File:Around the clock in Europe; a travel-sequence (1912) (14756812576).jpg

Identifier: aroundclockineur00howerich (find matches)
Title: Around the clock in Europe; a travel-sequence
Year: 1912 (1910s)
Authors: Howell, Charles Fish, b. 1868
Subjects: Europe -- Description and travel
Publisher: Boston, New York, Houghton Mifflin Company
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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Text Appearing Before Image:
e long-forgotten timehe had won this reward when he, too, had achieved theHoly Grail among the stout knights up Camelot way inthe dayes of Vther pendragon when he was kynge of allEnglond and so regned. With true British reserve he 214 AROUND THE CLOCK IN EUROPE whispers to a stranger no word of such secrets as once he confided at this bridge to Dickens, of the savagery and cruelty of this London that has driven so many of its desperate children to peace within his sheltering arms, — Mad with lifes history.Glad to deaths mysterySwift to be hurled —Anywhere, anywhere.Out of the world. Looking from one of these bridges on the proud,powerful, self-suflBcient city, Wordsworth was oncemoved to exclaim that earth has not anything to showmore fair. Certainly it has few things to show morestirring and impressive, few to move the heart moreprofoundly, few that in achievement, resourcefulness,and power embody more completely to men of to-dayThe grandeur that was Rome. NAPLES 8 P.M. TO 9 P.M.
Text Appearing After Image:
NAPLES 8 P.M. TO 9 P.M. Drifting lazily of a summer evening over the Bay ofNaples in a brown old fishing felucca with a friendlyancient boatman for companion, careless of time or di-rection; the night winds soft; the moon clear; indolentboating-parties in joyous relaxation all about; languor-ous, plaintive songs of Italy near by and far away;Vesuvius glorious and mysterious in the purple offing,and the gray old city, touched with silver, beaming downfrom all her crescent hillsides, — here, indeed, is thestuff of which day dreams are compounded! Chimes inshadowy belfries take soft, musical notice of the hour;and my thoughts recede with those fading echoes andretrace the bright and pleasant stages that have led methis evening into an environment of such charm andromance. Thus, then, it was. Two hours ago, as I loitered alongthe crowded Via Caracciolo on the Bay front andwatched Neapolitan Fashion take the air, I again en-countered my Old Man of the Sea at his landing-place,— swarthy

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