Scardona

"About four miles before Scardona we entered a valley of vines and gardens, to us appearing a Paradise, from the contrast of the stony hills. The road gradually winds along the valley, bordered by pomegranates, to the sea. […]. The town consists of one long street, and its accommodations at the inn were so bad, that we rode to a caffé, and begged them to give us a room in which we might wash and eat our breakfast. […]. The bay of Scardona is completely, as the natives most properly call it, a lake: its outlet is so narrow and turns so abrupt among mountais, as not to be perceptible to the eye on first view. The hills shelve to the edge, either formed of immense masses of rock or loose shingles, and in every respect but height resemble the sublime wildness of the Screes near Wastwater in Cumberland (pp. 37-38)".