Practically, no doubt, it does so, but theoretically it must be
considered as the first-fruits of the autumn (if any) of the
following year, which begins before the preceding summer (or,
perhaps, more strictly, the preceding summer but one--and hence,
but any number), has well ended. Whether this, however, is so or
no, the rhubarb can be seen in Covent Garden, and I am afraid it
must be admitted that to the philosophically minded there lurks
within it a theory of evolution, and even Pantheism, as surely as
Theism was lurking in Bishop Berkeley's tar water.

To return, however, to Calonico. The church is built on the
extreme edge of a cliff that has been formed by the breaking away
of a large fragment of the mountain. This fragment may be seen
lying down below shattered into countless pieces. There is a
fissure in the cliff which suggests that at no very distant day
some more will follow, and I am afraid carry the church too. My
favourite view of the church is from the other side of the small
valley which separates it from the village, (see preceding page).
Another very good view is from closer up to the church.

The curato of Calonico was very kind to me. We had long talks
together. I could see it pained him that was not a Catholic. He
could never quite get over this, but he was very good and tolerant.
He was anxious to be assured that I was not one of those English
who went about distributing tracts, and trying to convert people.
This of course was the last thing I should have wished to do; and
when I told him so, he viewed me with sorrow, but henceforth
without alarm.

All the time I was with him I felt how much I wished could be a