He went to the window:
the topmost leaves of the trees were quivering in the cold air far up
there in the clearing skies, where the stars were fading out one by
one, and he could hear the sound of the sea on the distant beach, and
he knew that across the gray plain of waters the dawn was breaking,
and that over the sleeping world another day was rising that seemed to
him the first day of a new and tremulous life, full of joy and courage
and hope.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
ON THE VIA SAN BASILIO.
In Rome, 1851; a cold, dreary day in December--one of those days in
which a man's ambition seems to desert him entirely, leaving only its
grinning skeleton to mock him. Depressing as was the weather to a man
who had cheerfulness as a companion by which to repel its blustering
attacks, and raise his mind above the despondency it was calculated
to produce, how much more so to one whose hope had gone out as a
flickering lamp in a sudden gust of wind, and the sharp steel of whose
ambition had turned to pierce his own heart!
Such a man, on the day mentioned, was walking along the Via San
Basilio. He was small in stature, poorly clad, and so thin, and
even cadaverous, that the casual observer might have been under
apprehension lest a gust of wind a little stronger than the average
might blow him entirely away; yet his air and manner were proud and
haughty, and what little evidences of feeling peered through the signs
of dissipation too apparent on his naturally attractive face were
those of genuine refinement.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258