and shimmering forest, when lo! through the canopies, breaking softly forth, a trumpetous triumph of discovery! Three impressions: a little esplanade, bordering on a comely lake, a vast expanse of impressioned teal, disturbed by a cluster of sunny algae in chartreuse, a course of green and gold sparsely surrounded by little white flowers, winnowing in the warm breeze. The sun cast down, from its Olympus, a youthful heat, causing the horizon of land, as well as the long water, to shimmer impressionistically. This would associate in my mind with a certain phrase of music, architec- ture, and a longing for something beautiful to grace my senses. In the cor- ner of my eye, a mother duck and her four ducklings swam by, paddling the water with their tiny feet, causing the light to shimmer uncontrollably. I sat down on a bench by the north side, with my parasol to watch. I was alone, and delighted by the winsome spontaneity of writing in a pleasant mood in the park, with sweet beleaguering thoughts, tremulous memories of summers long past, and the curious music. I felt a boundless joy. The scene was, in its entirety, bathed in a warm, aestival gold, a gold that one could hear, bright and harking, like a trumpet. The limpid shadows of the clouds, the pure teal of the rushing cattails, all inspired in me a feeling of surren- dered bliss. I was subject to color and sound, that brought forth a myriad of recollections, when! the wind blew strongly, and everything danced! The horsetail and the coneflowers and the water scintillated- what was heard superficially was silence, but to me, there was infinitely beautiful music. II there she stood, the Pearl incarnate, in a luminous gown, as if drenched in moonbeams. Her hair was curled, and she was frowning slightly. On the stage, she was the Symphony in White. She was so dreadfully beautiful- and, I mean to say “dreadfully” beautiful, because there was a limpid expression of horror, twinkling at her dejected eyes and alembicated cheekbones. What was she? a melancholy, terribly unclean, largely girlish, almost frightened, Beautiful girl; a betrayed covenant, a happy expatriate, a Whistler girl, with rumpled sleeves like a trampled lily. What an image! soft oils, nacre, deathly pale. And her eyes! In her doe eyes was a dull cluttered light, like a dusty 1