There Were Other
Pedestrians Who Looked Rather English, Especially Some Ladies Making For
The Gate Of A Kind, Sunny Walled Old Villa, Where There Was A Girl
Singing And A Gardener Coming Slowly Down To Let Them In.
Nearer
Frascati were many neat, new stone houses, where Eoman families come out
to stay the spring and fall seasons, and even the summer.
But these
looked too freshly like the suburban cottages on a Boston trolley-line;
and we perversely found our delight in a fine breadth of brown woods for
the very reason of that homelikeness which gave us pause in the houses.
The trees looked American; there were American wood-roads penetrating
the forest's broken and irregular extent; there was one steep-sided
ravine worth any man's American money; and the dead leaves littered the
sylvan paths with an allure to the foot which it was hard for the head
to resist.
Elsewhere the tram-line that curved upward to Fras-cati was flanked,
after it left the Campagna's level, with vineyards as measureless as the
olive orchards of Tivoli. There was yet, at the end of March, no sign of
leaf on the newly trimmed vines, which were trained on long poles of
canes brought together in peaks to support them and netting the
hill-slopes with the endless succession of their tops. The eye wearied
itself in following them as in following the checkered wiring of the
Kentish hop-fields, and was glad to leave them for the closer-set, but
never too closely set, palaces of Frascati:
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