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350 chemist's shop and the abode of ourselves. Two little oil lamps, of the old Roman form, were placed in each of our windows that faced on the square, in imitation of those that filled the windows of all the surrounding houses. Once more the ancestral garments were hung out of the window. Fired by the enthusiasm of the moment, I proposed to Signor Amato that I should exhibit a shirt, an ulster, or my pyjamas from my window ; but he suppressed my impulse, and gravely told me that it was the custom to display only women's di'aperies. In addition to these, the houses were all covered up to the first floor with sheets and counter- panes. The chemist's shop was no more, the ' cheap- jacqvierie ' was invisible — the noble square looked for the time being like a laundry-ground. Childish it is, if you will, this meaningless displa}' of treasured frocks and heirloom petticoats, — this arraying of one's bed- clothes at the front door; but in its primitive en- thusiasm, in its very na'wclc, it is not without a certain refreshing charm in these daj's of hiixscr faire. From the church, and in the same order as before, the procession wound under a dark archwa}', through our square, and on to another, larger but less important, being ungraced by the haunts of commerce, to a chamber, for it is too small to be called even a chapel, wherein was sung the Benediction. The behaviour of the peasants during this little service was most reverent. To a man they all knelt down just where they were on the dusty road. It was interesting to watch one of them who was with us — a handsome young fellow who had but the week before returned from Rome, where he had been a model. For several minutes he stood doggedly by us, while all the others were kneeling ; but at last habit and old reverent association were too strong for him and, under the pretext of stooping to pick up his hat, he too knelt. The sight was impressive to a degree, and would have been more so had the women's voices been less discordantly nasal. It is a trick they have all got — that of singing through the nose — nor is it confined to their religious chants. It permeates their love-songs also, robbing them of half their beauty. For they are beautiful, these sad, sweet songs of their own mountains, some of which are absolutely of this country, and, so far as I can gather, are unknown elsewhere. Nor have they ever been written, but are handed down from generation to generation. There is a strong pathos about one that I enclose, and a cynicism and force that I find to be most distinguished. Some of the words being rather obscure, with an expression or two completely provin- cial and idiomatic, I have added an approximate translation, for which it would be idle to apologise, while to the kind services of my friend M I am indebted for the writing of the notes. To do justice to this song, which is heard in every valley where the reapers cut the corn, and is echoed back from the hill-tops by the distant shepherd, it is necessary to remember that the last note ought to be dwelt on indefinitelj' : — liigi^^^gii^gi A mezza notte iii pun - to As midnight chimes are strik - ing Si sen - te sea - rio - Still hear we sounds of F— F=^-F- =V- I I ■ ■ I I So-no li ca - rio - lanti lu or weary .sons of la 1^131^^^^^^ Che st:m ■ no a la - vo - rar. Till - ing ihe fruit - fill soil. Quest' e la via del pome, Dove quel traditor Venne a tradire la bionda Per un bacin d'amor. L'amore e una gran cosa : La fame e peggio ancor ; Quando il trent'un cl batte ' .Si ricorre a ramor. Over the bridge, down yonder, There dwelt the fair-hair'd maid. Whom, with a kiss, a lover So faithlessly betrayed. Love is a mighty monarch, But hunger sits above : When hunger's pangs are Iceene-st 'Tis then one turns to love. Apropos to music, the young Italian whom I men- tioned as having been a model in Rome is a great player on the Sampogna, or national bagpipes — a sort of music of which, like that played in Scotland, one can liave enough, though both are of a wild and mourn- ful beauty, unsurpassed in their own place. Nothing is more beautiful or more in harmony with its surround- ings than this instrument when played on the moun- tains. But one gets to dread it when it is played at night under one's windows for an hour or two, just when one is enjoying a first sweet sleep. And Gigi Morganti (as this gifted youth is called) thinking to do honour to those of us whom he had known in Rome by serenading us on his return to his native village, inflicted such terrible tortiu-e upon us for three successive nights, that we all had the desperate idea of waler- jiigs to quench his enthusiasm, and had at last to beseech him to spare us. This was a delicate business, as he thought lie was paying us the highest compli- ment in his power. I know for a fact that when he was in Rome he used to have an ' innaijiorata ' here in Anticoli — because a friend of mine — an Englishman — used to write his love-letters for him, beginning ' Carissima. . .' as he himself was ' no scholar.' But I learn that since his return the aff'air is all over, and she has jilted him. I have heard no details, and I sought not to gather them, when I understood that it was his habit here to serenade her every evening in the same manner as he had begun with us. I shall be accused of saying more than the truth when I state that he is absolutely paid by other young men of his acquaintance to serenade their spose promessc. Can it be that they are paying this rejected lover as a delicate means of ' Literally 'when thirty-one strikes,' a purely provincial idiom expressing hunger.