tries; this pang of curiosity; it is a land which 
resembles you, where all is beautiful, rich, 
quiet, straightforward; where Fancy has built 
and adorned a Western China; where life may 
be softly breathed, where happiness is wedded 
to silence. It is there that we much go and live, 
it is there that we must go and die. 
Yes, it is there that we must go and 
breathe, dream, make long the hours by rea-
son of the infinity of sensations that they hold; 
a musician has written, “Will you dance with 
me?”; who will compose “Will you come with 
me?” That one may offer it to the beloved one, 
the soul’s sister! 
Yes, it is in this atmosphere that life is 
good—down there, where the slower hours 
contain more thoughts, where the clocks strike 
happiness with a deeper, a more meaning so-
lemnity. 
Upon glittering panels or upon gilded 
leather, darkly rich, live pictures; pictures 
blesséd, calm and deep as the souls of the art-
ists which created them. The setting suns 
which so richly colour the dining-room or the 
‘drawing-room are sifted by fair stuffs or by 
high windows of stained glass; the furniture is 
vast, curious, bizarre, weaponed with locks and 
with secrets, like refined souls. Mirrors, metals, 
stuffs, jewelry, porcelain, play a silent and