Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/34

 like her sweet soul! She has a faint notion, but she dares not let it appear, that I am a little better. I shall write this moment—what joyful news for her! . .. There, I have told her all, everything. Four closely written pages, a little swimming of the head, but I could almost work at the ledger this moment. I have told her how I was out betimes this morning, at six o'clock; how I walked up the bright street lined with fairy looking houses, all with their short broad balconies loaded with flowers, past the gay festive pavilions, more than hotels, the Four Seasons, the Victoria, with the cool shady courts and porches, past that turn to the right, down another sweet alley where are more fairy-like houses with balconies, and where the great ones live. The Kisseleff-street they call it, which gives a grand and inspiring Russian association. All this time in front of me, as I ascend, and seemingly far away, yet very close, are the rich, cool, heavily laden Taunus hills, covered with trees and verdure, rising slowly and grandly, and filling up the gap between the houses at the far end of the town. Then I walk on upwards, and see lovers of pleasure in white coats and straw Panama hats, sitting out in front of the hotels and smoking in the shade. Then I pass the great red building, the Kursaal, the Temple of Play, which looks like a king's palace. Then I turn down to the right, past the most inviting villas, all colours and shapes, now a Swiss châlet, now a true Italian house, but overgrown with the most exquisite foliage, the metal of their balconies all embroidered with leaves, behind which you see white dresses, and from behind which comes the clink of breakfast china. Other windows, windows lower down, are thrown wide open, and there the morning meal goes on, even in the gardens; fat men in white coats and no waistcoats, with four double chins at least, are enjoying pipe and coffee. Then the houses stop short, and the dense greenery begins, groves upon groves, forest mounting over forest, walks winding here and winding there. Along the path, honest Homburgers have their little table with an awning, under which is the cool melon, the grape, the delicious honey, and mountain butter, most inviting. If Dora were but on my arm how she would enjoy all this, as, indeed, I must stop in this description to tell her.

Well, I walk on through this greenery, through the most charming alleys, cut in the groves, and, through the trees, see afar the glitter of company, the sheen of curious figures flitting to and fro among the leaves, the glimpse of a Swiss châlet. Such crowds, it seems like a Watteau feast! Down through the avenues float the balmiest breezes, health restoring as I feel when they touch me. Then I emerge on the open space, and see the most animated scene, bright colours, bright dresses, white coats, grey coats, hats white and grey, fluttering veils, pink and cream coloured parasols, flowers, "costumes," of every pattern, actually like the opening scene of the chorus at an opera seen long, long ago. From a pagoda, came strains of rich music with the clash of cymbals, and soft stroke of drum. How new, how delicious all this to me! In the centre was the well deep below, with spacious steps leading down, and girls giving out the water, and crowds pressing forward to receive it. The chinking of glass everywhere. Beyond, again, rows of little shops for jewellery and trifles, charming and most exhilarating scene, as I look on. The animation and gaiety drive away all the sinking and weakness, and I seem to grow strong and hopeful every moment. Down the steps do they troop, the loveliest of women, French, English, and American, as I know by the curious chatter of the voices, and with them lords, and friends, and admirers.  

