accompanied by their husbands. Unmarried ladies must each bring a
male partner as near their own height as possible. Fortunately, in
this village the number of males is exactly equal to that of females,
so that the picture need not be spoiled. The children will organise
themselves into an independent body and will group themselves
picturesquely. It has been thought advisable," continues the
chairwoman, "that the village should meet the dear Count and his
bride at some spot not too far removed from the local alehouse. The
costume to be worn by the ladies will consist of a short pink skirt
terminating at the knees and ornamented with festoons of flowers;
above will be worn a bolero in mauve silk without sleeves and cut
decollete. The shoes should be of yellow satin over flesh-coloured
stockings. Ladies who are 'out' will wear pearl necklaces, and a
simple device in emeralds to decorate the hair. Thank God, we can
all of us afford it, and provided the weather holds up and nothing
unexpected happens—he is not what I call a lucky man, our Count, and
it is always as well to be prepared for possibilities—well, I think
we may look forward to a really pleasant day."

   It cannot be done, Herr Wagner, believe me. You cannot substitute
the music drama for all the arts combined. The object to be aimed at
by the wise composer should be to make us, while listening to his
music, forgetful of all remaining artistic considerations.

   It is a delightful stroll on a sunny summer morning from the Hague to
the Huis ten Bosch, the little "house in the wood," built for
Princess Amalia, widow of Stadtholter Frederick Henry, under whom
Holland escaped finally from the bondage of her foes and entered into
the promised land of Liberty. Leaving the quiet streets, the tree-
bordered canals, with their creeping barges, you pass through a
pleasant park, where the soft-eyed deer press round you, hurt and
indignant if you have brought nothing in your pocket—not even a
piece of sugar—to offer them. It is not that they are grasping—it
is the want of attention that wounds them.

   "I thought he was a gentleman," they seem to be saying to one
another, if you glance back, "he looked like a gentleman."

   Their mild eyes haunt you; on the next occasion you do not forget.
The Park merges into the forest; you go by winding ways till you

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