Epigraph
“The story is dedicated to the dear friends, wherever scattered, who first listened to it at Salerno. Alas! in writing this, a sorrow falls upon us,—the brightest, in youth and beauty, and in promise of happy life, who listened to that beginning, has passed to the land of silence.
Note
“When our merry company left Sorrento, all the younger members adorned themselves with profuse knots of roses, which grew there so abundantly that it would seem no plucking could exhaust them. A beautiful girl sat opposite the writer in the carriage and said, ‘Now I will count my roses; I have just seven knots, and in each seven roses.’ And in reply, another remarked, ‘Seven is the perfect number, and seven times seven is perfection.’ ‘It is no emblem,’ she said gayly, ‘of what a perfect time of enjoyment we have had.’ One month later, and this rose had faded and passed away.