h of local life and habit. Here the whole personnel
of the inn, reinforced by a goodly contingent of the townsfolk, would
accompany us even into our bedrooms, and display the keenest interest
in the unpacking of our luggage. There the cook would come and take
personal instructions as to the coming meal, throwing out suggestions
the while as to the merits of this or that particular dish, and in one
place the ancient chambermaid insisted that one of the ladies, who had
got a slight cold, should have the prete put into her bed for a short
time to warm it. You need not look shocked, Colonel. The prete in
question was merely a wooden frame, in the midst of which hangs a
scaldino filled with burning ashes--a most comforting ecclesiastic, I
can assure you. All the inns we visited had certain characteristics in
common. The entrance is always dirty, and the staircase too, the dining
rooms fairly comfortable, the bedrooms always clean and good, and the
food much better than you would expect to find in such out-of-the-way
places; indeed I cannot think of any inn where it was not good and
wholesome, while often it was delicious. In short, Lady Considine, I
strongly advise you to take a drive in Italy next spring, and if I am
free I shall be delighted to act as courier."

"Sir John has forgotten one or two touches I must fill in," said the
Marchesa. "It was often difficult to arrange a stopping-place for lunch,
so we always stocked our basket before starting. After the first day's
experience we decided that it was vastly more pleasant to take our
meal while going uphill at a foot-pace, than in the swing and jolt of a
descent, so the route and the pace of the horses had to be regulated in
order to give us a good hour's ascent about noon. Fortunately hills are
plentiful in this part of Italy, and in the keen air we generally made
an end of the vast store of provisions we laid in, and the generous
fiascho was always empty a little too soon. Our drive came to an end at
Fano, whither we had gone on account of a strange romantic desire of Sir
John to look upon an angel which Browning had named in one of his poems.
Ah! how vividly I can recall our pursuit of that picture. It was a wet,
melancholy day. The people of Fano were careless of the fame of their
angel, for no one knew the church which it graced. At last we came
upon it by the merest chance, and Sir John led the procession up to the
shrine, where we all stood for a time in positions