The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1909-07-10


could not help contrasting the two groups.
Mother and child of marble in calm peace above,
their sorrows ended. Mother and child of flesh
and blood below, with their Calvary to climb,
looking up to that divine repose for strength
and courage. The shores of Galilee and Theirs
banks are meeting here in the great basilca.
The little Roman child, whispering in her soft
Southern tongue, told me her name was Maria,
and that the Madonna was Maria too, and loved
her because she bore her name. / asked this
sweet atom of humanity to say an Ave for me to
the Holy Mother, who loved her so well, and
bowed my head while she began to lisp, AVE
Maria, dazia pena." And having finished the
little prayer she gave me sunny nod, smiled
upward with the same simple friendliness at the
Madonna, and toddled away clinging trustfully
to her mama's finger.
Turning from the chapel toward the nave 1
saw,a group of five six-men standing beside
one of the holy water basins. in company with
two brown habited Franciscan nuns, The men
were blind musicians, poor fellows who had
come up from Naples to try their fortune in
Rome. The maestro of the group was leaning
on an arm of one of the brown sisters and she
was explaining to him as best she could the
enormous size of the basiica, telling him that
the chubby cherubs upholding the nearby basin
looked like tiny children when seen from the
doorway, but were really taller than grown
men, and ever so much fatter that everything
in the church was proportonately big and that
around were gold and gems and multi colored
marble; and that away up over our heads near
the drum of the dome where men walking looked
like flies, was picture of Saint Mark holding
pen, which appeared to people standing below
to be only about twice the length of an ordinary
quill but was really more than seven feet long.
The blind maestro stared up into the great dome
with his sightless eyes and said it was all very
strange and wonderful but that he thought he
understood. As looked upward and realized
how impossible it was to comprehend by the eye
alone the grandeur of that perfect dome, and
then watched the five blind men join hands to
grope around one of the mighty pillars to get an
idea of it's colossal proportions possibly
juster idea than we had who saw-the words
came to me Neither hath this man sinned,
nor his parents, but that the works of God
should be made manifest in him. But I am
letting sentiment run away with me. Did that
blind man really understand Saint Peter's2
cannot tell. When looked at the warm sun
light falling on the marble floor and thought of
his life in the dark, it seemed unjust and terri
bly, sad. But when looked into the blind mans
gentle face 1 knew it was all right-or would
come right by and by.
On the Roman Campagna (ten miles from any
where), this morning before dawn. heard my
good Roman mother up and about the house, oc
cupied, knew, with preparations for my depar-
ture. At half-pas five she came to wake me
and make one final effort to persuade me to take
the train and give up the project of tramping to
Florence, warning me against the bestioi
literally big, ugly beasts, the savage dogs,
venomous serpents, wicked peasants and other
dangers with which her imagination peopled the
Campagna. Finding my head was ''set" she
stuffed my knapsack with enough food to feed
an army, crammed into my pockets the oranges
and cakes that overflowed presented me, as
parting gift, with leather wallet, placed in my
hands long alpenstock tipped with pointed
ironically formidable weapon-then kissed
me good bye and cried little bit and made me
promise to write every day or two. Then the
whole household came to the window to wave
last farewell as I strobe off up the Via Sistina
hill. 1t was like leaving home a second time.
By the time got out of the suburbs of Rome
(Which along the highway leading north are as
ugly as those of Baltimore or Pittsburgh and
had left well behind the factories, coal yards,
electric light plants and modern tenement
houses, the sun was well up in the sky. After
twelve kilometers tramping along hot, white.
dusty road, came to green, billy part of the
Campagna, where the sloping meadows were
covered with spring flowers, all white and pink
and golden. Iclimbed over fence and lay down
in the shadow of tall, deserted feudal tower,
grim old ruin standing in the midst of field of
daisies. Stretched out on the grass, with KNAPP
sack for pillow, went to sleep. Gradually 1
was brought back to consciousness by a curious
low sound, seeming to come from the ground
nod 30 1.n @1x1
moving everywhere about me in the soil beneath
the grass I could almost feel it. 1t was not
"crawling'sound but atherindescribably sooth-
ing, pleasant. Nature herself seemed stirring.
1t made me think of Walt Whitman's lines in
which he told how he could hear the plants
growing. Lazily, drcamily, 1 half opened my
eyes without moving arms or body and behold,
was lying in the midst of flock of sheep, some
of them browsing at my very shoulders, some
nibbling at my feet. 1 could have raised my
hand and touched half dozen of them, they
were so near, but lay quite still and they grazed
TRANQUILITY on while shut my eyes second time
and listened to the strange, strange sound;
listened with my ear pressed against the ground
to the sound made by the tender roots and blades
of grass torn up by the tugging, munching sheep.
But presently doggie came barking, bounding
up the hill in mad excitement Evidently he
had scented wolf in the fold and after doggie
came the shepherd. He was good old man.
He told me while made peace with the dog and
sat down with him to watch the flock that he was
sometimes very lonely and was glad of a chance
to talk with a young man, because it made him
think of his son who had become Franciscan
monk and died of fever at Civita Vecchia when
he was about my age. He showed me the sons
picture, which he kept in prayer book, be-
tween the pages on which are printed the prayer
for the dead. Then he told me of young Ger
man artist who had come out from Rome last
year to paint picture of him and his sheep and
the old ruined tower beneath which we sat, but
while we talked of many things he somehow
always drifted back to the subject of his son.
Presently the shepherd looked up into the sky
and saw that it was noon. He drew from his
pocket crust of bread, a small piece of dried
meat, and though there was not enough of either
meat or bread to satisfy one mans hunger, he
cut them both in half and handed me the larger
half of each. 1 say handed not Offered"
There is difference and in the shepherds sim
pie gesture was all the subtitle distinction be-
tween the two. And when 1 dumped out on the
grass between us the dainties that Signora X.
had packed in my knapsack he accepted his
share in the same frank and 'unabashed way.
We made splendid meal together and then sat
smoking silently for long time. When we
shook hands at the parting he touched his
wrinkled, grizzled old cheek to mine, after the
Italian fashion, and sent me on my way with his
parental benediction. know he was still think
ing of his son. He was Christian gentleman if
ever have met one in this world.
am writing these notes at p. NJ. seated on a
stone by the roadside. Two hours further on,
have been told, there is lake and beside it a
village where can spend the night. 1t is still
hidden behind ridge, but am hoping to get in
sight of it before dark. SEABRooK.
No MORE ice for the Postofice Department
in Washington at s765 ton. An ice-making
plant has been established at that department
and it is making more than is needed at an
actual cost of 65 cents a ton. Other depart
ments have applied for the surplus ice turned
out by this plant. This gives very good idea
of the profit there is in the business of manu-
featuring ice.