Which was not perturbed by something that fell under my eye soon afterwards.  At a shop door hung certain printed cards, bearing a notice that “wood hay-makers,” “wood binders,” and “wood mowers” were “sold here.”  Not in Italian this, but in plain, blunt English; and to each announcement was added the name of an English manufacturing firm, with an agency at Naples.  I have often heard the remark that Englishmen of business are at a disadvantage in their export trade because they pay no heed to the special requirements of foreign countries; but such a delightful illustration of their ineptitude had never come under my notice.  Doubtless these alluring advertisements are widely scattered through agricultural Calabria.  Who knows? they my serve as an introduction to the study of the English tongue.

Not without cordiality was my leave-taking.  The hostess confided to me that, in the first day of my illness, she had felt sure I should die.  Everybody had thought so, she added gaily; even Dr. Sculco had shaken his head and shrugged his shoulders; much better, was it not, to be paying my bill?  Bill more moderate, under the circumstances, no man ever discharged; Calabrian honesty came well out of the transaction.  So I tumbled once more into the dirty, ramshackle diligenza, passed along the dusty road between the barred and padlocked warehouses, and arrived in good time at the station.  No sooner had I set foot on the platform than I felt an immense relief.  Even here, it seemed to me, the air was fresher.  I lifted my eyes to the hills and seemed to feel the breezes of Catanzaro.

The train was made up at Cotrone, and no undue haste appeared in our departure.  When we were already twenty minutes late, there stepped into the carriage where I was sitting a good-humoured railway official, who smiled and greeted me.  I supposed he wanted my ticket, but nothing of the kind.  After looking all round the compartment with an air of disinterested curiosity, he heaved a sigh and remarked pleasantly to me, “Non manca niente”—­“Nothing is amiss.”  Five minutes more and we steamed away.

The railway ascended a long valley, that of the Esaro, where along the deep watercourse trickled a scarce perceptible stream.  On either hand were hills of pleasant outline, tilled on the lower slopes, and often set with olives.  Here and there came a grassy slope, where shepherds or goatherds idled amid their flocks.  Above the ascent a long tunnel, after which the line falls again towards the sea.  The landscape took a nobler beauty; mountains spread before us, tenderly coloured by the autumn sun.  We crossed two or three rivers—­rivers of flowing water, their banks overhung with dense green jungle.  The sea was azure, and looked very calm, but white waves broke loudly upon the strand, last murmur of the storm which had raged and renewed itself for nearly a fortnight.