In Winter Quarters 



Out there in the cabinet, in the gal- 

 lery, where you may see a quaint mix- 

 ture of odds and ends from the four- 

 winds, you may find two discolored 

 pieces of marble that a tourist once 

 brought from Rome. The full extent 

 of the crimes that have been com- 

 mitted by Cook's crowds will prob- 

 ably never be fully known. I was told 

 one day in Concord that if Ralph 

 Waldo Emerson's house had not been 

 closed to strangers a few years ago 

 there would by this time be nothing 

 whatever left of either furnishings or 

 foundations save memories. But get- 

 ting back to lithological lore, I am now 

 the custodian of a bit of the mosaic 

 floor that was trod, once on a time, by 

 the gay patrician guests of Caesar 

 Augustus, in an age when old Faler- 

 nian, from all accounts, flowed quite 

 as freely as the waters of the Tiber. 

 At any rate, this bit of pavement was 

 really picked up in the ruins of the 

 emperor's palace, still visited annually 

 [i74l 



