Let all the land around be delivered from the heavy mantle which wraps and smothers it, let it be free, and from one season to another, let the grass, plants, trees, flowers and fruits grow up again. May the waving crops spring up again, in the devastated fields, and the olive and vines grow there anew. May the almond tree bloom once more with red flowers there where the storm has passed, leaving death behind. Oh men of good will if you will know how to do this, you will have saved your country, and in renewing life where death has reigned, you will have come as near to God as anybody ever did before. April 21, 1906. EVERY DAY HAS ITS MORROW It is not certainly through cold blooded and cruel newspaper work, that I, with some strong and faithful collaborators of the "Giorno" have gone in the places which have been more severely stricken by the furies of Vesuvius; nor have I gone there through any stupid and vain curiosity. We had all gone before, when the tremendous eruption was at its worst and we went trembling with anxiety and we saw and felt all the horror of that storm in its terrific aspect. We returned home every evening, every night in a real convulsion of anguish. Every day has its morrow, and to a period of great emotion, when all your soul rebels and rises against a misfortune which nothing can fight, another long and slow period follows, full of mortal sadness. The period of the morrow of a catastrophe when your spirit calmed down, and clear in its sadness, measures silently all the damage that people and things have suffered. For the journalistic sportsman, Ottaiano, S. Giuseppe, Boscotrecase, Torre Annunziata, Somma Vesuviana don't hold now any more the necessary interest to suggest terrorising news, nor does the frivolous curiosity of the frivolous reader find any interest in these exausted subjects. But for me every day has its morrow, and so it is for all those who have a heart, who feel to be citizens of a great country rather than newspaper men; who feel the voice of their conscience before that of their fancy. Every day has its morrow and it is this morrow that we sadly and simply have gone to seek there where the ruins of country and villages have been left. Another sentiment has urged me and the other pilgrims of this humble duty, the thought that now, little by little, the violent crisis being calmed down and passed, people may forget all this great trouble! We are so willingly careless here when deep sorrow has passed, and the sun shines on human misfortunes. We forget so easily the pains and troubles of others, when the pang of their sorrow is ended. But we should not forget; we must not stop having pity, we must not stop giving our cares and help, we must continue! So we have gone every where it seemed necessary, stopping first at Ottaiano, and we have seen and inquired of the people, and things have told us their secret. April 22, 1906. THE NEW POMPEI