of the old times in books?" he said, looking
round at me with large bright eyes.

"Yes, I have read many books," said I, trying to evade the subject.
"But will you forgive me if I ask an impertinent question?"

"Nothing coming from you, sir, could be impertinent."

"I wanted to ask how old you are, because you seem so young. You seem
to be only seventeen."

"You could tell me nothing more delightful," the young man replied,
with a gentle, yet strong and deep intonation. "I am indeed one of the
youngest men alive--I am twenty-two years old. And I am looking for
the last time on the city of Paris."

"Do not say that," I cried. "All this may be horrible, but it cannot
be as dull as Death. Surely there must be some place in the world
where we could live among beauty, some other folk besides ourselves
who are still poets. Why should one die until life becomes hopelessly
ugly and deformed?"

"I am not going to kill myself, as you seem to think," said the young
man. "I am going, and I pray and implore you to come with me, to a
place after your heart and mine, that some friends have prepared. It
is a garden, and we are a League. I have already been there three
months, and I have put on these horrible clothes for one day only, in
obedience to a rule of our League, that every one should go out once a
year to look at the world around. We are thinking of abolishing the
rule."

"How pleasant and beautiful it sounds!"

"It is, and will you come with me there right now?"

"Shall I be admitted?"

"My word will admit you at once. Come this way with me. I have a motor
at the bottom of the hill."

During the journey I gathered much information about the League, which
was called the Florentine League. It had been formed out of the
youngest "years" of the race, and its members had been chosen for
their taste and elegance. For although few parents of the day had
thought it worth while to teach their children anything more recondite
than their letters and tables, yet some of the boys and girls had
developed a great desire for knowledge, and an exceeding great delight
in Poetry, Art, Music, and all beautiful sights and sounds.

"We live," he said, "apart from the world, like that merry company of
gentle-folk who, when the plague was raging at Florence, left the
city, and retiring to a villa in the hills, told each other those
enchanting tales. We enjoy all that Life, Nature, and Art can give us,
and Love has not deserted the ga