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270 the ruin itself has wrought, was a wood fire, whose red blaze cast a vivid reflection on the deep green herbage by which it was surrounded. Three children, with the rich brown and richer crimson colour, and the bright black eyes which mark a southern extraction, were rolling on the grass at a little distance; and close beside the fire were seated two men, with red kerchiefs knitted round their close-curled dark hair. There was something in the complexions and the out-of-doors life that at once carried the Italians back to their own country. Such a group was to them a familiar sight, linked with a thousand early recollections.

They had quickened their pace with an intention of accosting the party, when a few large drops of rain, and a huge cloud spreading rapidly on the sky, induced them to retreat towards the forest. They took refuge beneath a majestic beech, whose spreading foliage afforded ample shelter, while the now-fast-falling shower played like music in the upper branches.

There is nothing more delicious than one of these summer and sudden showers. There is something so inexpressibly lulling in the sound of the falling drops—like remembered poetry, inwardly murmured, rather than spoken. The leaves and flowers seem as if they were conscious of the