ch so smothered with carving. Every point, every niche has
its statue. There, in the model, one could find each one. Through
magnifying glasses the little carved faces (hardly larger, some of them,
than a pin's head) looked at one with the same expression as the
original, and not a mistake had been made in a fold of drapery. Each
sculptured capital, each column, each decorative altar of the interior
had been carved with loving fidelity. All that, in the vast Cathedral
had taken centuries and many generations of men to plan and finish, this
one infinitely patient man had copied in miniature in twenty-two years.
It would have been worth visiting the town to see the model alone, even
if we had turned miles out of our path.

To go from there to Desenzano by way of Bergamo and Brescia was to go
from lake to lake--Lecco to Garda; and the road was beautiful. Castles
and ancient monasteries had throned themselves on hills to look down on
little villages cringing at their august feet. Along the horizon
stretched a serrated line of pure white mountains, sharply chiselled in
marble, while a thick carpet of wild flowers, blue and gold, had been
cut apart to let our road pass through. It was a biscuit-coloured road,
smooth as uncut velvet, and fringed on either side with a white spray of
heavenly-fragrant acacia, like our locust-trees at home. Rustic fences
and low hedges defining rich green meadows, were inter-laced with wild
roses, pink and white, and plaited with pale gold honeysuckle, a magnet
for armies of flitting butterflies. Every big farmhouse, every tiny
cottage was curtained with wistaria and heavy-headed roses. Wagons
passed us laden with new-mown hay and crimson sorrel; and we had one odd
adventure, which might have been dangerous, but was only poetic.

A horse drawing some kind of vehicle, piled high with fragrant clover,
took it into his head just as were side by side, that it was his duty to
punish his mechanical rival for existing. Calculating his distance
nicely, he gave a bound, flung the cart against our car, and upset half
his load of clover on our heads. What he did afterwards we had no means
of knowing, for we were temporarily extinguished.

It was the strangest sensation I ever had, being suddenly overwhelmed by
a soft, yet heavy wave of something that was like a ton of perfumed
feathers.

Instantly the car stopped, for Mr. Barrymore, buried as he was, didn't
forget to put on the brakes. Then I felt that h