happened to stand near us who gave me a very different
impression. Among the carriages was a phaeton, with silken canopy, fine
horses, and a driver in livery; upon the cushioned seat lounged a young
man, one of Fortune's favorites and Nature's curled darlings, a little
stout from excess of comfort, perhaps, but noticeably handsome and
noticeably haughty--probably a Russian nobleman. The monk who stood near
us with his bag of broken bread and meat over his back was of the same
age, and equally handsome, as far as the coloring and outline bestowed
by nature could go. His dark eyes were fixed immovably upon the occupant
of the phaeton, and I wondered if he was noting the difference; it
seemed as if he must be noting it. It was a striking tableau of life's
utmost riches and utmost poverty.

That evening there was music in the garden; a band of Italian singers
chanted one or two songs to the saints, and then ended with a gay
Tarantella, which set all the house-maids dancing in the moonlight. We
listened to the music, and looked off over the still sea.

"Isn't it beautiful?" said Mrs. Clary. "I think loving Mentone is like
loving your lady-love. To you she is all beautiful, and you describe her
as such. But perhaps when others see her they say: 'She is by no means
all beautiful; she has this or that fault. What do you mean?' Then you
answer: 'I love her; therefore to me she is all beautiful. As for her
faults, they may be there, but I do not see them: I am blind.'"

[Illustration: CAPUCHIN MONKS]

That same evening Margaret gave me the following verses which she had
written:

MENTONE.

"_And there was given unto them a short time before they went forward._"

Upon this sunny shore
A little space for rest. The care and sorrow,
Sad memory's haunting pain that would not cease,
Are left behind. It is not yet to-morrow.
To-day there falls the dear surprise of peace;
The sky and sea, their broad wings round us sweeping,
Close out the world, and hold us in their keeping.
A little space for rest. Ah! though soon o'er,
How precious is it on the sunny shore!

Upon this sunny shore
A little space for love, while those, our dearest,
Yet linger with us ere they take their flight
To that far world which now doth seem the nearest,
So deep and pure this sky's down-bending light
Slow, one by one, the golden hours are given
A respite ere the