had only a vague idea that Cassiodorus was a man of times
long gone by. How, they questioned in turn, did _I_ know anything about
him? Why, from books, I replied; among them books which the ancient
himself had written more than a thousand years ago. This was too much
for the brigadiere; it moved him to stammered astonishment. Did I mean
to say that books written more than a thousand years ago still existed?
The jovial friend, good-naturedly scornful, cried out that of course
they did, and added with triumphant air that they were not in the
language of to-day but in _latino, latino_! All this came as a
revelation to the other, who stared and marvelled, never taking his
eyes from my face. At length he burst out with an emphatic question;
these same books, were they large? Why yes, I answered, some of them.
Were they--were they _as large as a missal_? A shout of jolly laughter
interrupted us. It seemed to me that my erudite companion was in the
habit of getting fun of out his friend the brigadiere, but so kindly
did he look and speak, that it must have been difficult for the
simpleton ever to take offence.

Meanwhile the sullen sky had grown blacker, and rain was descending
heavily. In any case, I should barely have had time to go further, and
had to be content with a description from my companions of a larger
cave some distance beyond this, which is known as the Grotta of San
Gregorio--with reference, no doubt, to S. Gregory the Thaumaturgist; to
him was dedicated a Greek monastery, built on the ruined site of
Vivariense. After the Byzantine conquest of the sixth century, Magna
Graecia once more justified its ancient name; the civilization of this
region became purely Greek; but for the Lombards and ecclesiastical
Rome, perhaps no Latin Italy would have survived. Greek monks, who
through the darkest age were skilful copyists, continued in Calabria
the memorable work of Cassiodorus. The ninth century saw Saracen
invasion, and then it was, no doubt, that the second religious house
under Mons Moscius perished from its place.

Thinking over this, I walked away from the cave and climbed again to
the railway; my friends also were silent and ruminative. Not
unnaturally, I suspected that a desire for substantial thanks had some
part in their Silence, and at a convenient spot I made suitable
offering. It was done, I trust, with all decency, for I knew that I had
the better kind of Calabrian to deal with; but neither the jovially