lutely venerable, from exceeding merit, will be a rash
one. In America, Time is not old or slow; he has given up his
hour-glass, and travels by express. Each month of ours equals one of
your years, each year a century. Therefore have we all a singularly
mature air--as exemplified in myself. But to return. Upon this spot,
then, my friends, there was once--carnage! The only positive and
historical carnage in the neighborhood of Mentone. Therefore all warlike
spirits should come to Gorbio, and breathe the inspiring air."

We did not stay long enough in the inspiring air to become belligerent,
however, but, on the contrary, went peacefully past a quiet old shrine,
and took the path to Roccabruna--one of the most beautiful paths in the
neighborhood of Mentone. By-and-by we came to a tall cross on the top of
a high ridge. We had seen it outlined against the sky while still in the
streets of Gorbio. These mountain-side crosses were not uncommon. They
are not locally commemorative, as we first supposed, but seem to be
placed here and there, where there is a beautiful view, to remind the
gazer of the hand that created it all. Some distance farther we found a
still wider prospect; and then we came down into Roccabruna, and spread
out our lunch on the battlements of the old castle. From this point our
eyes rested on the coast-line stretching east and west, the frowning
Dog's Head at Monaco, and the white winding course of the Cornice Road.
The castle was on the side of the mountain, eight hundred feet above the
sea. Although forming part of the village, it was completely isolated by
its position on a high pinnacle of rock, which rose far above the roofs
on all sides.

[Illustration: STREET IN ROCCABRUNA]

"How these poor timid little towns clung close to and under their lords'
walls!" said Baker, with the fine contempt of a young American. "They
are all alike: the castle towering above; next the church and the
priest; and the people--nowhere!"

"The people were happy enough, living in this air," said Mrs. Clary.
"How does it strike you? To me it seems delicious; but many persons find
it too exciting."

"It certainly gives me an appetite," I said, taking another sandwich.

Miss Elaine found it "too warm." Miss Graves found it "too cold." Mrs.
Trescott, having been made herself again by a glass of the "good little
white wine" of Gorbio, said that it was "almost too idealizing." Lloyd
remarked that it was not "too anything unle