May, 1919 
and ash cans of a city 
house. In a little 
grotto at the end of 
the garden stands a 
statue of Silenus; his 
semicircular shrine is 
made from a section 
of big tile drain-pipe, 
cut in two and placed 
end on end. Where 
could Silenus be more 
at home than on this 
sunny hillside where 
all summer the grapes 
are ripening in the 
arbors—poor Silenus 
who is so soon to be 
lost in the remote twi¬ 
light that has already 
overtaken the other 
gods, but whose place 
will always be in the 
sunshine of a hillside 
vineyard. 
.4 Bit cf Sicily 
btynnga and Inac and climbing roses hide this 
house—in Revolutionary times an inn—from 
the road, and screen its carved balcony 
Down on the red 
rocks by the river a 
flock of goats graze 
under the acacia trees. 
At least they should 
graze there, to give the 
impression that this is a bit of 
Sicily, or perhaps that blue 
Aegean waters lie below the cliffs 
and that Pan has fallen asleep in 
the long grass; the fact is, they 
have an unfortunate tendency to 
wander in the vegetable gardens 
of these happy houses, and to eat 
the young green beans from the 
poles, and the little cabbages 
from the hoed ’-ows. But the 
tenants of the houses don’t mind; 
they would probaljB- cook the 
young beans and >serve them to 
the goats with fresh butter and 
stew the little cabbages for them 
with partridges and sausages in 
the manner of the Taverne du 
Pantheon, and merely consider 
such dishes a sacrifice to placate 
(Continued on page 66 ) 
the white arch of a 
Victorian marble man¬ 
tel set in the cement of 
the wall, and its basin 
is bright with bits of 
green and blue glass 
and dark red stones 
from the cliffs and the 
sand by the river. 
Across the way stands 
another green-trimmed 
frame house, overlook¬ 
ing the river; huge 
acacia trees shadow the 
lawn between a bricked 
terrace and the low bo.x 
hedge which makes a 
straight, dark, formal 
line against the water. 
The soul of this house 
is Latin, but more Ital¬ 
ian than French; and 
the guest who dines at 
the long table set out 
under the green bal¬ 
conies on a hot, box- 
scented summer night 
finds it incredible that 
New York, instead of 
being as far from here 
as the Villa d’Este is 
from Times Square, is 
really no more than an hour away. 
A stone wall and a straight Line of box hedge 
enclose a laivn and garden that look down on 
the river below the tall acacia trees 
Italian, too, is the house that was 
adopted only last year with this 
group. About this little “Italian 
House”, as it is always called, 
there is something inconsequent 
and fantastic—it is a humoresque 
among houses. Carvings from an 
old New York church make a 
diverting round balcony over the 
door, and a railing for the sleeping 
porch. Iron gates lead in to the 
garden paths—grilled iron gates 
that have so decorative an air 
among the lilacs and peonies and 
daffodils that it is difficult to be¬ 
lieve the truth about them, which 
is that once they led to no more 
romantic a spot than the areaway 
They say, of course, that this is a fine example of old Dutch archi¬ 
tecture, but the most plausible thing would seem that it’s an illustra¬ 
tion by Kate Greenaway 
Grape vines and green shutters and a very, very young box hedge 
decorate the front of this house, which is also shown in the photo¬ 
graph at the top of the page 
