“Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing. The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. "No; we never had one; at least, I never saw it. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. THAMES DARRELL.
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