question fifty times, she, with true Italian subtlety, slid out of the embarrassment, and left me uninformed: while I, for the hundredth time, did that which a hundred times I had determined not to do—engaged a person’s services at no fixed sum. The whole thing turned out ill. The man belonged to the dogana at Menaggio; his Italian was no better than Peppina’s own—who could talk it very tolerably for a short time; but in longer conversations soon slid into Comasque, or something like it. The man had no idea of teaching; and came so redolent of garlic, that the lessons were speedily discontinued. Of course, his charges were double those of a regular master.
I have spoken in praise of the Italians; but you must not imagine that I would exalt them to an unreal height—that were to show that misrule and a misguiding religion were no evils. It is when I see what these people are,—and from their intelligence, their sensitive organisation and native grace, I gather what they might be,—that I mourn over man’s lost state in this country.
The country people, I have already told you, hereabouts are a fine handsome race; many of the young women are beautiful, but their good looks soon go off. There are silk mills at Cadenabbia and Bolvedro, which employ a great many girls, who
