My ears are no longer courted by those harmonious instruments and voices which have so often transported my soul: they hear nothing but the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, the warbling of birds, and the murmurs of the river.
"I keep silence from noon till night.

There is no one to converse with; for the good people, employed in spreading their nets, or tending their vines and orchards, are no great adepts at conversation.

I often content myself with the brown bread of the fisherman, and even eat it with pleasure.

Nay, I almost prefer it to white bread.

This old fisherman, who is as hard as iron, earnestly remonstrates against my manner of life; and assures me that I cannot long hold out.