The road itself is good, bordered on one side by the garden sweetness and the blossoms that foam like wave-crests over the walls, on the other breaking down to a steep hill-slope where all the wild flowers of spring star the grassy terraces, singing at the twisted feet of the olives that give them grey shadow.  So the hillside runs steeply down to where at its rocky base the blue waves murmur.  All down the coast the road turns and twists and climbs and dips, above little lovely bays and through little gay towns, caught between mountains and blue water.  For those who want a bed, the hush of the moonlit olives that shadow the terraced slopes gives sweeter sleep than the inns of the towns, and the crooning of the quiet sea is a gentler lullaby than the noises of streets, and the sweetness of the myrtle blossom is better to breathe than the warm air of rooms.  To wander in spring beneath the sun by day and the moon by night along the sea’s edge is a good life, a beautiful life, a cheerful and certainly an amusing life.  Social adventures crowd the road.  There are pleasant people along this shore of little blue bays.  Besides the ordinary natives of the towns and the country-side, and besides the residents in the hotels (whose uses to vagabonds are purely financial) there is on this shore a drifting and incalculable population, heterogeneous, yet with a note of character common to all.  A population cosmopolitan and shifting, living from hand to mouth, vagrants of the road or of the street corner, finding life a warm and easy thing in this long garden shut between hills and sea.  So warm and lovely and easy a garden is it that it has for that reason become a lee shore; a shore where the sick and the sad and the frail and the unfortunate are driven by the winds of adversity to find a sheltered peace.  On the shore all things may be given up; there is no need to hold with effort any possession, even life itself, for all things become gifts, easily bestowed and tranquilly received.  You may live on extremely little there, and win that little lightly.  You may sell things along the road for some dealer, or for yourself—­plaster casts, mosaic brooches, picture postcards, needlework of divers colours.  If you have a small cart drawn by a small donkey, you are a lucky man, and can carry your wares about in it and sell them at the hotels, or in the towns at fair-time.  If you possess an infant son, you can carry him also about in the cart, and he will enjoy it.  Also, if your conversation is like the sun’s, with a friendly aspect to good and bad, you will find many friends to beguile the way.  You may pick them up at fairs, on festa days, like blackberries.