catch her parting glance.
I could not--I was sick of myself and of her. I was literally torn
asunder between love and hatred--love born basely of material feeling
alone--hatred, the offspring of a deeply injured spirit for whose wrong
there could scarce be found sufficient remedy. Once out of the
influence of her bewildering beauty, my mind grew calmer--and the drive
back to the hotel in my carriage through the sweet dullness of the
December air quieted the feverish excitement of my blood and restored
me to myself. It was a most lovely day--bright and fresh, with the
savor of the sea in the wind. The waters of the bay were of a
steel-like blue shading into deep olive-green, and a soft haze lingered
about the shores of Amalfi like a veil of gray, shot through with
silver and gold. Down the streets went women in picturesque garb
carrying on their heads baskets full to the brim of purple violets that
scented the air as they passed--children ragged and dirty ran along,
pushing the luxuriant tangle of their dark locks away from their
beautiful wild antelope eyes, and, holding up bunches of roses and
narcissi with smiles as brilliant as the very sunshine, implored the
passengers to buy "for the sake of the little Gesu who was soon coming!"

Bells clashed and clanged from the churches in honor of San Tommaso,
whose festival it was, and the city had that aspect of gala gayety
about it, which is in truth common enough to all continental towns, but
which seems strange to the solemn Londoner who sees so much apparently
reasonless merriment for the first time. He, accustomed to have his
reluctant laughter pumped out of him by an occasional visit to the
theater where he can witness the "original," English translation of a
French farce, cannot understand WHY these foolish Neapolitans should
laugh and sing and shout in the manner they do, merely because they are
glad to be alive. And after much dubious consideration, he decides
within himself that they are all rascals--the scum of the earth--and
that he and he only is the true representative of man at his best--the
model of civilized respectability. And a mournful spectacle he thus
seems to the eyes of us "base" foreigners--in our hearts we are sorry
for him and believe that if he could manage to shake off the fetters of
his insular customs and prejudices, he might almost succeed in enjoying
life as much as we do!

As I drove along I saw a small crowd at one of the street corners--a