look, and these are the ones I enslave for the day's
service. That is, as a rule. Not always. If I find a learnable phrase
that has an imposing look and warbles musically along I do not care to
know the meaning of it; I pay it out to the first applicant, knowing
that if I pronounce it carefully HE will understand it, and that's
enough.

Yesterday's word was AVANTI. It sounds Shakespearian, and probably
means Avaunt and quit my sight. Today I have a whole phrase: SONO
DISPIACENTISSIMO. I do not know what it means, but it seems to fit
in everywhere and give satisfaction. Although as a rule my words and
phrases are good for one day and train only, I have several that stay by
me all the time, for some unknown reason, and these come very handy
when I get into a long conversation and need things to fire up with
in monotonous stretches. One of the best ones is DOV' `E IL GATTO. It
nearly always produces a pleasant surprise, therefore I save it up for
places where I want to express applause or admiration. The fourth word
has a French sound, and I think the phrase means "that takes the cake."

During my first week in the deep and dreamy stillness of this woodsy
and flowery place I was without news of the outside world, and was well
content without it. It has been four weeks since I had seen a newspaper,
and this lack seemed to give life a new charm and grace, and to saturate
it with a feeling verging upon actual delight. Then came a change that
was to be expected: the appetite for news began to rise again, after
this invigorating rest. I had to feed it, but I was not willing to let
it make me its helpless slave again; I determined to put it on a diet,
and a strict and limited one. So I examined an Italian paper, with
the idea of feeding it on that, and on that exclusively. On that
exclusively, and without help of a dictionary. In this way I should
surely be well protected against overloading and indigestion.

A glance at the telegraphic page filled me with encouragement. There
were no scare-heads. That was good--supremely good. But there were
headings--one-liners and two-liners--and that was good too; for without
these, one must do as one does with a German paper--pay our precious
time in finding out what an article is about, only to discover, in many
cases, that there is nothing in it of interest to you. The headline is a
valuable thing.

Necessarily we are all fond of murders, scandals, swindles, robberies,
explosions, co