Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 1.djvu/794

786 Amours de Voyage. [May, There is a home on the shore of the Alpine sea, that upswelling High up the mountain-sides spreads to the hollow between; Wilderness, mountain, and snow from the land of the olive conceal it; Under Pilatus's hill low by its river it lies: Italy, utter one word, and the olive and vine will allure not,— Wilderness, forest, and snow will not the passage impede; Italy, unto thy cities receding, the clue to recover, Hither, recovered the clue, shall not the traveller haste?

There is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno, Under Fiesole's heights,—thither are we to return? There is a city that fringes the curve of the billowing waters, Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,— Parthenope do they call thee?—the Siren, Neapolis, seated Under Vesuvius's hill,—thither are we to proceed?— Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;—or are we to turn to England, which may after all be for its children the best?

SO you are really free, and living in quiet at Florence; That is delightful news;—you travelled slowly and safely; Mr. Claude got you out; took rooms at Florence before you; Wrote from Milan to say so; had left directly for Milan, Hoping to find us soon;—if he could, he would, you are certain.— Dear Miss Roper, your letter has made me exceedingly happy.

You are quite sure, you say, he asked you about our intentions;

You had not heard of Lucerne as yet, but told him of Como.— Well, perhaps he will come;—however, I will not expect it. Though you say you are sure,—if he can, he will, you are certain. O my dear, many thanks from your ever affectionate Mary.

Florence. Action will furnish belief,—but will that belief be the true one? This is the point, you know. However, it doesn't much matter What one wants, I suppose, is to predetermine the action, So as to make it entail, not a chance-belief, but the true one. Out of the question, you say, if a thing isn't wrong, we may do it. Ah! but this wrong, you see;—but I do not know that it matters. Eustace, the Ropers are gone, and no one can tell me about them.

Pisa. Pisa, they say they think; and so I follow to Pisa, Hither and thither inquiring. I weary of making inquiries; I am ashamed, I declare, of asking people about it.— Who are your friends? You said you had friends who would certainly know them.