Accursedbehismemoryforeverandaday！’
But，Ihaveallthistimebeencomingtothepoint，thatthehappynatureofmyretirementismostsweetlyexpressedinitsbeingtheabodeofLove。Itis，asitwere，aninexpensiveAgapemone:
nobody’sspeculation:everybody’sprofit。Theonegreatresultoftheresumptionofprimitivehabits，andconvertibletermsthenothavingmuchtodo，is，theaboundingofLove。
TheKlemspeciesareincapableofthesofteremotions；probably，inthatlownomadicrace，thesofteremotionshavealldegeneratedintoflue。But，withthisexception，allthesharersofmyretreatmakelove。
IhavementionedSaville-row。WeallknowtheDoctor’sservant。
Weallknowwhatarespectablemanheis，whataharddryman，whatafirmman，whataconfidentialman:howheletsusintothewaiting-room，likeamanwhoknowsminutelywhatisthematterwithus，butfromwhomtherackshouldnotwringthesecret。Intheprosaic“season，“hehasdistinctlytheappearanceofamanconsciousofmoneyinthesavingsbank，andtakinghisstandonhisrespectabilitywithbothfeet。Atthattimeitisasimpossibletoassociatehimwithrelaxation，oranyhumanweakness，asitistomeethiseyewithoutfeelingguiltyofindisposition。IntheblestArcadiantime，howchanged！Ihaveseenhim，inapepper-and-saltjacket-jacket-anddrabtrousers，withhisarmroundthewaistofabootmaker’shousemaid，smilinginopenday。IhaveseenhimatthepumpbytheAlbany，unsolicitedlypumpingfortwofairyoungcreatures，whosefiguresastheybentovertheircans，were-ifI
maybeallowedanoriginalexpression-amodelforthesculptor。
IhaveseenhimtryingthepianointheDoctor’sdrawing-roomwithhisforefinger，andhaveheardhimhummingtunesinpraiseoflovelywoman。Ihaveseenhimseatedonafire-engine，andgoingobviouslyinsearchofexcitementtoafire。Isawhim，onemoonlighteveningwhenthepeaceandpurityofourArcadianwestwereattheirheight，polkwiththelovelydaughterofacleanerofgloves，fromthedoor-stepsofhisownresidence，acrossSaville-
row，roundbyClifford-streetandOldBurlington-street，backtoBurlington-gardens。IsthistheGoldenAgerevived，orIronLondon？
TheDentist’sservant。Isthatmannomysterytous，notypeofinvisiblepower？Thetremendousindividualknowswhoelsedoes？
whatisdonewiththeextractedteeth；heknowswhatgoesoninthelittleroomwheresomethingisalwaysbeingwashedorfiled；heknowswhatwarmspicyinfusionisputintothecomfortabletumblerfromwhichwerinseourwoundedmouth，withagapinitthatfeelsafootwide；heknowswhetherthethingwespitintoisafixturecommunicatingwiththeThames，orcouldbeclearedawayforadance；heseesthehorribleparlourwheretherearenopatientsinit，andhecouldreveal，ifhewould，whatbecomesoftheEvery-DayBookthen。TheconvictionofmycowardconsciencewhenIseethatmaninaprofessionallight，is，thatheknowsallthestatisticsofmyteethandgums，mydoubleteeth，mysingleteeth，mystoppedteeth，andmysound。InthisArcadianrest，Iamfearlessofhimasofaharmless，powerlesscreatureinaScotchcap，whoadoresayoungladyinavoluminouscrinoline，ataneighbouringbilliard-
room，andwhosepassionwouldbeuninfluencedifeveryoneofherteethwerefalse。Theymaybe。Hetakesthemallontrust。
Insecludedcornersoftheplaceofmyseclusion，therearelittleshopswithdrawnfrompubliccuriosity，andnevertwotogether，whereservants’perquisitesarebought。Thecookmaydisposeofgreaseatthesemodestandconvenientmarts；thebutler，ofbottles；thevaletandlady’smaid，ofclothes；mostservants，indeed，ofmostthingstheymayhappentolayholdof。Ihavebeentoldthatinsternertimeslovingcorrespondence，otherwiseinterdicted，maybemaintainedbyletterthroughtheagencyofsomeoftheseusefulestablishments。IntheArcadianautumn，nosuchdeviceisnecessary。Everybodyloves，andopenlyandblamelesslyloves。Mylandlord’syoungmanlovesthewholeofonesideofthewayofOldBond-street，andisbelovedseveraldoorsupNewBond-
streetbesides。IneverlookoutofwindowbutIseekissingofhandsgoingonallaroundme。Itisthemorningcustomtoglidefromshoptoshopandexchangetendersentiments；itistheeveningcustomforcouplestostandhandinhandathousedoors，orroam，linkedinthatflowerymanner，throughtheunpeopledstreets。
Thereisnothingelsetodobutlove；andwhatthereistodo，isdone。
Inunisonwiththispursuit，achastesimplicityobtainsinthedomestichabitsofArcadia。Itsfewscatteredpeopledineearly，livemoderately，supsocially，andsleepsoundly。ItisrumouredthattheBeadlesoftheArcade，frombeingthemortalenemiesofboys，havesignedwithtearsanaddresstoLordShaftesbury，andsubscribedtoaraggedschool。Nowonder！For，theymightturntheirheavymacesintocrooksandtendsheepintheArcade，tothepurlingofthewater-cartsastheygivethethirstystreetsmuchmoretodrinkthantheycancarry。
AhappyGoldenAge，andaserenetranquillity。Charmingpicture，butitwillfade。Theironagewillreturn，Londonwillcomebacktotown，ifIshowmytonguetheninSaville-rowforhalfaminuteIshallbeprescribedfor，theDoctor’smanandtheDentist’smanwillthenpretendthatthesedaysofunprofessionalinnocenceneverexisted。WhereMr。andMrs。Klemandtheirbedwillbeatthattime，passeshumanknowledge；butmyhatterhermitagewillthenknowthemnomore，norwillitthenknowme。ThedeskatwhichI
havewrittenthesemeditationswillretributivelyassistatthemakingoutofmyaccount，andthewheelsofgorgeouscarriagesandthehoofsofhigh-steppinghorseswillcrushthesilenceoutofBond-street-willgrindArcadiaaway，andgiveittotheelementsingranitepowder。
TherisingoftheItalianpeoplefromundertheirunutterablewrongs，andthetardyburstofdayuponthemafterthelonglongnightofoppressionthathasdarkenedtheirbeautifulcountry，havenaturallycausedmymindtodwelloftenoflateonmyownsmallwanderingsinItaly。Connectedwiththem，isacuriouslittledrama，inwhichthecharacterImyselfsustainedwassoverysubordinatethatImayrelateitsstorywithoutanyfearofbeingsuspectedofself-display。Itisstrictlyatruestory。
Iamnewlyarrivedonesummerevening，inacertainsmalltownontheMediterranean。Ihavehadmydinnerattheinn，andIandthemosquitoesarecomingoutintothestreetstogether。ItisfarfromNaples；butabright，brown，plumplittlewoman-servantattheinn，isaNeapolitan，andissovivaciouslyexpertinpanto-mimicaction，thatinthesinglemomentofansweringmyrequesttohaveapairofshoescleanedwhichIhaveleftup-stairs，shepliesimaginarybrushes，andgoescompletelythroughthemotionsofpolishingtheshoesup，andlayingthematmyfeet。Ismileatthebrisklittlewomaninperfectsatisfactionwithherbriskness；andthebrisklittlewoman，amiablypleasedwithmebecauseIampleasedwithher，clapsherhandsandlaughsdelightfully。Weareintheinnyard。Asthelittlewoman’sbrighteyessparkleonthecigaretteIamsmoking，Imakeboldtoofferherone；sheacceptsitnonethelessmerrily，becauseItouchamostcharminglittledimpleinherfatcheek，withitslightpaperend。Glancingupatthemanygreenlatticestoassureherselfthatthemistressisnotlookingon，thelittlewomanthenputshertwolittledimplearmsa-kimbo，andstandsontiptoetolighthercigaretteatmine。’Andnow，dearlittlesir，’saysshe，puffingoutsmokeinamostinnocentandcherubicmanner，’keepquitestraighton，takethefirsttotherightandprobablyyouwillseehimstandingathisdoor。’
Igaveacommissionto’him，’andIhavebeeninquiringabouthim。
IhavecarriedthecommissionaboutItalyseveralmonths。BeforeI
leftEngland，therecametomeonenightacertaingenerousandgentleEnglishnoblemanheisdeadinthesedayswhenIrelatethestory，andexileshavelosttheirbestBritishfriend，withthisrequest:’Wheneveryoucometosuchatown，willyouseekoutoneGiovanniCarlavero，whokeepsalittlewine-shopthere，mentionmynametohimsuddenly，andobservehowitaffectshim？’Iacceptedthetrust，andamonmywaytodischargeit。
Thesiroccohasbeenblowingallday，anditisahotunwholesomeeveningwithnocoolsea-breeze。Mosquitoesandfire-fliesarelivelyenough，butmostothercreaturesarefaint。Thecoquettishairsofprettyyoungwomeninthetiniestandwickedestofdolls’
strawhats，wholeanoutatopenedlatticeblinds，arealmosttheonlyairsstirring。Veryuglyandhaggardoldwomenwithdistaffs，andwithagreytowuponthemthatlooksasiftheywerespinningouttheirownhairIsupposetheywereoncepretty，too，butitisverydifficulttobelieveso，sitonthefootwayleaningagainsthousewalls。Everybodywhohascomeforwatertothefountain，staysthere，andseemsincapableofanysuchenergeticideaasgoinghome。Vespersareover，thoughnotsolongbutthatIcansmelltheheavyresinousincenseasIpassthechurch。Nomanseemstobeatwork，savethecoppersmith。InanItaliantownheisalwaysatwork，andalwaysthumpinginthedeadliestmanner。
Ikeepstraighton，andcomeinduetimetothefirstontheright:
anarrowdullstreet，whereIseeawell-favouredmanofgoodstatureandmilitarybearing，inagreatcloak，standingatadoor。
Drawingnearertothisthreshold，Iseeitisthethresholdofasmallwine-shop；andIcanjustmakeout，inthedimlight，theinscriptionthatitiskeptbyGiovanniCarlavero。
Itouchmyhattothefigureinthecloak，andpassin，anddrawastooltoalittletable。ThelampjustsuchanotherastheydigoutofPompeiiislighted，buttheplaceisempty。Thefigureinthecloakhasfollowedmein，andstandsbeforeme。
’Themaster？’
’Atyourservice，sir。’
’Pleasetogivemeaglassofthewineofthecountry。’
Heturnstoalittlecounter，togetit。Ashisstrikingfaceispale，andhisactionisevidentlythatofanenfeebledman，I
remarkthatIfearhehasbeenill。Itisnotmuch，hecourteouslyandgravelyanswers，thoughbadwhileitlasts:thefever。
Ashesetsthewineonthelittletable，tohismanifestsurpriseI
laymyhandonthebackofhis，lookhimintheface，andsayinalowvoice:’IamanEnglishman，andyouareacquaintedwithafriendofmine。Doyourecollect-？’andImentionedthenameofmygenerouscountryman。