mouth quicker than a sharp upward jerk of the nose) with a rude
jollity that sets the spectators in a roar. Down he goes into the
cavern, and digs away for a quarter of a minute, the man the while
as immovable as a stone image, when he holds up the bloody tooth. The
patient still persists in sitting with his mouth stretched open to its
widest limit, waiting for the operation to begin, and will only close
the orifice when he is well shaken and shown the tooth. The dentist
gives him some yellow liquid to hold in his mouth, which the man insists
on swallowing, wets a handkerchief and washes his face, roughly rubbing
his nose the wrong way, and lets him go. Every step of the process is
eagerly watched by the delighted spectators.

He is succeeded by a woman, who is put through the same heroic
treatment, and exhibits like fortitude. And so they come; and the
dentist after every operation waves the extracted trophy high in air,
and jubilates as if he had won another victory, pointing to the stone
statue yonder, and reminding them that this is the glorious day of St.
Antonino. But this is not all that this man of science does. He has the
genuine elixir d'amour, love-philters and powders which never fail in
their effects. I see the bashful girls and the sheepish swains come
slyly up to the side of the wagon, and exchange their hard-earned francs
for the hopeful preparation. O my brown beauty, with those soft eyes and
cheeks of smothered fire, you have no need of that red philter! What a
simple, childlike folk! The shrewd fellow in the wagon is one of a race
as old as Thebes and as new as Porkopolis; his brazen face is older
than the invention of bronze, but I think he never had to do with a more
credulous crowd than this. The very cunning in the face of the peasants
is that of the fox; it is a sort of instinct, and not an intelligent
suspicion.

This is Sunday in Sorrento, under the blue sky. These peasants, who
are fooled by the mountebank and attracted by the piles of adamantine
gingerbread, do not forget to crowd the church of the saint at vespers,
and kneel there in humble faith, while the choir sings the Agnus Dei,
and the priests drone the service. Are they so different, then, from
other people? They have an idea on Capri that England is such another
island, only not so pleasant; that all Englishmen are rich and
constantly travel to escape the dreariness at home; and that, if they
are not absolutely mad, they are all a