Now that the moon is on the wane, there is a gentler lustre, but still
bright; and it makes the Val d' Arno with its surrounding hills, and its
soft mist in the distance, as beautiful a scene as exists anywhere out of
heaven. And the morning is quite as beautiful in its own way. This
mist, of which I have so often spoken, sets it beyond the limits of
actual sense and makes it ideal; it is as if you were dreaming about the
valley,--as if the valley itself were dreaming, and met you half-way in
your own dream. If the mist were to be withdrawn, I believe the whole
beauty of the valley would go with it.
Until pretty late in the morning, we have the comet streaming through the
sky, and dragging its interminable tail among the stars. It keeps
brightening from night to night, and I should think must blaze fiercely
enough to cast a shadow by and by. I know not whether it be in the
vicinity of Galileo's tower, and in the influence of his spirit, but I
have hardly ever watched the stars with such interest as now.
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