OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



" Pardon I " cried the poor, terrified imp, with a wail. 

 This child, over whom were so many head-shakings, 

 doubts and laments, has grown up so brave and fine a boy 

 that it would have rejoiced the heart of the old Vicomte to 

 see him now. His was a stormy heart that wanted much 

 of life, and therefore, of course, knew much bitterness. It 

 is stilled now, alas ! this many a year. 



From this comparatively modern mansion in the Piedmont 

 we went to an old, old castle in the plains of Lombardy. 

 The chronicles have it that Barbarossa besieged it. It 

 was approached through a considerable villageone of 

 great antiquity, and still retaining the lines of the Roman 

 castrum, with all its streets parallel or at right-angles. At 

 the top of the main of these the great machicolated entrance 

 of the Castello, with its faded frescoes across the arch, 

 was very impressive in mediaeval strength. The church 

 shouldered one corner of the immense pile of outer wall / 

 and each side of the moat, between the towers, inside and 

 out, peasant houses had crept. 



The Castello itself, of extreme antiquity, as has been said, 

 formed two sides of a square, round, and flagged court- 

 yard. The garden ran sheer up the hill, within the tower. 

 flanked walls of the outer bailey. There were vineyards 

 inside/ and outside, where the ground fell away, the whole 

 land was likewise covered with vines. They ran up and 

 down long ridges, like petrified waves, as far as the eye 

 could see. And in the far, far distance, almost lost in the 

 horizon, were the Alps. 



What a view that was from the loopholes of those half- 

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