er would have been an insult. The glimpse I
caught of her laborious life revealed to me something worthy of
admiration; never had I seen a harassing form of discouragement so
silently and strongly borne.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BREEZY HEIGHT

Catanzaro must be one of the healthiest spots in Southern Italy;
perhaps it has no rival in this respect among the towns south of Rome.
The furious winds, with which my acquaintances threatened me, did not
blow during my stay, but there was always more or less breeze, and the
kind of breeze that refreshes. I should like to visit Catanzaro in the
summer; probably one would have all the joy of glorious sunshine
without oppressive heat, and in the landscape in those glowing days
would be indescribably beautiful.

I remember with delight the public garden at Cosenza, its noble view
over the valley of the Crati to the heights of Sila; that of Catanzaro
is in itself more striking, and the prospect it affords has a sterner,
grander note. Here you wander amid groups of magnificent trees, an
astonishingly rich and varied vegetation; and from a skirting terrace
you look down upon the precipitous gorge, burnt into barenness save
where a cactus clings to some jutting rock. Here in summer-time would
be freshness amid noontide heat, with wondrous avenues of golden light
breaking the dusk beneath the boughs. I shall never see it; but the
desire often comes to me under northern skies, when I am weary of
labour and seek in fancy a paradise of idleness.

In the public gardens is a little museum, noticeable mostly for a fine
collection of ancient coins. There are Greek pots, too, and weapons,
found at Tiriolo, a village high up on the mountain above Catanzaro. As
at Taranto, a stranger who cares for this kind of thing can be sure of
having the museum all to himself. On my first visit Don Pasquale
accompanied me, and through him I made the acquaintance of the
custodian. But I was not in the museum mood; reviving health inclined
me to the open air, and the life of to-day; I saw these musty relics
with only a vague eye.

After living amid a malaria-stricken population, I rejoiced in the
healthy aspect of the mountain folk. Even a deformed beggar, who
dragged himself painfully along the pavement, had so ruddy a face that
it was hard to feel compassion for him. And the wayside children--it
was a pleasure to watch them at their games. Such children in Italy do
not, as a rule, seem happy; too oft