den source seem to me fit shelter of a
Naiad; I am glad I could not see the water bubbling in its spring, for
there remains a mystery. Whilst I live, the Galaesus purls and glistens
in the light of that golden afternoon, and there beyond, across the
blue still depths, glimmers a vision of Tarentum.

Let Taranto try as it will to be modern and progressive, there is a
retarding force which shows little sign of being overcome--the profound
superstition of the people. A striking episode of street life reminded
me how near akin were the southern Italians of to-day to their
predecessors in what are called the dark ages; nay, to those more
illustrious ancestors who were so ready to believe that an ox had
uttered an oracle, or that a stone had shed blood. Somewhere near the
swing-bridge, where undeniable steamships go and come between the inner
and the outer sea, I saw a crowd gathered about a man who was
exhibiting a picture and expounding its purport; every other minute the
male listeners doffed their hats, and the females bowed and crossed
themselves. When I had pressed near enough to hear the speaker, I found
he was just finishing a wonderful story, in which he himself might or
might not have faith, but which plainly commanded the credit of his
auditors. Having closed his narrative, the fellow began to sell it in
printed form--little pamphlets with a rude illustration on the cover. I
bought the thing for a soldo, and read it as I walked away.

A few days ago--thus, after a pious exordium, the relation began--in
that part of Italy called Marca, there came into a railway station a
Capuchin friar of grave, thoughtful, melancholy aspect, who besought
the station-master to allow him to go without ticket by the train just
starting, as he greatly desired to reach the Sanctuary of Loreto that
day, and had no money to pay his fare The official gave a contemptuous
refusal, and paid no heed to the entreaties of the friar, who urged all
manner of religious motives for the granting of his request. The two
engines on the train (which was a very long one) seemed about to steam
away--but, behold, _con grande stupore di tutti_, the waggons moved not
at all! Presently a third engine was put on, but still all efforts to
start the train proved useless. Alone of the people who viewed this
inexplicable event, the friar showed no astonishment; he remarked
calmly, that so long as he was refused permission to travel by it, the
train would not stir