The Argosy — page 118: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

104 rye ne” CHRISTMAS EVE IN ROME. AN INCIDENT. “ MELANCHOLY Christmas we shall have this year, thanks to that firebrand Garibaldi and his crew!” So writes my cousin Charles from Rome. He isa “ pervert,” and one of the Papisti, and rather delights in giving a sly hit at my sympathy with Young Italy in general, and Garibaldi in particular. But though we spar upon political ground, my cousin and I are good friends, and are at any rate simpatica, as the Italians say, upon one point—namely, love of Rome, the city of remembrance and of hope. I have cause to love Rome, however, that cousin Charles wots not of, and the mention of Christmas, with which he begins his last letter, and I my story, brings with it such a crowd of associations, clustering round Christmas-tide and Rome both, that I lay down his letter, and let my thoughts wander back to my first Christmas in Rome, six years ago. My father, my aunt Lucy, my dear dead mother’s eldest sister, and I, had been staying a month or two in Florence. We intended to return thither in spring, and had planned to leave for Rome early in November. But one attraction and another, the glorious picture-galleries, a circle of friends, art-loving and kindly, the disinclination to move from pleasant quarters, all combined to keep us in Florence until the 23rd of De- cember. Christmas Eve we had always meant to spend in Rome, and to go together to the Pastorale Service at St. Peter's; so the 23rd was the latest day that could possibly be fixed for leaving Florence. The morning found the city of flowers wrapped in a thick white fog, and I think the chilly aspect of the place, as we drove to the station, tended to lessen our regret at leaving it. A few miles out of Florence the fog cleared away, and by the time we reached Leghorn a true Italian sunshine glowed over the harbour. After the usual difficulties at the Messagerie, with officials, and on the quay with importunate facchini and extortionate boatmen, we and our luggage were stowed away in a boat, and rowed to the steamer. Two hours elapsed before the start, during which the sun went down rosily into the dark green water, and I watched him near the horizon, and listened dreamily the while to a young lad singing to guitar accom- paniment from his boat, that rocked under lee of the steamer just below me. ECOMicoOolkxs.cO©