The Argosy — page 328: what you’re looking at

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

Letters from Majorca. 309 one—we sauntered forth for a last look round Soller, armed with our camera. : It appeared more ancient and picturesque than ever, and the in- habitants, who were now growing accustomed to our distinguished appearance—familiarity in this, as in all other things, breeds con- tempt—stared less curiously as we walked the streets. Through open doors and windows we saw the usual signs of daily domestic life going on. We heard the whirr of the loom, the flash of the weaver’s shuttle: sounds that to me, for some mysterious reason, bear always a peculiar and a melancholy charm. I fancy that I must unconsciously have been subjected to the influence in childhood. ‘Though heard but once at that impressionable age, it would be sufficient to leave behind its effect for ever. For I never hear it now but I am taken back to those early days when the world was fair and bright and innocent, and there was a sure and sweet refuge in all childish troubles. Alas! the day comes when we have greater troubles to bear and less innocence ; and each has to live his life locked up in his own heart, in reality as solitary and alone as if he had outlived his fellows. . Forgive me for moralising. I began by telling you that I took up my pen sadly. All last things must be sad; especially if they have been happy: and I scarcely know which I have enjoyed most: actu- ally going through the scenes of our daily life upon this little island, or living over again our experiences in my letters toyou. To me the one has been as vivid and pleasant a reality as the other. As we walked about Soller, we marvelled more than ever at the picturesque old place. Everywhere there were lights and shades. The blue sky was deep and clear above the houses. Overhanging eaves cast their shadows upon the walls. H.C. was in raptures. We took photographs, and small quick sketches of ancient windows and curious doorways. ‘Then we stood on one of the bridges and were lost in the wonderful old-world scene, which in this respect can have few rivals. | Yet there is a certain sadness and depression about the place. Surrounded by those mountains, as I have said, it is enervating. Many of the people look pale and sickly, with very little energy or vigour about them—like the soft and liquid tones of their language. They seem to endure life rather than enjoy it. But I daresay they enjoy it after their manner and according to their lights. What people never have, have never had, that, as a rule, they do not miss. It is given to few to realise very vividly any other than the actual and present state of existence, whatever it may be. At last we returned to the fonda. We had taken photographs of Mariquita and Rosita, separately and together, in a romantic back- ground of vine-leaves and pantiles and brilliant blossoms. H. C. has made a sketch of the two girls, which I enclose to you,* but it is * It was given in the last Number of the Aracosy. VOL. XLIV. U commicloooks (CO) An