Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1897-09-18

in feeble imitation, "WouG lst know the
charm of orange bOwerv of oieadder
bloom, of scent. of jessamipe and tvbe-
rose2 Wo9ldst feel g all Its s2oslinE
blows from Naples bay? Then linger at
Sorrento; so strange its narrow streets.
its rocky fortress walls. q SO bright its
many shops with Silken Stuffs, and olive
wood inIaid and carved in countless ways
for use and beauty" So dreamy. so al
Turing is Sorrento. we could not bear to
leave: for the first time In our lives we
revelled in an orange grove, we picked
and ate the luscious fruit till we were
satiated, and then with branches laden
with the golden balls, we turned our faces
back toward Naples. For almost the first
time. we pleaded guilty to being tired.
and felt for the moment that nothing
could interest us, but the sights of Ma
Piles would animate a craven image. The
hour was six at night, and our drive.
along the principal thoroughfare of the
city. and by beautiful buildings.
The characteristic of Naples Is its sharp
cry and happiness. Boys with tattered
apologies for garments which scarcely
held together were driving a herd of
goats before them, stopping at various
houses while the maid with glass In
hand, herself secured the evenings sup
ply of milk. having an advantage In
knowing that she had 1t fresh from ma
lures fount. without being diluted at the
iron fountain. A haggard woman lay
upon the pavement, and covering her.
were five sleeping children. boy Of six'
stepped from tub of water placed on
the sidewalk. while curly-headed
cherub of three stood ready to occupy
the vacant bath. Lazxaroni stood upon
upon the doors. before and behind the1s
swarmed,. so Wfetched that It smadn -
miserable to look on suffering we c0Ald'
not help: and their plaintive "Macehers
oni! still rings In our ears. The misery
of the dumb animals we cannot picture;
gaunt frames and trembling limbs, and
then the cruel beatings to make those
starving creatures hurry; while over Ind
above all, the dirt and smells of Naples
made us cry, What saves them from the
plague?' Pietro was the one bright spot
for us, and that illumination radiated
from joyous happy nature rather than
from the application of soap and wafer.
Pietro was not superior to his country
men in that he was clean-ten years OF
dirt and rags were his; no father, m0thex:
home-blows and harsh words were ~
that he could surely count upOn and ~
in spite of all he seemed happy and 49,
with which Italy has blessed or eo
her children. according to ones poo8 *
viewing. "Madre' he would say. T
ingly pointing from w. to e. showing w.
night and morning Pietro haunted - !
with goodnight Madre. good-day ~
dre," proudly exhibiting his stock ,ot
English words. Our last glimpse Of ma
pies meant PietrO. as he stood upon th9
carriage step, thrust his head into the
open window. and with many smiling.
waves of the hand, cried, goodbye 0A-
DIRE, goodbye" Not only was 1t good-h0e
Pietro. but goodbye Italy for W. We
realize now. even more than when we be.
gan our letter. that the power has not
been vOuchsafed us, to make known the
potent influence, the magic glamour. that
surrounds that land of history and of afG
and our first impulse to say nothing. was
the wiser one, for 1t is with feeling -
with waters, 1.-The shadows murmur. but
the deeps are dumb" -