y except the artist, who had only some rough
memoranda, like notes for a speech, to show. The amateurs had made
finished pictures.

Miss Benson had done some rocks, and had got their hardness very well.
Miss Lamont's effort was more ambitious; her picture took in no less
than miles of coast, as much sea as there was room for on the paper,
a navy of sail-boats, and all the rocks and figures that were in
the foreground, and it was done with a great deal of naivete and
conscientiousness. When it was passed round the table, the comments were
very flattering.

"It looks just like it," said Mr. Benson.

"It's very comprehensive," remarked Mr. Forbes.

"What I like, Marion," said Mr. De Long, holding it out at arm's-length,
"is the perspective; it isn't an easy thing to put ships up in the sky."

"Of course," explained Irene, "it was a kind of hazy day."

"But I think Miss Lamont deserves credit for keeping the haze out of
it." King was critically examining it, turning his head from side
to side. "I like it; but I tell you what I think it lacks: it lacks
atmosphere. Why don't you cut a hole in it, Miss Lamont, and let the air
in?"

"Mr. King," replied Miss Lamont, quite seriously, "you are a real
friend, I can only repay you by taking you to church this morning."

"You didn't make much that time, King," said Forbes, as he lounged out
of the room.

After church King accepted a seat in the Benson carriage for a drive on
the Ocean Road. He who takes this drive for the first time is enchanted
with the scene, and it has so much variety, deliciousness in curve and
winding, such graciousness in the union of sea and shore, such charm of
color, that increased acquaintance only makes one more in love with it.
A good part of its attraction lies in the fickleness of its aspect. Its
serene and soft appearance might pall if it were not now and then, and
often suddenly, and with little warning, transformed into a wild coast,
swept by a tearing wind, enveloped in a thick fog, roaring with the
noise of the angry sea slapping the rocks and breaking in foam on the
fragments its rage has cast down. This elementary mystery and terror
is always present, with one familiar with the coast, to qualify the
gentleness of its lovelier aspects. It has all moods. Perhaps the most
exhilarating is that on a brilliant day, when shore and sea sparkle in
the sun, and the waves leap high above the cliffs, and fall in diamond
showers.

This Sunday the