The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1903-06-28

mug in our hands, we exchanged opin-
ions and made observations on man and
things in language not dreamed OF in
your philosophers"
Night in Italy.
AS beautiful piece OF description as
any In the book is that OF night in italy.
II is in sections-the coming OF twilight
to Rome. to Venice. to Naples.
a part of It:
Everything is al fresco. The houses
are turned inside out until midnight. It
is summer. and the city is given to
pleasure. but II is always the pleasure OF
the Romans-a pleasure that dances Sc
dately to music in the minor key. and
firts with dignity. as IL it were really
serious matter. and sings refrains
that are always pathetic Even the
mirth OF the Roman carnival is forced
and hollow. How could IL be otherwise
with G race that has sprung from the
dust OF the Caesars. and been nurtured
among ruins that beiittle the triumphs
of modern art-a people who inherit a
pride that lends dignity even to the beg
gar at the church door, whose hearts
quake with passion. whose eyes look
tragedies.
at Venice the dusk comes in with
the tide-a dusk the shadows OF which
take palpable shapes and float OF in the
guise of gondolas. The mysterious
barges steal noiselessly through narrow,
dark canals: there is no sound save the
scftest possible plash OF rippIes under
the bows. the swish OF the swinging
oar. the cry OF the gondolier as he gives
warning OF his approach Overhead there
are touches OF moonlight upon the high
chinlneys. the projecting eornices, or a
gallery here and there. But the canal is
in deep shadow. and its waters as black
as ink We drift under numberiess low
bridges. turn corners at every angle.
and swim into vistas that stretch far
away into the blue night
when the afterglow pales on the
slopes of Vesuvius-it has burned like a
live coal and has faded 10 the grapes
cool and dusty purpie-when the sea
and the sky are OF one color. and the
sharp outline Of Capri is all that d.
vides the silvery horizon. Naples throws
of her mask
1.-The song os the Barcaruolo floats
ever the sea In the kiosk OF the vile
real. an orchestra accompanies the re-
frain CT the sea- What shadows are Ia
that garden. What shades haunt the long
avenues. where beautiful fountains
sparkle IN phosphorescent light, and
statues CLEAN from inches OF lick The
very air IS permeated with the subtle
odors of the monster whose seething
blood bursts. forth at intervals in a
hemorrhage of liquid fire. The air i'm
parts TO the Neapolitan supernatural vi
tality. Six hundred thousand incipient
volcanoes slumber in the breasts OF
these mercurial creatures. The Neapol-
itan never sleeps. unless. like the alba
tross. he slumbers on the wing. The
Italian night is manifold; the deathIike
stin of the Csmpagna is broken only by
the howl OF the sheep-dogs- Among the
mountain towns-those walled settle
ments that hang p9on gidiy lodges like
wasp-nests-the bell that chimes Tire
quarteT-hours is the only audible sound.
The sea sobs under the cliffs al
Amalf: the owl cries in the wilderness
about PaestUm; the grille ehirps in the
streets OF Ravenna. and in the half
deserted cities OF the north the solitary
shepherd lad pipes his flock; while the
moon rolls over from the eastern sea.
touching all the level tops Of the stone
pires and the sorlber walls OF cypress
that overshadow Florence, making a
night OF IT beyond compare" (LothroD
Publishing Company. Boston,