Market Day in Perugia

Perugia, on its lofty hilltop, was reached by the two travellers before
the sun had quite kissed away the early freshness of the morning. Since
midnight, there had been a heavy, rain, bringing infinite refreshment to
the scene of verdure and fertility amid which this ancient civilization
stands; insomuch that Kenyon loitered, when they came to the gray city
wall, and was loath to give up the prospect of the sunny wilderness that
lay below. It was as green as England, and bright as Italy alone. There
was all the wide valley, sweeping down and spreading away on all sides
from the weed grown ramparts, and bounded afar by mountains, which lay
asleep in the sun, with thin mists and silvery clouds floating about
their heads by way of morning dreams.

"It lacks still two hours of noon," said the sculptor to his friend, as
they stood under the arch of the gateway, waiting for their passports
to be examined; "will you come with me to see some admirable frescos by
Perugino? There is a hall in the Exchange, of no great magnitude, but
covered with what must have been--at the time it was painted--such
magnificence and beauty as the world had not elsewhere to show."

"It depresses me to look at old frescos," responded the Count; "it is a
pain, yet not enough of a pain to answer as a penance."

"Will you look at some pictures by Fra Angelico in the Church of San
Domenico?" asked Kenyon; "they are full of religious sincerity, When
one studies them faithfully, it is like holding a conversation about
heavenly things with a tender and devout-minded man."