“Americano, yes, born in Nuova Yorka! I was butler to a great family--they paid me sixty _scudi_ a month--go back? oh, yes! We came to see our parents once more, _ma come si fà_? The schools of Sicilia are not like those of Nuova Yorka. We go back for the little ones, though I myself am content here, _è un bel paese_!” We were the only guests at the Villa Politi, a good inn near the Latomia. I thought it melancholy to sit at meals alone in the big dining-room; Patsy argued that we were better able to “reconstruct” ancient Syracuse in solitude than if surrounded by a lot of interesting people. The Greek Theatre gave me my first overwhelming sense of really being in Magna Grecia; the beauty of the lines of the semicircle, the tiers of seats rising one above the other; the permanent feeling of the work hewn from the bed rock, are all extraordinarily impressive. The _custode_, a serious olive-colored man, was full of serviceable knowledge. As we listened to his talk, some small creature ran over my foot. “Have no fear, Signora, that little animal is the friend of man; I owe him my life. Sitting here alone, I sometimes fall asleep in the sun, there is danger--“ “Fever?” Patsy interrupted. “_Ma che_, no fever here, vipers! This one, he runs before the viper and makes a noise--zzzzz--like that to give warning. If I doze he wakes me, yes, even if he has to touch my face.” “You are a Syracusan?” I said. “I? a Roman! Twelve long years I have served in Siracusa--an exile, Signora, they have forgotten me! Oh! to see the _cupolone_ once more--_tira, tira!_” He meant that the cupola of St. Peter’s drew him back to Rome. Patsy mentioned Commendatore Boni; the _custode_ was on fire. He begged us to speak to the great capo at Rome, perhaps we could get him “moved on?” He himself had a friend, a gentleman of influence, if we would see him, something might come of it--one never knows. “We have no influence, we are _forestieri_--” I began. “_Si capisce_,” said the _custode_, “allow me at least to write the name of the gentleman.” We had not a scrap of paper among us; I found a card of J.’s however; on the back of this the _custode_ wrote the name and address of the gentleman with influence. I asked the _custode_ to take us to the Roman amphitheatre. “_Patienza_,” he said, “what haste? Imagine! in this place the plays of Euripides were given, here Æschylus recited his own dramas!” “Euripides again!” cried Patsy pulling out a book. “Listen to this: ‘Among the Athenian captives in the quarry, there were some who could repeat long passages from Euripides’ plays. These men were favored far above others; some were even freed for the poet’s sake, and long afterwards went back and found him and thanked him, branded as they were, for life and liberty.’” The _custode_ waited patiently, then took up his thread: