And so we were most happily disappointed to find in the sequel that the guide had even failed to rise to the magnitude of his subject.
We arrived at a tumble-down old rookery called the Palazzo Simonetti--a massive hewn-stone affair occupied by a family of ragged Italians.
A good-looking young girl conducted us to a window on the second floor which looked out on a court walled on three sides by tall buildings.

She put her head out at the window and shouted.

The echo answered more times than we could count.

She took a speaking trumpet and through it she shouted, sharp and quick, a single "Ha!" The echo answered: "Ha!--ha!----ha!--ha!--ha!-ha! ha! h-a-a-a-a-a!" and finally went off into a rollicking convulsion of the jolliest laughter that could be imagined.

It was so joyful--so long continued--so perfectly cordial and hearty, that every body was forced to join in.