the hill-sides, midway between sea and sky, until at last
it reached the heights on which the ruins stand. Our way was through
narrow lanes, bordered by garden walls; then through narrow streets
bordered by dirty houses; and then again by gardens, but now of a
better sort than the first, and belonging to handsome villas.

On the road our pretty muletress gossiped cheerfully, and our
patriarch gloomily, and between the two we accumulated a store of
information concerning the present inhabitants of Capri, which, I am
sorry to say, has now for the most part failed me. I remember that
they said most of the land-owners at Capri were Neapolitans, and that
these villas were their country-houses; though they pointed out one
of the stateliest of the edifices as belonging to a certain English
physician who had come to visit Capri for a few days, and had now been
living on the island twenty years, having married (said the
muletress) the prettiest and poorest girl in the town, from this
romance--something like which the muletress seemed to think might
well happen concerning herself--we passed lightly to speak of kindred
things, the muletress responding gayly between the blows she bestowed
upon her beast. The accent of these Capriotes has something of German
harshness and heaviness: they say _non bosso_ instead of _non posso_,
and _monto_ instead of _mondo_, and interchange the _t_ and _d_ a good
deal; and they use for father the Latin _pater_, instead of _padre_.
But this girl's voice, as I said, was very musical, and the island's
accent was sweet upon her tongue.

_I_.--What is your name?

_She_.--Caterina, little sir (signorin).

_I_.--And how old are you, Caterina?

_She_.--Eighteen, little sir.

_I_.--And you are betrothed?

She feigns not to understand; but the patriarch, who has dropped
behind to listen to our discourse, explains,--"He asks if you are in
love."

_She_.--Ah, no! little sir, not yet.

_I_.--No? A little late, it seems to me. I think there must be some
good-looking youngster who pleases you--no?

_She_.--Ah, no! one must work, one cannot think of marrying. We are
four sisters, and we have only the _buonamano_ from hiring these
mules, and we must spin and cook.

_The Patriarch_.--Don't believe her; she has two lovers.

_She._--Ah, no! It isn't true. He tells a fib--he!

But, nevertheless, she seemed to love to be accused of lovers,--such
is the guile of the female heart in Capri,--and laughed ov