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Approaching Malta, we must “not in silence pass Calypso’s Isle.” Warburton describes it, in his delightful work on the East83—a classic on the Mediterranean—as a little paradise, with all the beauties of a continent in miniature; little mountains with craggy summits, little valleys with cascades and rivers, lawny meadows and dark woods, trim gardens and tangled vineyards—all within a circuit of five or six miles.

One or two uninhabited little islands, “that seem to have strayed from the continent and lost their way,” dot the sea between the pleasant penal settlement and Gozo, which is also a claimant for the doubtful honour of Calypso’s Isle. Narrow straits separate it from the rock, the “inhabited quarry,” called Malta, of which Valetta is the port. The capital is a cross between a Spanish and an Eastern town; most of its streets are flights of steps.

Although the climate is delightful, it is extremely warm, and there is usually a glare of heat about the place, owing to its rocky nature and limited amount of tree-shade. “All Malta,” writes Tallack,84 “seems to be light yellow—light yellow rocks, light yellow fortifications, light yellow stone walls, light yellow flat-topped houses, light yellow palaces, light yellow roads and streets.” Stones and stone walls are the chief and conspicuous objects in a Maltese landscape; and for good reason, for the very limited soil is propped up and kept in bounds by them on the hills. With the scanty depth of earth the vegetation between the said stone walls is wonderful. The green bushy carob and prickly cactus are to be seen; but in the immediate neighbourhood of Malta few trees, only an occasional and solitary palm. Over all, the bright blue sky; around, the deep blue sea. You must not say anything to a Maltese against it; with him it is “Flor del Mondo”—the “Flower of the World.”