I was glad when the time came to end traveling and to begin study; and now I am glad that I can cease my studies and again begin sight-seeing.
Ruth, as you know, found it necessary to return to America before rejoining me. She sailed from New York the 18th and I met her at Ponta Delgada. Ponta Delgada is the chief city of the island of San Miguel, which, in turn, is the principal island of the Azores, and it is prominent for having the most beautiful gardens in the world.
Among the passengers who boarded the ship with me at Ponta Delgada was a delightful Portuguese family—the mother, son and his wife—who came with us to Italy. They are cultured people, and speak English perfectly, though the mother and wife had never before been off the island.
We left the Azores on the 27th of April, passing Gibraltar on May Day. Gibraltar is not so frowning as I had imagined, for the graceful rock smiled down on us as if in greeting.
All that has been written about the blue Mediterranean is true. It is blue as nothing else is. The sky, those days, was greenish pink, and you know what a delight to the eye is the blending of these colors. But the one bright memory that stands out clearest when I think of the Mediterranean is the sunset. I remember one night in particular. The good captain told me to hasten from dinner. I drew my chair close to the rail, and out beyond the horizon I saw a city of fire. The beautiful mansions, and cathedrals, and castles, with turrets and towers, were all ablaze. Through the streets people in fiery red draperies were flying from the flames. Sometimes an old man with flowing beard appeared in the midst of them, and with outstretched hands, would seem to call aloud. The flames turned to a greenish gold, the smoke rolled away, and far beyond appeared a Moorish village, the temples carved of alabaster. Suddenly, through the lace-like pillars, came the faintest tint of pink, growing dimmer and dimmer, until only the outlines could be discerned. A great billowy sea of foam rolled over the village, and divided on either side of a world of golden fire, and, as I gazed, it dropped into the black water.
A voice said, "Come, dear, the captain wants you to see the moon come up out of the sea." It was my blessed Ruth.
"Did you see that burning city and Moorish village?" I asked, as soon as I had returned to earth. "Yes, dear," she replied, and there were tears in her eyes, too.
This morning we were called at five o'clock to see the sun rise over Vesuvius. The same ball of golden fire which went down into the sea that night crowned for a brief moment the wonderful Mount.