ek mother-wit, and
surpassingly handsome; but they do not bear transportation to
civilized life (any more than some of the native wines do): they
accept no intellectual culture; and they lose their beauty as they
grow old. What then? The young English blade, who was intoxicated
by beauty into an injudicious match and might, as the proverb says,
have gone insane if he could not have made it, takes to drink now,
and so fulfills the other alternative. Alas! the fatal gift of
beauty.

But I do not think Capri is so dangerous as it is represented. For
(of course we went to Capri) neither at the marina, where a crowd of
bare-legged, vociferous maidens with donkeys assailed us, nor in the
village above, did I see many girls for whom and one little isle a
person would forswear the world. But I can believe that they grow
here. One of our donkey girls was a handsome, dark-skinned,
black-eyed girl; but her little sister, a mite of a being of six
years, who could scarcely step over the small stones in the road, and
was forced to lead the donkey by her sister in order to establish
another lien on us for buona mano, was a dirty little angel in rags,
and her great soft black eyes will look somebody into the asylum or
the drunkard's grave in time, I have no doubt. There was a stout,
manly, handsome little fellow of five years, who established himself
as the guide and friend of the tallest of our party. His hat was
nearly gone; he was sadly out of repair in the rear; his short legs
made the act of walking absurd; but he trudged up the hill with a
certain dignity. And there was nothing mercenary about his attachment:
he and his friend got upon very cordial terms: they exchanged gifts of
shells and copper coin, but nothing was said about pay.

Nearly all the inhabitants, young and old, joined us in lively
procession, up the winding road of three quarters of a mile, to the
town. At the deep gate, entering between thick walls, we stopped to
look at the sea. The crowd and clamor at our landing had been so
great that we enjoyed the sight of the quiet old woman sitting here
in the sun, and the few beggars almost too lazy to stretch out their
hands. Within the gate is a large paved square, with the government
offices and the tobacco-shop on one side, and the church opposite;
between them, up a flight of broad stone steps, is the Hotel Tiberio.
Our donkeys walk up them and into the hotel. The church and hotel
are six hundred years old; the ho