at it is," I said.

"Willingly," said Ivanhoe. "You take a pail of water and a piece of
iron; you make the iron red-hot and plunge it into the water; at first
the water fizzles, but when the iron is cold the water is still; you put
the water into bottles and drink one every day with your dinner. It
always cures a cold."

"I must try it," I said. But I don't think I shall.

"Surely you know how to cure colds in England, where you all live in a
perpetual fog and everyone is so rich that they can afford to make
experiments?"

"We have poor people also in England."

But Ivanhoe knew better. "No," he said, smiling indulgently, "that is
your English modesty; there are no poor people in your country."

"I assure you I have seen plenty. And as for modesty, I don't care very
much about modesty--not for myself; I don't mind it in others."

"Ah! but you English are so practical."

"You have great men in England," said the corporal. "Chamberlain,
Lincoln, you call him il presidente, and Darwin and--"

"Yes," interrupted Ivanhoe, "and great poets, Byron and Milton--il
Paradiso Perduto--and that other one who wrote the drama named--what is
his name? Gladstone."

"Some of our poets have written drama," I said. "What particular drama
do you mean?"

"The one--it is from the History of Rome," replied Ivanhoe. "A man kills
his wife, but I do not remember his name."

"Was it Romeo?" suggested the corporal.

"No; not Romeo. This was a black man. I read that Giovanni Grasso acted
it in London."

"It was Amleto," said the corporal.

"No, it was not," replied Ivanhoe. "And now I remember he was not black;
he lived in Holland."

"Where is Holland?" inquired the corporal.

"Holland is in the north. The people who live there are called
Aragonesi."

While Filomena prepared the coffee, I asked the corporal whether she
allowed smoking in her bedroom. She did, so I gave him a cigarette and
he admired my case saying it was sympathetic. I also gave Ivanhoe a
cigarette, but Filomena did not smoke. There is a prejudice against
ladies smoking in Sicily unless they wish to be considered as belonging
either to the very highest or to the very lowest class, and Filomena is
content to belong to her own class. So she looked on while we smoked and
drank our coffee.

I said: "When we were speaking of English poets just now, you mentioned a
name which we are more accustomed to associate with politics, the name of
Gladston