XXXII 



THERE is no ghost in the garden of the Villino. Neither 

 the meek spirit of Susan nor Tom's saturnine spectre 

 haunts the peaceful glade where they' lie. (Juvenal has 

 planted a "Tree of Heaven " at the head of his ever- 

 mourned darling and covered the grave with Forget-me- 

 nots !> 



My youth (these reminiscences are contributed by Loki's 

 grandmother) was spent in a large country place in Ireland, 

 and to us children we were six then certain walks, certain 

 dells in the woods, were assuredly haunted. 

 The property had long ago belonged to one Lady Tidd, who 

 so adored it that she had herself buried on a hill overlooking 

 it, her coffin upright in its tall square tomb. It was Lady 

 Tidd who was popularly supposed to haunt the fair wooded 

 lands that had come to us. This Dysart Hill, on the top 

 of which the ruined chapel and the deserted graveyard lay, 

 was a favourite walk of our childish days. When our 

 short legs had mastered the difficulties of the slope and a 

 very stony slope it was, covered towards the summit with 

 a fine mountain grass, than which no footing is more 

 slippery we never failed to wander round to that singular 

 234 



