I have seen a great many houses in my time，little and big， new and old， built of stone and of wood， but of one house I have kept a very vivid memory. It was， properly speaking， rather a cottage than a house-a tiny cottage of one story， with three windows， looking extraordinarily like a little old hunchback woman with a cap on. Its white stucco walls， its tiled roof， and dilapidated chimney， were all drowned in a perfect sea of green The cottage was lost to sight among the mulberry-trees， acacias， and poplars planted by the grandfathers and great- grandfathers of its present occupants. And yet it is a town house. Its wide courtyard stands in a row with other similar green courtyards， and forms part of a street. Nothing ever drives down that street， and very few persons are ever seen walking through it.