/ifcarg Uftortteg /BSonta^ue 165 



writing to you in one of these arbors, which is 

 so thickly shaded, the sun is not troublesome, 

 even at noon. Another is on the side of the 

 river, where I have made a camp kitchen, that 

 I may take the fish, dress, and eat it im- 

 mediately, and at the same time see the barks, 

 which ascend or descend every day to or from 

 Mantua, Gaustalla, or Pont de Vie, all con- 

 siderable towns. This little wood is carpeted, 

 in their succeeding seasons, with violets and 

 strawberries, inhabited by a nation of night- 

 ingales, and filled with game of all kinds, 

 excepting deer and wild boar, the first being 

 unknown here, and not being large enough for 

 the other. 



My garden was a plain vineyard when it came 

 into my hands not two years ago, and it is, 

 with a small expense, turned into a garden that 

 (apart from the advantage of the climate) I like 

 better than that of Kensington. The Italian vine- 

 yards are not planted like those of France, but 

 in clumps, fastened to trees planted in equal 

 ranks (commonly fruit-trees), and continued in 

 festoons from one to another, which I have 

 turned into covered galleries of shade, that I 

 can walk in the heat without being incom- 

 moded by it. I have made a dining-room of 

 verdure, capable of holding a table of twenty 

 covers ; the whole ground is three hundred and 



