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this was the subject of the letter which I was to compose. I brought everything I had to bear upon that letter and when I was through I found the table full. "Read," they said breathlessly. I complied with a rendition well saturated with deep and noble sentiments which bought convulsive sobs from all the women at the table and even caused by own eyes to mist over. I have often wondered what the reaction of Maria Pia might have been to her mother's letter, written in the dining room of the Guilio Cesare.

Finally the celestial blue of the summer ocean was bordered by the cobalt of foreign shores, and from the veiled distance emerged Vesuvius.

I recognized those ancient outlines from their souvenirs, scattered over America: amateur aqu?bles on the walls of ? bedrooms amateur oils in the closed parlors of New England farm??, tokens of journeys back to old