47

A Sailor's Welcome.

LAND at last! and a white chalk cliff,
And the pleasant land of Kent;

It almost seems we could catch a whiff,
On a welcoming wind that's sent,

Just

From the fields that lie inland from the bay,
Where women are tossing the new-mown hay.

you look at the waves that dance
On the beach in the morning light!
There was never a brighter sky in France
Than covers our cliffs of white;

And never, I'll wager, your eyes have seen
A brighter turf than our downs so green.

You'll excuse me, Miss, I'm a trifle rough,
We English sometimes are,

But you'll find us hearty and warm enough
To folk who come from afar;

And I'll warrant you find no pleasanter home
In all the world, wherever you roam!

Our Kentish hops can climb as well
As the best of your Southern vines;
There's better shade in a hazel dell
Than under your mountain pines;

And find me anywhere birds that sing
Like those in a Kentish lane in spring!

So cheer you up, Miss, take good heart;
You've joy in store, no danger!

'Twas always the Englishman's willing part
To welcome a friendless stranger:

Leave grief behind in the other land,

And smile like the sun on the new-found strand!

48

Pietro and Giannetta.

YES, Pietro Finucci is a worthless hound!' exclaimed Caterina Graglia, an old Sicilian peasant, who had been abusing the said Pietro till she was fairly out of breath. Dost hear me, Giannetta, mule that thou art?'

This question was addressed to a girl who stood leaning against the doorpost of Caterina's cottage, basking in the sun, and plying her knitting-needles unceasingly.

'Talk on, my grandmother, if it pleases thee,' answered Giannetta, without raising her eyes from her work.

'It would please me to see thee obedient, fool! I say it again. Thy Pietro is a rascal. A pretty story truly is this, that Caterina Graglia's granddaughter should waste her love on a lawless brigand, who is too idle to earn his bread by honest labour! But his time will soon be over, let us hope. Pietro is only sharpening the knife for his own throat.'

'Who says so?' inquired Giannetta quickly, and she stopped short in her knitting.

'Everybody, except those who, like thee, have been born without sense,' was the reply.

6

Thy friend Luigi Lulli, perhaps suggested the girl with a bitter sneer.

6

And if Luigi did say so, what then?' screamed Caterina. 'He at least is an excellent man, and truthful.'

'No, he is a mean fellow,' replied her granddaughter, tugging impatiently at a knot in her wool. It is not in his nature to speak well of others.'

'Come, revile him not!' retorted the old woman angrily: 'this village contains no man more respectable.'

Here Caterina, who all this time was busily occupied in counting and sorting tomatas, fell out in her reckoning, and had to be silent for a space. When she spoke again, it was in a whining, wheedling tone.

‘And yet, my little Giannetta, thou wilt continue to wring thy grandmother's heart, and add to the number of her grey hairs, by refusing the offer of marriage which the good Luigi has made thee. Consider his position! Is he not a borghese-is he not rich-has he not a productive farm? Look from the door where thou standest, and thou wilt see his vineyards, his mulberry plantations, and his olive groves. And 'tis possible for thee to be mistress of all this!