FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 179 



scattered upon the grass around her, that 

 the weight lifts a little, and we realize once 

 more that life is worth living. Even here 

 much is sordid and mean, and it is but a 

 touch now and then which lets us out into 

 the infinite. &quot;Hop&quot; Smith, the versatile, 

 tells me that &quot; A Day at Laguerre s&quot; was 

 drawn with absolute truth, and I am sure 

 that he believes it. But then he is of the 

 fortunate ones who evolve their own facts 

 from the nature of their constitution, and 

 carry with them an atmosphere which 

 causes the light to touch with a tender glow 

 the most common things. And who would 

 not rather see Mambrino s helmet than a 

 barber s basin, and find an inspiration to 

 knightly deeds in the Dulcinea del Toboso ? 

 If I may not think my geese all swans, let 

 me never keep a flock to squawk at my 

 coming. 



But the French at Laguerre s are retiring 

 before Guiseppe and Pietro and Giacomo, 

 and the peasants of sunny Italy are, tempo 

 rarily at least, taking the place of the vola 

 tile and genial Gaul ; and they have brought 

 their barbarisms with them. They are not 

 our barbarisms, of the counting-house and 

 the shop and the mine, but the hot blood of 

 the South, the quick word, and the knife. 



