driven across the blue sky. Once more you see spread out at your feet
the valley, checkered with farms and orchards, and dotted with
farmhouses shining in the sun. The miracle of nature is over. Let the
enthusiasts have their sunrise and sunset; lovers their moonlight; but
as for me, give me a mountain fog.

* * * * *

I suppose you don't know Maria? You ought to. She was a great comfort
to me while I was at Hampton. Did I love her? Ah, most truly! I have
sat on the hotel porch and watched Maria in her front yard by the hour.
I suppose if I were to meet her to-day she would hardly recollect my
name, so inconsistent is her sex, but I left my heart with her. It is
true that she was not conventional, that her skirts hardly came to her
knees; that she could not write, and that her general air was not that
of a society woman, but to a sick man she was an inexpressible comfort.
I have written her name Maria, but she was also called Mar-i-a,
Mari-a-a-a, Mari-uh, and oh-h-h, M-a-r-i-a. These names she was called
from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof. I don't think
I have ever known a more versatile genius than Maria. At times she was
a steamboat, with loud blowing of the whistle; at other times she was
a bear and devoured other children with grunts and growls of great
ferocity; at other times, she was a horse of such high mettle and
spirit as could only find vent in chewing up the front gate and pawing
her mother's geraniums into the earth. But it was in her great and
realistic combat with dogs that I admired Maria most. Every day about
noon two setter dogs would come lounging about the yard with the most
innocent air in the world. It was Maria's lunch time and the little
thing would toddle in and bring out her lunch. No sooner would she
appear than the dogs would rush on her and roll her in the dirt. There