THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE 71

out in the evening light, like flaming gold among the dark blue
hills. Here, where Hannibal beat Flaminius, the grape-vines
held each other by their green fingers ; pretty half-naked children
were keeping a herd of coal-black pigs under a clump of fragrant
laurels by the way-side. If we could reproduce this scene accu-
rately, all would cry, “Glorious Italy!” But neither the theolo-
gian nor any of his travelling companions in the carriage of the
vetturino thought this.

Poisonous flies and gnats flew into the carriage by thousands.
In vain they beat the air frantically with a myrtle branch—the
flies stung them nevertheless. There was not one person in the
carriage whose face was not swollen and covered with stings.
The poor horses looked miserable, the flies tormented them
wofully, and it only mended the matter for a moment when the
coachman dismounted and scraped them clean from the insects
that sat upon them in great swarms. Now the sun sank down ;
a short but icy coldness pervaded all nature ; it was like the cold
air of a funeral vault after the sultry summer day ; and all around
the hills and clouds put on that remarkable green tone which we
notice on some old pictures, and consider unnatural unless we
have ourselves witnessed a similar play of colour. It was a
glorious spectacle ; but the stomachs of all were empty and their
bodies exhausted, and every wish of the heart turned towards a
resting-place for the night; but how could that be won? To
descry this resting-place all eyes were turned more eagerly to the
road than towards the beauties of nature.

The way now led through an olive wood: he could have
fancied himself passing between knotty willow trunks at home.
Here, by the solitary inn, a dozen crippled beggars had taken up
their positions: the quickest among them looked, to quote an
expression of Marryat’s, like the eldest son of Famine, who had
just come of age. The others were either blind or had withered
legs, so that they crept about on their hands, or they had withered
arms with fingerless hands, This was misery in rags indeed.
“ Eccellenza miserabili!” they sighed, and stretched forth their
diseased limbs. The hostess herself, in untidy hair, and dressed
in a dirty blouse, received her guests. The doors were tied up
with string ; the floor of the room was of brick, and half of it
was grubbed up ; bats flew about under the roof, and the smell
within——

“ Yes, lay the table down in the stable,” said one of the travel-
lers. “ There, at least, one knows what one is breathing.

The windows were opened, so that a little fresh air might find
its way in; but quicker than the fresh air came the withered
arms and the continual whining, “ J¢seradz/¢, Eccellenza! On
the walls were many inscriptions: half of them were against
“ La bella Italia.”

The supper was served. It consisted of a watery soup, seasoned