im,

_E tu non pienz' a mi_,''

sang Pepe. 'This comes of my headlong hurry introducing pretty girls to
interesting strangers. Ah, _bella_, Giulia!

'_Zitto!_ Pepe, and pour me out a glass of wine.'

Pepe poured out the wine, one glass after another. Suddenly springing
from his seat, he said, 'Wait here a minute. I see Gaetano: will be back
again _prestissimo!_'

He went, and Caper and Giulia were left seated, talking merrily over the
wine. There were stars shining when Giulia bid good night to Caper, yet
Pepe did not return; he had seized some new idea, may-be the pretty
Roman who sang at the concert. Then Caper saddled his horse and rode out
into the night--glad that he had met black-eyed Giulia.

The night rides up the mountain! Here's romance, real and beautiful. Are
you not treading an old Roman road, over which the legions have marched
to victory, war chariots rattled? Up the mountains, on the old road once
leading over the mountains to Terracina, the _Tarracina_ of the Romans,
who made it one of their naval stations; up that road you go, trusting
solely to your horse, one slip of whose foot would send you into
eternity _via_ a ravine some hundred feet sheer down. Here, bright light
from a _casina_ where the contadini are loading mules with grapes to be
pressed in the city up there near the stars! High above you, nothing but
a wall of black rock, up, up, so high! Stars gleaming down, the comet
tailing from side to side of the ravine, while the path in the ragged,
jagged, storm-gullied rock is so dark you see nothing: your horse stops,
his hind feet slip--no! he clings, his hoofs are planted firm; up he
goes, and there, in the hands of Providence, you are tossed and pitched,
as he winds up and plunges down. The merry ringing, jingling bells of
mules ahead, and the voices of their drivers: turn a corner, and the
bright light of torches flashes in your eyes. Look again and earnestly
at the beautiful scene: mules, drivers, black rocks, olive trees above,
all flamboyant in the ruddy light, appearing and disappearing; a weird,
wild scene. Up, up, long is the way; past the fountain where the stars
are flashing in the splashing waters; past gardens; past the mountain
path at last. _Ecco_, the inn of Gaetano.

ANAGNI held its festival in honor of San Magno (_Prottetore della
Citta_) on the 19th day of August. Gaetano, the landlord, invited Caper
to attend it, putting his famous white horse at the disposal of the