whatever at the tavern, the youth, without delaying to exchange courtesies with any of his fellow voyageurs whom he encountered there, turned suddenly away, and with the promptness and alacrity of an old soldier, entered one of the meanly-built cottages which compose the town, and soon procured half a loaf of black bread, some very poor cheese, and a bottle of wine, so exceeding sour that, thirsty as he was, it was not till he had been nearly choked by the coarse crumbs he could bring himself to swallow it. He left the hut, making a series of wry faces, but, after all, feeling much refreshed and quite ready for adventure. The "gallery" was still filled with water; yet to a pedestrian, this might not prove an insurmountable obstacle; so he resolved, after reclaiming his knapsack at the custom-house, and with another glance at the surrounding scenery, to hasten on his way. Who will blame our hero? What to him—young, eager, and enthusiastic—was the crowd which pressed around the inn? What to him was the look of interest displayed by many a fair girl, as he passed, this way and that, unconscious? He was entering Italy for the first time. But he did not hasten on his way; he staid more than one good hour at this unpromising, wretched place. Notwithstanding the sun began to decline, and kept sinking and sinking toward the west, still he remained quietly on the same spot where he stopped—as he thought but for a moment—just after leaving the officers of the customs, with his knapsack in his hand.
It was before a sun-dial: a dial not remarkable in its appearance, an ordinary dial, but having some letters engraved on it, which attracted his attention, and he paused to read them. The lines made such an impression on him that he put down his knapsack, drew out his memorandum-book, and seated himself a few steps aside to copy the inscription. It was as follows:
Ma non più rètorna l'età figgita."
The vanished shadow returns when returns the sun;
But fugitive Life returns never again.
