The mountain slopes were
apparently altogether barren, or at any rate uncultivated. In the plain
of the valley, bearing traces of recent inundation from the brook-torrent
which ran alongside the road in strange zig-zag windings, were a number
of poorly tilled fields, half covered with stones. The season was
backward, and I could see no trace of anything but hard, fruitless
labour; and the peasants, who were working listlessly, seemed unequal to
the labour of cultivating such unprofitable lands. Personally the men
were a vigorous race enough, but the traces of the malaria fever, the
sunken features and livid complexion, were painfully common; their dress
too was worn ragged and meagre, while the boys working in the fields
constantly left their work to beg as I passed by, a fact which,
considering how little frequented this district is by travellers, struck
me unpleasantly. With my English recollections of what going to the fair
used to be, I looked but in vain for farmers' carts or holiday-dressed
foot-folk going towards Subiaco. I did not meet one carriage of any
description, except the diligence without a passenger, and could not have
guessed, from the few knots of peasants I passed, that there was anything
unusual going on in what I suppose I might call the county town of the
district.
By the time I reached Subiaco, the first day of the fair was at its
height.
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