Just before we stopped at San Sostene, he presented me with his card--why had he a card ?--which bore the name, De Luca Fedele.

A bright and spirited lad, who seemed to have the best qualities of his nation; I wish I might live to hear him spoken of as a man doing honour to Italy.
At this station another travelling companion took the school-boy's place; a priest, who soon addressed me in courteous talk.

He journeyed only for a short way, and, when alighting, pointed skyward through the dark (night had fallen) to indicate his mountain parish miles inland.
He, too, offered me his card, adding a genial invitation; I found he was Parroco (parish priest) of San Nicola at Badolato.

I would ask nothing better than to visit him, some autumn-tide, when grapes are ripening above the Ionian Sea.
It was a wild night.

When the rain at length ceased, lightning flashed ceaselessly about the dark heights of Aspromonte; later, the moon rose, and, sailing amid grandly illumined clouds, showed white waves rolling in upon the beach.