JUNE 341 



at tlie time to be the last of my youth, and it altered 

 aU my life. 



How strange are the depressions of youth ! Life 

 seems over when really it has scarce begun ! It was in 

 such a mood I left Florence at twenty. De Musset 

 has expressed this sadness of youth with concentrated 

 pathos : 



J'ai perdu ma force et ma vie 



Et mes amis et ma gaieM ; 



J'ai perdu jusqu'a la fiertS 

 Qui faisait croire a mon g^nie. 



Quand j'ai oonnu la v4rit6 



J'ai oru que e'6tait une amie; 



Quaud je I'ai eompi-ise et sentie 

 J'eu 6tais dSja d6goCliA. 



Et pourtaut elle est 6ternelle, 

 Et ceux qui se aont pass6 d'elle 

 Ici bas out tout ignorS. 



Dieu parle, il faut qu'on lui r^ponde, 

 Le seul bien qui me reste au monde 

 Est d'avoir quelquefois pleurfi. 



As I drove back into Florence the air was heavy with 

 the perfume of the Lime trees — such Lime trees as I 

 have never seen before. The leaves are few and small, 

 and were absolutely hid by the size and number of the 

 yellow flowers, with their big sheaths on each side like 

 wings. The evening sky was reflected in the Arno in the 

 old, famUiar way, and the air was warm and still. I 

 called for my friend, and once more shut up the memory 

 of the past in that far-away corner of the brain where 

 such things remain. We drove through the town, and I 

 first saw the Duomo with its fa§ade completed. In my 

 day, of course, it was rough bricks, with the holes for the 

 scaffolding left in it. Beautifully as it is done, and I do 



