ear Mexico?"

"Not in dangerous proximity," we replied; but we did not forfeit his
good opinion by saying that we visited it but seldom.

Well, he had seen all quarters of the globe: he had been for years a
traveler, but he had come back here with a stronger love for it than
ever; it was to him the most delightful spot on earth, he said. And we
could not tell him where its equal is. If I had nothing else to do, I
think I should cast in my lot with him,--at least for a week.

But the monks never got into a cozier nook than the Convent of the
Camaldoli. That also is suppressed: its gardens, avenues, colonnaded
walks, terraces, buildings, half in ruins. It is the level surface of
a hill, sheltered on the east by higher peaks, and on the north by the
more distant range of Great St. Angelo, across the valley, and is one
of the most extraordinarily fertile plots of ground I ever saw. The rich
ground responds generously to the sun. I should like to have seen the
abbot who grew on this fat spot. The workmen were busy in the garden,
spading and pruning.

A group of wild, half-naked children came about us begging, as we sat
upon the walls of the terrace,--the terrace which overhangs the busy
plain below, and which commands the entire, varied, nooky promontory,
and the two bays. And these children, insensible to beauty, want
centesimi!

In the rear of the church are some splendid specimens of the
umbrella-like Italian pine. Here we found, also, a pretty little
ruin,--it might be Greek and--it might be Druid for anything that
appeared, ivy-clad, and suggesting a religion older than that of the
convent. To the east we look into a fertile, terraced ravine; and beyond
to a precipitous brown mountain, which shows a sharp outline against the
sky; halfway up are nests of towns, white houses, churches, and above,
creeping along the slope, the thread of an ancient road, with stone
arches at intervals, as old as Caesar.

We descend, skirting for some distance the monastery walls, over which
patches of ivy hang like green shawls. There are flowers in profusion,
scented violets, daisies, dandelions, and crocuses, large and of the
richest variety, with orange pistils, and stamens purple and violet, the
back of every alternate leaf exquisitely penciled.

We descend into a continuous settlement, past shrines, past brown,
sturdy men and handsome girls working in the vineyards; we descend--but
words express nothing--into a wonderful ravine