OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



does it not seem that up there, sitting outside that stone 

 house, you would touch the prehistoric past 1 Or, rather, 

 that the great eternity, the never-dying essences of things, 

 would sink into your little passing bit of humanity ? Your 

 soul would mirror all infinity. A place to turn 

 Buddhist in ! 



There was a pink Villino on the unusual side 

 of Rome. YOU looked in upon it through high 

 gates into a tangle of garden, 

 where everything seemed to 

 riot. It had an odd, incon- 

 gruous tower from which you 

 could surely have a vast pro- 

 spect of the plains of the 

 Campagna and the Alban 

 mountains beyond. There was 

 1 an archway in one side of it 

 through which one certainly 

 drove into some inner court- 

 yard of delight. That little 

 habitation you might covet 

 with a covetousness that gave 

 you a pain in your heart. We did. 

 And outside Florence, too, there was 

 another small house. It had been once 

 a farm. A certain great lady had her 

 spring quarters there, liking the con- 

 trast, we suppose, between that and 

 the old Scotch castle where Fate had planted 

 her. We drove to tea with her there <early 

 May it was) through the hot, wind-swept, 

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