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After leaving the Piazza, we get a glimpse of Hadrian's Mole, and of the rusty Tiber, as it hurries, "retortis littore Etrusco violenter undis" as of old, under the statued bridge of St. Angelo, and then we plunge into long, damp, narrow, dirty streets. Yet shall I confess it? they had a charm for me. Twilight was deepening into dark as we passed through them. Confused cries and loud Italian voices sounded about me. Children were screaming, men howling their wares for sale. Bells were ringing everywhere. Priests, soldiers, contadini, and beggars thronged along. The Trasteverini were going home, with their jackets hanging over one shoulder. Women, in their rough woollen gowns, stood in the doorways bare-headed, or looked out from windows and balconies, their black hair shining under the lanterns. Lights were twinkling in the little cavernous shops, and under the Madonna-shrines far within them. A funeral procession, with its black banners, gilt with a death's-head and cross-bones, was passing by, its wavering candles borne by the confraternit
Sternunt se somno diversae in littore phocae; which might be rendered, Here phocae slumber on the beach, Within our Highland Hector's reach. Nay, if you grow angry, I have done. Besides, I see old Edie in the court-yard, with whom I have business. Good-bye, Hector Do you remember how she splashed into the sea like her master Proteus, et se jactu dedit aequor in altum?"
In littore maris miraculose veniunt ibi semel in anno, per tres continuos dies, quasi de omni genere piscium marinorum, in maxima abundantia: et praebent se omnibus libere capiendos ad manum. Nam et ego ipse cepi quamplures.
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