The Argosy — page 393: what you’re looking at

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

370 Letters from Majorca. Beside us ran a narrow stream, now almost dried up, and thirsting for the winter rains. Dry walls bounded the road ; walls of rough grey stone rudely piled together, yet answering every necessary purpose. ‘There were few people about. Hardly anyone passed us; but those who did so, saluted us with marked respect. This, of course, was due to the barouche. There has been no familiarity here to be followed by the usual contempt. All the country people in Mallorca greet you in passing, and it is a pleasant custom. It seems to give you a foothold in the island ; seems to say: “‘ You are welcome ; we are glad to see you; come as often as you please, and stay as long as you like.” It is a passport to their good graces; a free-masonry sign of goodwill. In short it is what Sterne would call ‘a quiet attention.” But to-day we met very few wanderers. The country looked almost abandoned, and the houses deserted. At one point where the roads crossed, was a long, low, white house with a portico supported by square pillars. Strings of maize and capsicums hung about the walls. In a corner of the portico sat an old woman, spinning. Behind the house was one of those palm trees, alas, so rarely seen now in Mallorca. Their scarcity, how- ever, makes them only the more precious. How true it is that what we possess in abundance we seldom appreciate. If we had a sackful of diamonds they would cease to charm. But this place was all so picturesque that H. C. thought he should like to sketch it ; and in his sketch he has introduced one or two of these palm trees, but I tell him they are not at all like the real thing. They are palm trees in the last stage of consumption. We managed to make Paolo understand that we wanted to stop. He cannot speak one word of anything but his own language, and ordinary signs, intelligible to ordinary people are as Greek and Hebrew to him. He is excessively dense. I sometimes wonder if there is any method in his madness, but I think not. It is sheer stupidity. Even as H. C. was sketching, and I was trying to render myself agreeable to the old spinning Jenny—if her name happened to be Jenny—a change came o’er the current of our life. In less poetical but plainer words, the change was in the current of the air. We were getting into the hills, towards Valdemosa: not only one of the most romantic spots in Mallorca, but one of the most romantic in the world. Clouds gathered about the hills and overspread the sky with inconceivable rapidity. All our sunshine disappeared and was replaced by a semi-darkness. <A cold blast of wind swept over the mountains and down the gorges, searching out our very marrow. Lightning and thunder rolled and crashed and echoed about the hills : echo repeating echo, until each succeeding clap came to drown the fainter voice. Then the rain descended in torrents and streams; with such force CONNICLOOKS, EC) anal 4