File:Outing (1885) (14802281113).jpg

Identifier: outing51newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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liness and eerinesscreep over things. The party is the firstto feel this. The party begins to bedrowsy and tired and wonders what is thetime of day, to grieve over the creaking ofthe old barouche and to deplore that it hasno springs. Americana, too, has becomesomewhat vague. One reason is thatPaolo has given her the reins and she isendeavoring to guide the jingling horseswithout the knowledge of the party. An-other reason is that she has for the last fewmoments been intent on the top of the lastwhite hill a little further on. Either thatwhite Ravello has gone to her head, orthe scent of the lemons has had the effectof hasheesh. She sits like one in a trance,leaning forward listening, her eyes wide,fixed on the white summit. What is it shehears? Does she really hear anything?Once again it comes; clear, cool, half birdcall, half flute note. It is a sound, Ameri-cana tells herself, that has traveled a. mil-lion years to meet her. At first she thinksof speaking to the party about it, then
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5- .C.Tc vx<0 \\ bOld churches, gardens with terra cotta urns . . . and fountains throwing water. 297 298 The Outing Magazine shakes her head. 11 is no guidebook sound,no bird fluttering in the ilex, no hundredharness bells tinkling along Dream Road.It is rather—Americana has never takenher eyes off that white hill—rather, an an-cient kind of piping, reedy, pastoral, sug-gesting fauns and graces in far-off glades;the pipe of Earliness, of the innocent Dawnof Existence, of happiness not of our day,beauty not of our ken. As the carriage climbs nearer to the sum-mit, Americana turns pale, breathingfaster. It is foolish. 11 is a fancy born ofthe Greek temples seen the day before, ofthe frescoes at Pompeii. It is the resultof too much Keats and Shelley. Of coursesuch a thing couldnt be—yet, whence thatfree wild note, but from some one, sittingperhaps among the myrtles at the top ofyonder hill. The old horned, furry Some-one, the pagan god, with his pipe, his goat-hoofs and his gle

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