Leaves from a Madeira Garden 



With such musings beguiled, the time draws 

 on to the day of our departure. The garden 

 we have tended for four months will be handed 

 over to the unrestrained care of our excellent 

 Carlos for the next eight, and Heaven only 

 knows what he will do with it. He will be 

 busy with his marrying, and it may be that we 

 shall suffer. But we must take our chance, 

 and in this easy-going land it is quite useless 

 to fuss. We ourselves have other fish to fry, 

 and to catch before we fry them. And until 

 the fogs of November fill us with a longing for 

 the sun, and send us to the steamship office for 

 our passages, Madeira will be but a distant isle 

 of the sea, an isle of pleasant memories and 

 flattering hopes. So may our lives be divided 

 into water-tight compartments. 



And as the picture of his mistress that the 

 lover carries in his heart may be fairer than the 

 lady herself, so it may be that in the blue haze 

 of the distance the Isle of Beauty will loom 

 more lovely even than she appears to a closer 

 view. We may recall the never-failing perfume 

 of the flowers and forget the occasional odours 

 of the streets ; memory may revel in the golden 

 haze of a sunset, and find no place for the mist 



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