivalled Val d'Arno than any spot I have seen; it is richly planted, highly cultivated, covered with elegant villas, bounded by picturesque hills, and commands a splendid view of the Ionian Sea and the distant mountains of Roumelia; so that, combining every advantage of situation and scenery, it justly merits all the encomiums which have been heaped upon it.
