CHAPTER XXXI.
"I pray God pardon me,
That I no more, without a pang,
His choicest works can see."
It was long before Livingstone's health recovered the check to its
improvement given by that interview. However, as the spring advanced he
began to regain strength rapidly, and toward the end of May he and I
started in the _Petrel_, which he had just bought, for a cruise in the
Mediterranean.
It would seem hard that any one, coasting for the first time along the
shores of Italy, and penetrating ever and anon far into the interior,
should not feel and display some interest in the succession of pictures,
of living Nature and dead Art, that meet you at every step. I can not
say that I ever detected the faintest symptom of such in my companion.
He strayed with me through the old Forum, and through Adrian's Villa,
and lingered by the Alban Lake; but it was more to keep me in
countenance than any thing else. I liked them better this second time of
seeing them than I did the first; I doubt if they left an impression on
his mind equal to the dimmest photograph that ever was the pride of an
amateur and the puzzle of his friends. The brilliant landscapes made up
of bold headlands, hanging woods, and sunny bays fared no better.
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