CHAPTER VIII. 
SYRACUSE. 
At this hotel (the Sole) we were so fortunate as to secure 
the services of a guide, who was not only an accomplished 
cicerone, but an artist of considerable merit, and the author 
of a work on the antiquities of Syracuse. I have forgotten 
his name, hut any body who visits Ortigia can not fail to 
recognize him in the elegant person of a young man, a little 
blase in his manners, who lounges gracefully about the Sole, 
and does things up as valet de yplace with the resigned air of 
a gentleman of broken fortune, who has been reduced to the 
necessity of bartering his classical knowledge and personal 
services for the contemptible sum of one dollar per diem. He 
will converse with you on art and history, point out to you 
all the antiquities of Syracuse, sell you his pictures, attend to 
your passport, carry your umbrella, see that your hoots are 
blacked, and go of messages—all for the miserable pittance 
of a dollar a day; and if you like he will go with you to the 
opera, and tell you the history of the prima donna and of 
each of the chorus-singers individually. For my part, I took 
it as rather a compliment that so fashionable a looking man 
should be seen in my company, and, notwithstanding the 
horror and disgust of my young English friend, always invited 
him to join us in a cigar or a glass of wine, and felt quite 
happy when he sate with us in a public cafe, sipping the 
nero with a languid air, or dallying elegantly over a glass of 
ice-cream at my expense. 
In America one would be ashamed to exact menial services 
of so accomplished a gentleman; but in the old world it is 
so common as not to attract attention, except from strangers. 
Indeed, we republicans are much more stiff and haughty to- 
