becoming a perfect thicket. Excepting in one small bed, where a few
cabbages were growing, there was no attempt at cultivation, and nature
had reasserted her rights everywhere else in this abandoned spot,
taking, apparently, a fierce delight in effacing all traces of man's
labour. The fruit trees threw out irregular branches without fear of
the pruning knife; the box, intended to form a narrow border to the
curiously shaped flower-beds and grass-plots, had grown up unchecked
into huge, bushy shrubs, while a great variety of sturdy weeds had
usurped the places formerly devoted to choice plants and beautiful,
fragrant flowers. Brambles, bristling with sharp thorns, which had
thrown their long, straggling arms across the paths, caught and tried
to hold back any bold adventurer who attempted to penetrate into the
mysterious depths of this desolate wilderness. Solitude is averse to
being surprised in dishabille, and surrounds herself with all sorts of
defensive obstacles.

However, the courageous explorer who persisted in following the ancient,
overgrown alley, and was not to be daunted by formidable briers that
tore his hands and clothing, nor low-hanging, closely interlaced
branches that struck him smart blows in the face as he forced his
way through them, would have reached at last a sort of rocky niche,
fancifully arranged as a grotto. Besides the masses of ivy, iris and
gladiolus, that had been carefully planted long ago in the interstices
of the rock, it was draped with a profusion of graceful wild vines and
feathery ferns, which half-veiled the marble statue, representing some
mythological divinity, that still stood in this lonely retreat. It must
have been intended for Flora or Pomona, but now there were tufts of
repulsive, venomous-looking mushrooms in the pretty, graceful, little
basket on her arm, instead of the sculptured fruit or flowers that
should have filled it. Although her nose was broken, and her fair body