These from their numbers were unrecognizable, while their prices for
the exquisite fruit were so small that it was a pleasure to be
cheated. Behind the tower stretched lengthily the house, its large
arched doorway looking upon all comers with a frown of shadow. Still
further behind basked a bevy of fruit gardens and olive-tree dotted
hill-sides with their vines of the grape. We used to sit on the lawn
in the evenings, and sometimes received guests there; looking at the
sky, moon, comet, and stars ("flowers of light," my mother called
them) as if they were new. Any mortal might have been forgiven for so
regarding them, in the sapphire glory of an Italian night. My mother's
untiring voice of melodious enthusiasm echoed about the group in
ejaculations of praise.
In connection with the comet my elders spoke of war and misery, of
which it was accused of being the messenger. My child's heart already
knew the iron truth, and was not astonished at the intrusion of such a
thought, that beauty and peace must always entertain the herald of the
other country--the dark one. There was a sadness about Italy, although
it lay under "the smile of God," as my father calls its sunshine. He
and my mother often mention this shadow, as before remarked, in their
records. At times the cause seems to them to come from the "incubus"
of the Catholic religion, although they both believed it capable of
being wholly perfect. Glorious scenes were constantly soothing this
sense of human sorrow, scenes such as cannot be found in regions
outside the Church.
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