The Argosy — page 318: what you’re looking at

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

Letters from Majorca. | 295 drive to Miramar, and spend a few hours in this, perhaps, loveliest spot of beautiful Mallorca. The day and the hour came, and we departed. Once more the lordiy barouche displayed its charms for our benefit. I had no longer H. C. beside me to make a foot-rest of my tripod, and to kiss the earth as he skipped gracefully over the barouche doors. ‘The doctor was of course more serious; stood upon his dignity, as behoved one of weighty cares and grave responsibilities. Neverthe- less, as far as was possible, we determined to compete with the sunshine, and have nothing to do with melancholy. Our old coachman, Paolo, had not the honour of driving us to- day, though we had expressly bargained for him—upon the principle of returning good for evil. A new man reigned in his stead. We intended to alight at the Hospiteria, and a goodly hamper of provi- sions was under his charge on the box. We had once just escaped starvation, solely through the goodness and hospitality of the Arch- duke; but to-day there was no Archduke to take compassion upon us. It was only yesterday that I had bid him farewell on board the steamer that for some months was to convey him away from the island. | It was a perfect morning, but that goes without saying ; these mornings, and days, and nights are always perfect in Mallorca. Every hour of every day spent in this climate and atmosphere is, to me, equal to two spent elsewhere. When I think of your winters in England, and your east winds, I ask myself where I shall find courage to return to them. I have already described our drive to Miramar. True, it was then winter; itis now summer. But you must not imagine the difference of season to be as great here as it would be in England. Even then there was a certain luxuriance of vegetation, whilst the colouring seemed almost more vivid than it does now. For one thing, the wayside houses were adorned with endless strings and rows of Indian maize and the rich red of the capsicum. The white walls stood out in vivid contrast with all this splendour and gorgeousness of tint and tone. ‘To-day, in our drive, the walls were bare, and one missed a distinctive and telling feature in the landscape. You will remember our former drive. How, on approaching Valdemosa, we were overtaken by a thunderstorm, the violence of which: the fury of the rain, the crashing of the thunder, and the vividness of the unceasing lightning: seemed, indeed, fitting heralds for the crack of Doom. A storm and a fury, as sudden as it was relentless. One moment blue skies and balmy breezes: the next, the blackness of night; a rushing, mighty torrent, a cold blast ot air, a fearful warfare of the elements, all crashing and crumbling about our heads in the sublime pass of Valdemosa; veiling the mountains, shaking the earth to its centre. You will remember how Paolo neglected his duty and never ordered our commissariat supply, and COMICMHOOKS.CO