But the comparison is all in favour of the Tarentine stream.

Here one could feel nothing but a comfortless melancholy; the scene is too squalid, the degradation too complete.
Of course, no one looked at the _permesso_ with which I presented myself at the entrance to the orchard.

From a tumbling house, which we should call the lodge, came forth (after much shouting on my part) an aged woman, who laughed at the idea that she should be asked to read anything, and bade me walk wherever I liked.

I strayed at pleasure, meeting only a lean dog, which ran fearfully away.

The plantation was very picturesque; orange trees by no means occupied all the ground, but mingled with pomegranates and tamarisks and many evergreen shrubs of which I knew not the name; whilst here and there soared a magnificent stone pine.