By the Christmas Fire

book it was an offense. Here was a spy from "the crowd," an emissary of

"the modern." By and by the whole pack would be in full cry and the lovely solitude would be no more. Then the author wandered off through the olives, where under the unclouded Italian sky he could see the long line of the Apennines, and there he meditated on the insufferable smoke of Sheffield and Pit...