The humour of Italy; . ck, in orderto look out. Those weeds were always there ! They grewfrom day to day; they made great bushes that waved in thewind. If they had been fungous growths in the interior ofhis own system, he could not have suffered more from them. Have you told Reina about them ? Yes. What did he say ? He swore at me. That night Don Mario never closed his eyes. As soonas he found that his brother was snoring, then he lit thelamp, dressed himself, took the steps on his shoulder, whichthey nearly dislocated, and made his way to Reinas house,keeping in the shadow of the wall, and av
The humour of Italy; . ck, in orderto look out. Those weeds were always there ! They grewfrom day to day; they made great bushes that waved in thewind. If they had been fungous growths in the interior ofhis own system, he could not have suffered more from them. Have you told Reina about them ? Yes. What did he say ? He swore at me. That night Don Mario never closed his eyes. As soonas he found that his brother was snoring, then he lit thelamp, dressed himself, took the steps on his shoulder, whichthey nearly dislocated, and made his way to Reinas house,keeping in the shadow of the wall, and avoiding the moon-light, as if he had been a burglar. As indeed the gendarmes thought him when they cameupon him, perched on the top of the gateway, pulling awayfor dear life at the parasitic herbs, in spite of the proprietor,who did not care whether they grew there or not. QUACQUARA. 133 What are you doing up there ? I am pullingout these weeds. Come down. Let me down,I tell you ! At this uncere-monious sum-. !34 ITALIAN HUMOUR, Mario had to descend, leaving several bushes of pellitory tospoil the beautiful building unchecked. . They were nearly taking him off to the police station ! . .And all for a good action ! He died within three months,with the nightmare of those weeds weighing on his heart. . Poor old Don Mario! Luigi Capuana. THE EXCAVATIONS OF MASTRO ROC CO. E VER since he had taken it into his head to take offthe charm, in the Grotto of the Seven Gates, MastroRocco had given up his pork-butchers shop, and was alwayson the top of the hill, baking his hump-back in the sun,digging here and there from morning to night, to find sometrace of the treasure which the Saracens had enchanted inthat neighbourhood. Mastro Rocco used to talk as though he had seen it withhis little red-rimmed eyes, and touched it with the hornyhands which now wielded the spade both day and night,excavating ancient tombs,—by day on his own little plot ofground which looked like the destr
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Keywords: ., bookauthorwerneral, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1892
