Took a walk in a green avenue of Capo da Monti, which led us to a farm, called in this country una Massena, where male and female peasants, in their Sunday clothes (it was a pity they were not cleaner), were amusing themselves at the door. Three young girls at our request began dancing the Tarentella (sic), and their grandmother—an old woman, but quite fresh, with all her fine teeth still in her mouth—played upon the tambourine, animating them from time to time in singing, or rather screaming, the air which she was playing. I never saw a scene more Arcadian.