flowers, which he proceeded to hang on the crucifixes all about, kneeling to each before adorning it. Going further, we met two aged prelates deep in an exciting conversation, and soon we heard the vesper bell sounding at Albano. Here on the highest point of the mountains there stands a convent of the Passionists. Here they are only allowed to speak during one hour of the day, and are bound to employ their thoughts perpetually with the story of the Passion.
It was a curious sight in Albano to meet among all the girls with pitchers on their heads and people selling flowers and vegetables, one of these coal-black silent monks, who was turning his steps back to Mont Cavo. They have taken all the beautiful region in possession, and add a strange melancholy ground-tone to all the brilliancy and freedom and the perpetual blitheness there is in Nature here. It is as though the people required a sort of counterpoise to all that. But it is no affair of mine, and indeed, I need no contrast myself to enjoy what one has here.
