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.
At one of the wayside stations entered a traveller whom I could not
but regard with astonishment. He was a man at once plump and
muscular, his sturdy limbs well exhibited in a shooting costume. On
his face glowed the richest hue of health; his eyes glistened
merrily. With him he carried a basket, which, as soon as he was
settled, gave forth an abundant meal. The gusto of his eating, the
satisfaction with which he eyed his glasses of red wine, excited my
appetite. But who was he? Not, I could see, a tourist; yet how
account for this health and vigour in a native of the district? I
had not seen such a man since I set out upon my travels; the
contrast he made with the figures of late familiar to me was so
startling that I had much ado to avoid continuously gazing at him.
His proximity did me good; the man radiated health.
When next the train stopped he exchanged words with some one on the
platform, and I heard that he was going to Catanzaro. At once I
understood. This jovial, ruddy-cheeked personage was a man of the
hills. At Catanzaro I should see others like him; perhaps he fairly
represented its inhabitants.
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