Excerpt from Our Home by the Adriatic

I read in certain ancient chronicles that these tiny towns were once in a state Of constant assault and warfare, being bandied about between one faction and another during the distracted Middle Ages. If, attracted by the mediaevalism of its outward aspect, the traveller should have the curiosity to pass through the archway, and see how life goes on inside the little town, the' illusion that he has been suddenly carried back to a past age will not be dispelled. It is very likely to be festa, and the folks are flocking in and out of the open church door., The congrega tion consists mostly, of contadini in their white chemises and outside stays, their heads and necks adorned with gay kerchiefs. Some of them are very smart in velvet and silk, with coral necklaces, and their fingers and ears laden with rings; smarter than the poor signora in her brown stuff gown, with her black lace veil and her fan.

Further up the straggling street, a russet bough denotes the tavern, or osteria; and outside sits the host, enjoying himself dl fresco with a few friends the curato, perhaps, whose broad straw. Hat contrasts amusingly with his clerical habiliments, and various loungers, the hilts Of whose knives peep from among the folds Of the broad red sashes which encircle their waists. A mendi cant friar, with bare feet, and a rosary hanging from his one brown garment, passes from door to door, asking alms women, with skirts turned up and looped behind over their short white petticoats, ply their distaffs as they walk; others, with pitchers on their heads, are on their way to and from the well.

In yonder palazzo, with the grated windows and the stone steps leading up to the door, dwells the great man Of the village. He is rich, and lives in a certain rude state; he keeps open house, and his hospitality extends to all travellers of whatever sort or degree.

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