This experience was all sunshine, all
pastime. On the way, stopping at Lake Thrasymene, my mother wrote:--
May 29, 1858.
MY DEAR ELIZABETH,--I have just been watching the moon rise over the
lake, exactly opposite the window of our parlor. We thought to go out
and see the moonlight this evening, when I saw on the horizon what
seemed a mighty conflagration, which I immediately supposed must be
the moon, though I had never seen it look so red. The clouds were of
a fiery splendor, and then the flaming rim of the moon appeared above
the mountains, like the shield of some warrior of the great battle
between Flaminius and Hannibal on this spot, rising with its ghostly
invisible hero to see how it was now on the former field of blood.
The "peace supreme" that reigns here this evening distances all
thought of war and terror. We left Perugia this afternoon at three
o'clock, with the finest weather. Our drive was enchanting all the
way, along rich valleys and up mountains. And when climbing mountains
we have two milk-white steers which majestically draw us along. Their
eyes are deep wells of dark, peaceful light, that seem to express
broad levels of rich waving grain, pure lapsing streams, olives and
vines, and every other sign of plenty and quiet husbandry, with no end
of dawns, twilights, and cool thickets. The golden age of rural life
slumbers in their great orbs. Byron calls them "the purest gods of
gentle waters."
June 7. Here we are, then, in enchanting Florence! I shall try to send
you a journal by the Bryants, who are here now.
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