File:The Argosy (1865) (14578210859).jpg

Identifier: argosythe48wood (find matches)
Title: The Argosy
Year: 1865 (1860s)
Authors: Wood, Henry, Mrs., 1814-1887 Wood, Charles W. (Charles William), b. 1850?
Subjects:
Publisher: London (etc.) R. Bentley (etc.)
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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liar, and in the archives of memory theyalso are yours for ever. An endless picture-gallery, to be called upat will, at all times and in all seasons ; in broad sunlight, or in nightsdarkest and most silent hours. We had a proof of it that night. We went out upon the quaywhen the stars were shining and a glorious planet cast her reflectionupon the still, dark waters of the Arno. We leaned over the stoneparapet and watched the stream, and the heavens so clearly reflectedupon its surface. Upon the narrow stone copings men were hereand there stretched at full length, fast asleep. How they could do itwas a marvel. The slightest push, and over they would have rolled.The least stir in their slumber, and it seemed as if nothing couldsave them from a plunge and a splash into the river, flowing farbelow: a plunge and a splash, and, for all one knew, a speedy death.It may be that life had no charms for them, and they were indifferentwhether death came or not; and so, with the irony of fate, they
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134 ^^ Sunny Climes. might boldly do and dare anything ; death would keep away. Theirbed was certainly not one of rose leaves. They might with truthsay that their lines were cast in hard places. I wondered whetherthey remained there all night, and if so, how they felt when theywoke in the morning. But we did not question them. Let sleepingdogs lie is a proverb that may safely be extended to human kind : andespecially to Italian human kind. We gazed upon the quiet waters. The city lay around, its humand din hushed in the gradual repose of night. The Hours are notall laughing and dancing. There is the darker side, when Sleepreigns; Sleep, the brother of Death. Before us stretched the heightsof S. Miniato, of Fiesole. Lights gleamed about like stars shiningout of the darkness. Within a small radius of this very spot werepriceless monuments, countless treasures of art. The very air seemedto breathe out much that was famous in past history—beautiful inthe world of artistic creation. One

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