at court or palace any retreat so soothing as
that offered him here by his steadfast sister.

If I were an antiquarian, I think I should have had Tasso born at the
Villa Nardi, where I like best to stay, and where I find traces of many
pilgrims from other countries. Here, in a little corner room on the
terrace, Mrs. Stowe dreamed and wrote; and I expect, every morning, as
I take my morning sun here by the gate, Agnes of Sorrento will come down
the sweet-scented path with a basket of oranges on her head.

SEA AND SHORE

It is not always easy, when one stands upon the highlands which encircle
the Piano di Sorrento, in some conditions of the atmosphere, to tell
where the sea ends and the sky begins. It seems practicable, at such
times, for one to take ship and sail up into heaven. I have often,
indeed, seen white sails climbing up there, and fishing-boats, at secure
anchor I suppose, riding apparently like balloons in the hazy air.
Sea and air and land here are all kin, I suspect, and have certain
immaterial qualities in common. The contours of the shores and the
outlines of the hills are as graceful as the mobile waves; and if there
is anywhere ruggedness and sharpness, the atmosphere throws a friendly
veil over it, and tones all that is inharmonious into the repose of
beauty.

The atmosphere is really something more than a medium: it is a drapery,
woven, one could affirm, with colors, or dipped in oriental dyes. One
might account thus for the prismatic colors I have often seen on the
horizon at noon, when the sun was pouring down floods of clear golden
light. The simple light here, if one could ever represent it by pen,
pencil, or brush, would draw the world hither to bathe in it. It is not
thin sunshine, but a royal profusion, a golden substance, a transforming
quality, a vesture of splendor for all these Mediterranean shores.

The most comprehensive idea of Sorrento and the great plain on which
it stands, imbedded almost out of sight in foliage, we obtained one day
from our boat, as we put out round the Capo di Sorrento, and stood away
for Capri. There was not wind enough for sails, but there were chopping
waves, and swell enough to toss us about, and to produce bright flashes
of light far out at sea. The red-shirted rowers silently bent to
their long sweeps; and I lay in the tossing bow, and studied the high,
receding shore. The picture is simple, a precipice of rock or earth,
faced with masonry in spots,