Wayfarers in Italy

mocratic company and there were no divisions into class compartments, but the whole car open, which is not common here. A man with Venetian glass toys for sale walked sociably about showing them to interested groups of contadini. Opposite us sat a sweet-faced young woman, evidently hardly able to travel. We fancied her as having been to a great city like Arezzo to consult the doctor, and now the young farmer-husband was taking her home to the mountains. It pleased us to see how tender he was of her, and how carefully he supported her with his arm and tried to keep her from feeling the jarring of the train. She had a smiling happy expression, and gave him glances of loving appreciation in return for his protecting care. We made our way upward through narrow ascending valleys, the woods and hedgerows, the little farms and villages all looking so fresh and sparkling in the sunset light, as the rays were caught and reflected in the drops left hanging by a recent shower. In two hours we had reached Borgo. It was dark, and we sought the little Albergo Florentine with some misgivings. We lean upon our trusty Baedeker, and when there is a starred hotel in any town we feel secure, but when a bare men- don in brackets is all that is accorded, it leaves a painful doubt in the mind and lands one at once among the uncertainties of exploration. When, however, thingsturn out as well as they did in Borgo, one has a feeling of triumph. The smiling landlady took us through the d...