Woolsack and the Crown that we almost end by thinking the herb indigenous, just as we link the banana and the peanut with Italy and the Italians; and we think of drinking tea anywhere in England as one does of nectar on Olympus. He who would preserve his illusions should avoid the Blue Perrokeet. There is in Nova Scotia a decoction known as teapot-tea; the pot stands stewing all day and all night on the back of the stove, and recourse to it is frequent. Water is added
and more tea as the brew is drawn off; every so often they have to take out some of the old tea leaves to make room. As may be believed, a strong man’s drink. A hardy race, the Bluenoses ! After partaking of the infusion offered us at the Blue Perrokeet it required no argument to persuade us that the sign should exhibit a Nose, not a Bird.
So much for tea. As for the crumpets, ordered for their brown, crisp sound—but perhaps the veil of reticence would best be drawn over the crumpets. We go forth into the mellow September sunshine. We have, had tea in Old Chelsea.
“The Woman Tempted Me, and . . ”
It cannot be denied that there are mosquitoes in Venice. To call them zinzari is but to blink the issue. And they will bite if not discouraged. This may be accomplished in two ways: by burn ing certain pastilles which utter vast volumes of smoke under whose impenetrable screen you creep into bed and get to sleep before they know it; and by anointing yourself with liquids more
or less evil smelling, supposed to be repugnant to them and unquestionably so to man. We tided both methods and thus acquired bottles to add to the increasing mass of luggage we accompanied about Europe.
One Sunday, in Milan, to speak in architectural terms there was something quaint about my interior, and an expedition in quest of a drug store ensued. Visiting one after another and finding them closed we inquired of a municipal guard who looked upon us with smiling pity and said that it was against the law for drag stores to be open on Sunday. We asked him if it was
BELLAGIO