Wanderings through unknown Austria

wiligh

astures,

ep-all things i

of ancie

nys

ng through the marshes. After passing through Monfalcone and crossing the bridge over the Isonzo, however, we turned to the right. Hedges of acacia shadowed the road; the flowers are over, here, by June, but the leaves have still their first freshness, the beautiful tender green that the sun seems to love to illumine and brighten into golden yellow. We crossed a little river, a placid stream fringed with graceful willows and bordered with blue forget

rees, where

ly a

n shade, where no sunlight comes but in little chequered patches here and there, when ou

R NEAR VILL

mpress Eugénie. She never comes here-it is left in charge of an old caretaker and his wife, who, with another lady, possibly their daughter, and a female servant, appear to form the establ

VICE

·

the Buonapartes, an engraving, a faded water-colour, on the scanty remnants of furniture the Imperial eagle, some old firearms, the slender hand of beautiful Pauline Borghese cast in marble, a few bits of rare china,

the snows of

·

laborator has found it necessary to add these lines to my sketch. I do not call this fair, for when I write something she does not like, I have no rest till it is cut out. I know that some time or other Wagner will be brought in somehow, and I protest against it even now. It is a comfort that "our host" is of my opinion about Wagner. He says that he has lost all respect for him since he once went to see some Zulus that were exhibited somewhere, and found that those simple and unsophisticated savages with their war-music could make ever so much more noise than a whole orchestra playing Wagner. He says, too, that, after all, he o

at has do

·

trellis-work covered with creepers-a perfect tunnel. At the farther end is an old stone table and seat, where we intended to have tea. It was a charming spot, but unfortunately we were almost devoured by mosquitoes-they seem to be particularly ferocious and bloodthirsty

ally been packed in a much larger basket, but that she (with characteristic thoughtfulness) had taken them all out and repacked them again in this "small" one. Personally

wo f

liquid state) wrapp

ts of Rossetti

drawing

s (without

teles

ts of Pears' s

didn't dare to open it. I fancy it was pois

le of mil

les of spirit of wine

No k

No t

and some cherries mixed up with her apparatus, so, after all, our "tea" was rather a s

grave in St. Helena. This is the end of the chapter. I finish it u