THE GARDENS OF ITALY. 
To-day it is deserted. Year in, year out, the 
sunsets gild the tall cypresses, silent seatinels upon 
the ramparts; the wind sweeps the forsaken alleys, 
the roses scatter their scented showers, the fountains 
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splash in their moss-grown basins : from out of the 
busy world we enter one of long ago, and we go 
back and leave it to its solemn peace—a garden 
which Time itself seems to have forgotten. 
