“Nor had he any servants, because of all who came, none remained more than one day for fear of the _folletto_. And as this spread far and wide, people kept away from the Via del Corno after dark; but as this also kept away thieves, and the goblin did all the house-work, the master was all the better pleased. Only on one point did the two differ, and that was the point of morality. Here the goblin was extremely strict, and drew the line distinctly. Several times, as was the custom in those wicked days, the Signore attempted to introduce a lady-friend to the palazzo, but the goblin all night long, when not busied in pulling the sheets from the fair sinner, was industriously occupied in strewing nettles or burrs under her, or tickling the soles of her feet with a pen; and then anon, when, sinking to sleep, she hoped for some remission of the tease, he would begin to play interminable airs on a horn. It is true that he played beautifully, like no earthly musician, but even enchanting airs may be annoying when they prevent sleep. “Nor did the lord fare the better, even when, inspired by higher motives, he ‘would a-wooing go.’ For one lady or another had heard of the goblin, and when they had not, it always happened that by some mysterious means or other the match was broken off. “Meantime the life led by the Signore was rather peculiar, as he slept nearly all day, sallied forth for an hour or two to exercise, go to a barber’s, make his small purchases, or hear the news, supped at a _trattoria_, and then returning home, sat all night listening to the goblin as he played divinely on the horn, or blew it himself, which he did extremely well, toped and hob-nobbed with his familiar, who was a great critic of wine, and, as the proverb says, ‘_Buon vino fiaba lunga_—Good wine, long tales’—they told one another no end of merry and marvellous stories; and as _il vin fa cantare_, it makes man sing, they also sang duets, solos, and glees. And when the weather was ill, or chilly, or rainy, or too hot, they cured it with Chianti, according to a medical prescription laid down in sundry rare old works: “Nebbia, nebbia, mattutina, Che ti levi la mattina? Questa tazza di buon vino, Fatta d’una marzamina, Contra te sia medecina!’ “‘Cloudy sky i’ the morning early, What will make you vanish fairly? Ah! this goblet of good wine, Essence of the blessed vine, Shall be for thee a medicine!’