These words came from the tender heart of my fellow lodger, the young shop-keeper. They brought me back again to my work-day mood, and I was just in the humor to say several very polite things to the ladies about the sunset, and quietly conduct them back to their room, as if nothing had happened. They permitted me to sit and talk with them another hour. As the earth itself, so revolved our conversation round the sun. The mother remarked, that the sun, sinking in vapors, had looked like a red, blushing rose, which the Heaven in its gallantry had thrown down upon the broad-spreading, white bridal veil of his beloved Earth! The daughter smiled, and expressed herself of the opinion, that too great familiarity with the appearances of nature weakened their effect. The mother corrected this erroneous view by a passage from Göthe’s _Reisebriefen_, and asked me if I had read the _Sorrows of Werther_. I believe we talked also about Angola cats, Etruscan vases, Cashmire shawls, macaroni and Lord Byron, from whose poems the elderly lady, prettily lisping and sighing, recited some passages on sunsets. To the younger lady, who did not understand English, but wanted to read Byron, I recommended the translations of my fair and gifted country-woman, the Baronese Elise von Hohenhausen; and availed myself of the opportunity, as I always do with young ladies, to express myself with warmth upon Byron’s ungodliness, unloveliness and unhappiness. _Reisebilder, Vol. 1._ STREET MUSICIANS. When I returned to the _Locanda della Grande Europa_, when I had ordered a good _Pranzo_, I was so sad at heart that I could not eat,—and that means a great deal. I seated myself before the door of the neighboring _Botega_, refreshed myself with an ice, and said within myself: