In front of the _Leone_ a considerable number of loafers had assembled to see me off, and of these some half-dozen were persevering mendicants.

It disappointed me that I saw no interesting costume; all wore the common, colourless garb of our destroying age.
The only vivid memory of these people which remains with me is the cadence of their speech.

Whilst I was breakfasting, two women stood at gossip on a near balcony, and their utterance was a curious exaggeration of the Neapolitan accent; every sentence rose to a high note, and fell away in a long curve of sound, sometimes a musical wail, more often a mere whining.

The protraction of the last word or two was really astonishing; again and again I fancied that the speaker had broken into song.

I cannot say that the effect was altogether pleasant; in the end such talk would tell severely on civilized nerves, but it harmonized with the coloured houses, the luxuriant vegetation, the strange odours, the romantic landscape.
In front of the vehicle were three little horses; behind it was hitched an old shabby two-wheeled thing, which we were to leave somewhere for repairs.