Up-stairs are divers other
gaunt chambers, and a kitchen; and down-stairs is another kitchen,
which, with all sorts of strange contrivances for burning charcoal,
looks like an alchemical laboratory. There are also some half-
dozen small sitting-rooms, where the servants in this hot July, may
escape from the heat of the fire, and where the brave Courier plays
all sorts of musical instruments of his own manufacture, all the
evening long. A mighty old, wandering, ghostly, echoing, grim,
bare house it is, as ever I beheld or thought of.
There is a little vine-covered terrace, opening from the drawing-
room; and under this terrace, and forming one side of the little
garden, is what used to be the stable. It is now a cow-house, and
has three cows in it, so that we get new milk by the bucketful.
There is no pasturage near, and they never go out, but are
constantly lying down, and surfeiting themselves with vine-leaves--
perfect Italian cows enjoying the dolce far' niente all day long.
They are presided over, and slept with, by an old man named
Antonio, and his son; two burnt-sienna natives with naked legs and
feet, who wear, each, a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a red sash,
with a relic, or some sacred charm like the bonbon off a twelfth-
cake, hanging round the neck.
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