But the rich would bar her entrance, for she robs him of his pelf, All multiplied a hundredfold; that when he's houseless driven, O know ye not her gentle touch, which guides with soft control? A. E. G. LXXV.-OUR FOUNTAIN. NOTWITHSTANDING a strong prejudice in favor of "Our Fountain," and a conscious desire to imbue my readers with the same, I must at once candidly admit that it cannot boast of much architectural beauty or originality, lays no claim to especial antiquity, and rejoices in no romantic inscription fit to be duly transferred into every sentimental young traveller's album. Nevertheless, humble and unpretending as I must allow it to be, it has taken a firm hold on my fancy and affection, and seems to me to merit a few words in its praise. The wide lofty window of the room I am now writing in, opens directly opposite to the fountain, so that, without moving from the couch where I must spend many hours of enforced idleness, I have constant opportunities of observing what an ungrudging, ceaseless, public benefactor it is. Were it not for the ever-varying and everpicturesque groups of which it is the centre, and which never lose their charm for me, the view from my window would be somewhat dull and monotonous. It looks on a little stone-paved Piazza, bounded on one side by an imposing, stately, but now deserted Grand Ducal Palace, its many windows are all darkened, its doors closed; and long may they remain so, rather than open to re-admit any of the pompous, inane members of the late reigning family, with their idle, useless hangers-on. Opposite to the Palace are the Bagni Caldi,* which once made this place fashionable; the naturally hot springs are enclosed in a low, neat building, and the water is conducted into various marble baths, not much used of late years. On one side of my present dwelling thereis a row of modest, mostly unlet lodging-houses, and on the other, a terrace-like wall with a stone bench running round it, pleasantly shaded by broadleaved plane-trees. This bench is a very popular lounge, and well it may be, for it commands a glorious view of distant blue Apennines, green, chestnut-covered hills, and vine-clad valleys, with Bagni Caldi (Hot Baths). little villages and tall-towered churches, so picturesquely perched on the steep hill-summits, or peeping out of the forests, one might almost believe they had only been built for the special benefit of some favored artist. The bright, noisy Serchio, a stream most unItalian like in its constant restless energy, gives life and verdure to the rich country through which it flows, sparkling and dancing merrily even under the fiery rays of a Southern summer's sun. On the other side of the Piazza, a long broad flight of stone steps leads up to the neat Chapel and school-house on the top of the hill; there are houses on each side of the stone steps, formerly tenanted by members of the Grand Ducal suite, but now mostly uninhabited. There is a natural cheeriness about the place which successfully. resists the gloomy effect of all these forsaken dwellings, and the Piazza itself is seldom deserted, as a road passes through it leading from many of the scattered mountain hamlets down to the fashionable little watering-place of Ponte à Serraglio, where it joins the high-road from Lucca to Modena. on one side of the grand flight But to return to "Our Fountain: of steps leading to the Chapel is a deep arch in the wall, and under the shadow of the arch is a capacious stone bason, and into this bason, through the lips of two giant stone a faces, stream of pure cold water is continually flowing for the benefit of every thirsty passer-by. The carver has chiselled deep frowns on the foreheads of the stone faces-has given them stern, overhanging brows, and pouting lips, yet they have a good-humored, not to say comic expression, as though they enjoyed the jokes and laughter so often going on round the fountain, and would be happy to join in it if they could. Two or three acacia-trees stand near the arch, their waving, graceful leaves of such a "glad light green." The mere sight and sound of the cool flowing water must exert a freshening influence, enabling them to preserve their spring verdure all through the summer months. I cannot tell how early in the morning "Our Fountain" begins to be in request, I only know that when I take my place on my couch in the window, just as the sun appears above the "Eastern hills," the stone heads are hard at work pouring water into the bason for the various beasts who are brought thither by their owners to drink before the labor of the day begins. The Italians are often accused indiscriminately of cruelty to their cattle, and of showing no care or fondness for their domestic animals; the accusation may be true in some parts of Italy, but the Lucchese are a kindly, gentle race, and I never have seen any one of the numerous frequenters of the fountain use any roughness or harshness towards their beasts, who, on their part, show the good effects of kind treatment by great docility and intelligence. Men and animals always strike me as being on a remarkably friendly footing with one another. One well-shaped, glossy-coated mule I often notice, who would try the patience of a master less forbearing than the bronze-faced, long-bearded old peasant who accompanies him to drink every morning;-I say "accompanies," for he will neither be driven nor led, he will only deign to follow his master at his own pace, now lingering to nibble off some overhanging branch, now stopping short and pretending he will not come at all, till, apparently overcome by the old peasant's pathetic upbraidings, he makes a sudden rush forward and arrives at the Piazza long before him; then he usually takes an independent walk all round it, sedulously turning his back on the fountain, and affecting to wonder why his master is lingering under the acaciatrees. At last, when two or three meek donkeys are all busy drinking at the same time, leaving no space in the trough for another head, he suddenly comes forward, with wickedly depressed ears and angry snorts pushes the unoffending donkeys violently aside, plunges his nose in the water, and drinks as if he would never stop drinking again; then draws it out with a jerk, coolly wipes it, all dripping as it is, on his placid master's legs, and forthwith returns home at full trot, evidently taking a malicious pleasure in keeping the old man at a brisk run by his side. I once made some remarks on the mule's obstinacy to his master, who answered with a good-natured smile, "Of a truth he has his little fancies, but he is an honest hardworking creature in his own way, and I feel it very easy to humor them." I wish some of our English horsekeepers had more of this patient philosophy! Very different from the capricious, erratic mule, in their slow methodical movements and dignified bearing, are the handsome oxen who now advance with stately measured pace towards the fountain. A cord is twisted round their horns, which is held by a slight young girl who precedes rather than leads them, and guides them entirely by her voice. They are beautiful creatures, of a spotless creamy white, with large dark eyes, wild and soft as a gazelle's no marvel even Juno herself was pleased to be called "the ox-eyed." They are docile and tractable with those they know, but shy with strangers, steadily resisting all my advances towards farther intimacy, backing and looking inclined to butt whenever I approach them. Their young guide is much mortified at their lack of courtesy, and makes excuses for them as though they were bashful, unreasonable children. I hear her still gently remonstrating with them on their folly as they slowly ascend the hill homewards. Oxen are much used in this part of the world, both for ploughing and drawing carts filled with agricultural produce. Soon after they have gone, a group of peasant women appear, with baskets poised on their heads, wending their way to the market at Ponte à Serraglio. Many of them have come from villages far off among the mountains, down curiously steep staircase-like paths: they must have been up and stirring long before sunrise. Putting down their heavy loads, they stop to rest awhile by the fountain, and to freshen up the contents of their baskets; they re-moisten the thick layer of vine leaves which cover the yellow pats of butter, sprinkle nosegays of gay odorous flowers and sweet herbs, and re-arrange the melting black and green figs, huge apples, thickly clustered bunches of grapes, and bright red Alpine strawberries that have been jolted into some confusion despite of all their care: poor girls! they have to come so far before they can sell their anxiously arranged little store, and the money they hope to earn is so much needed and eagerly expected in their too often poverty-stricken I long to beg the notable self-marketing ladies at the Ponte not to cheapen down their goods to the very least possible price, through the zealous insatiable desire that does sometimes seize ladies, of making (fairly or unfairly they do not much care which) "a really good bargain!" It is astonishing how much the women find to talk and laugh about as they busy themselves over their baskets-the clatter of tongues never ceases for a minute; and some young men who are refreshing themselves at the fountain before going to their work, join the conversation and add to its merriment and animation, courteously helping the women, who only laugh at their awkwardness in return. The younger girls are good-looking, though perhaps not regularly pretty. They have tall slight figures, small well-shaped heads, masses of dark glossy hair coquettishly displayed under the gay handkerchief they know how to arrange so gracefully, fine expressive eyes, and a singularly bright intelligent smile. Hard work and constant exposure to the sun ages them before their time, and they become prematurely faded and wrinkled, soon losing every beauty except their pleasant animated expression. : Their usual dress is very becoming a dark blue or purple boddice, laced with yellow or white silk cord over a wide-sleeved full linen camicie, which is often trimmed with a peculiar coarse lace, (made in some of the mountain villages,) a long dark colored skirt, enlivened by a gaudy colored apron, and sometimes a white muslin, lace-bordered kerchief, crossed over the neck. They have, almost all, gold or coral earrings, strings of pearls twisted together round their throats, or gold crosses and hearts: these ornaments are generally the girls' dowries, and are only parted with in the direst poverty and distress. At last all the baskets are ready, and replaced securely on their bearers' heads, and the merry troop disappear under the arch in the Ducal Palace, through which the road to the Ponte takes its way: I hear the chatter and bursts of laughter long after they are out of sight. They are succeeded by a long train of charcoal carts, drawn by hardy-looking little horses, who are half hidden by the leafy chestnut branches fastened about them to keep off the tormenting flies. The carts are piled high with sacks of charcoal, on the top of which recline the drivers at full length, scarcely troubling themselves to hold the reins, or in any way interfere with their sagacious, well trained horses, who understand all the ways of the road perfectly. The books I loved best in my childish days, fairy tales, wild terrific stories of robbers and the like, had early impressed me with the belief that of all men charcoal-burners were the most to be dreaded and avoided. I well knew the glowing fires they lighted in dark lonely forests were kindled, not to burn wood as the ignorant supposed, but to lure unwary travellers to their dens, where they were speedily robbed and murdered; the next process being to sew the mangled remains into sacks powdered with charcoal, and to sell them to their fond, unsuspecting widows or children at a high price as superfine charcoal. I cannot say the men who now stop their carts on the Piazza look very ferocious or dangerous as they enter into fluent conversation with the servant-maids who are coming from the houses near to fill their great jugs and pails with water from the fountain, though their swarthy grimy faces, and long black hair and beards, do give them a somewhat wild appearance. On one of the carts, comfortably placed by her father's side under a sort of bower of chestnut branches, is a pretty curly-headed little girl, who claps her hands at the sight of the fountain, and begs to be allowed to have a good drink of the "sweet cool water." One of the men lifts her down so gently, and holds her so patiently in his arms whilst she puts her little rosy mouth up to the great stone lips and takes a long draught. I feel ashamed of my old suspicions, and am willing to believe that charcoal-burners have been maligned. I do not wonder that the maid-servants linger for a little more lively conversation with the newcomers, and to caress the laughing child who has now perched herself on the ledge of the bason, and is popping her tiny bare feet into the water, splashing them about in great glee, and calling on her grimy friends to "come and see how funnily they gleam through the transparent water." She is poorly, not to say scantily dressed, but she has her ornaments, which she wears with the proud grace of a jeweled princess. On her head is an elaborate crown of the long, green, needle-like flowers of the chestnut plaited together; she has a girdle and bracelets of the same, and bunches of bobbing red cherries tied behind her ears, and fastened in her boddice. It is some time before she can be induced by her patient father and his swarthy companions (over whom she evidently reigns despotically) to leave off splashing and chattering to the amused servant girls, and resume her place on the cart; but at last she signifies her readiness to be carried back to her leafy throne, from which she looks down with her pretty little air of childish stateliness, waving her hand graciously as the carts move on again, and friendly d riverderlis are exchanged. She will need all the shade her bower can give her before the horses reach Lucca, their ultimate destination, for already the sun is hot and bright. A noisy tinkle from the church bell announces that it is a Festa day, and that good Catholics are expected to attend the Mass; nor |