"We have a great many near-sighted men in America," said I, "who cannot
serve in the army."

"We make our near-sighted men work heavy guns, serve in light artillery,
or, in very bad cases, we detail them to the police work of the camps,"
said he. "The deaf and dumb men we detail to serve the military
telegraphs. They keep secrets well. The blind men serve in the bands.
And the men without legs ride in barouches in state processions.
Everybody serves somewhere."

"That is the reason," said I, with a sigh, "why everybody has so much
time in Sybaris!"

* * * * *

But the reader has more than enough of this. Else I would print my
journal of "A Week in Sybaris." By Thursday the boat was mended. I
hunted up the old fisherman and his boys. He was willing to go where my
Excellency bade, but he said his boys wanted to stay. They would like to
live here.

"Among the devils?" said I.

The old man confessed that the place for poor men was the best place he
ever saw; the markets were cheap, the work was light, the inns were
neat, the people were civil, the music was good, the churches were free,
and the priests did not lie. He believed the reason that nobody ever
came back from Sybaris was, that nobody wanted to.

The Proxenus nodded, well pleased.

"So Battista and his brother would like to stay a few months; and he
found he might bring Caterina too, when my Excellency had returned from
Gallipoli; or did my Excellency think that, when Garibaldi had driven
out the Bourbons, all the world would be like Sybaris?"

My Excellency hoped so; but did not dare promise.

* * * * *

"You see now," said George, "why you hear so little of Sybaris. Enough
people come to us. But you are the only man I ever saw leave Sybaris who
did not mean to return."

"And I," said I,--"do you think I am never coming here again?"

"You found it a hard harbor to make," said the Proxenus. "We have
published no sailing directions since St. Paul touched here, and those
which he wrote--he sent them to the Corinthians yonder--neither they nor
any one else have seemed to understand."

"Good by."

"God bless you! Good by." And I sailed for Gallipoli.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote B: I am writing in Westerly's snuggery, and in Providence they
believe in Webster. I dare say it is worse in Worcester. A good many
things are.]

[Footnote C: The reader who cares to follow the detail is referred