He had marked it at the time, and would not recur to the subject now, but spoke of other things of a lighter nature, but which had more or less connexion with deeper and stronger feelings. "It is indeed a fair spot of earth, this pleasant land of Italy," he said, as they gazed over the scene before their eyes; "and yet, my loved Julia, there is always something sad in it to my sight. The memories of the glorious past contrast so strongly with the painful realities of the present, that I can never enjoy these bright scenes without wishing that a happier lot had been assigned to those who inhabit them." "But there are bright things here still," replied Julia; "if the glory of arms is gone, the glory of arts still survives." "And policy has succeeded liberty," said Gowrie, with a faint smile; "but let us not, love, dwell upon regrets. How gloriously the rays of the setting sun are painting, almost with ethereal splendour, that high _campanile_ and the old castle by its side, while the purple shadow, resting upon the village below, marks it out upon the illuminated bosom of the hill. There may be more peace, perhaps, under that obscurity, than in the sun-lighted towers above. I am resolved, dear girl, to seek no glories. See!--even now the splendour is passing away, and the gorgeous fabric is almost lost to sight. No, no! content and happiness are jewels better worth the seeking than all that ambition can offer or power can give." "Thank Heaven you feel so," answered Julia; "but tell me, Gowrie, something of your own land--of my land too--of our land. I fear me, from the way in which you admire the scenes we pass through here, that it wants that beauty which charms you so much."