fancied the
vintage to be one of the most noisy and brilliant of festivals. The
people of the country are of a lazy pensive disposition and never sing
at their work. If one now and then hears a song it is owing to there
being many Italians here, who are easily recognized by their fiery and
lively gestures.

A hundred paces distant from the gate, close under the mountain, lies a
solitary farm. My landlady had told me that there one could get milk
fresh from the cow. As I am not a good walker, I entered the little
garden and ordered some milk and bread. Only a few strangers occupied
the benches, but just beside the door underneath a large orange-tree,
sat the pale young man, whilst his servant further, off, was refreshing
himself with a glass of wine. He had not touched the glass of milk
which stood before him, and as I was going to pass, he rose, bowed, and
offered me a seat at his table, saying that it was the most sheltered
spot. It was the first time I had heard him speak several sentences
together without stopping. His deep sad voice was very pleasing. I
gladly accepted his offer and when he begged me to take his untouched
glass, as he was not thirsty, I could not refuse without giving
offence. Finally we began a conversation, though much broken by pauses,
during which he relapsed into his melancholy dreaming. Only once he
smiled slightly, but it made him look still more sad when his pale lips
parted over the bluish white teeth. We had been talking of the dull
monotony in the life of the patients here; of the tiresome sitting
about in the winter garden. I said it reminded me of the caterpillars
and cocoons which my little brother keeps in glass boxes. These also
crawled about indolent and depressed amongst their food, satisfying
their gaoler by feeding greedily, and eyeing each other curiously when
they accidentally met; then they proceeded to their winter sleep, if by
chance they did not find the air too oppressive for them, and died. He
laughed, and said: "your comparison is much too flattering; do you
think that our fellow-worms ever feel as light and free as _they_
become, unless in a purer atmosphere than this terrestrial one?" "That
depends," replied I, "on whether, when they proceed safe and sound from
their cocoons, they find their glass cage open. Otherwise they may be
reserved for a still more cruel fate. Few enjoy the liberty of their
wings; they are generally caught again, and struggle on a pin till
thei