, and, half
stumbling, sat down in the lap of a dowager--no, not quite; the chair
was empty, and he sat down in the fresh varnish, to which his clothes
stuck fast. Was this a delusion? No. The tables were filled in the
dining-room, the waiters were scurrying about, there were ladies on the
balconies looking dreamily down upon the animated scene below; all the
movements of gayety and hilarity in the height of a season. Mr. King
approached a group who were standing waiting for a carriage, but they
did not see him, and did not respond to his trumped-up question about
the next train. Were these, then, shadows, or was he a spirit himself?
Were these empty omnibuses and carriages that discharged ghostly
passengers? And all this promenading and flirting and languishing and
love-making, would it come to nothing-nothing more than usual? There was
a charm about it all--the movement, the color, the gray sand, and the
rosy blush on the sea--a lovely place, an enchanted place. Were these
throngs the guests that were to come, or those that had been herein
other seasons? Why could not the former "materialize" as well as the
latter? Is it not as easy to make nothing out of what never yet existed
as out of what has ceased to exist? The landlord, by faith, sees all
this array which is prefigured so strangely to Mr. King; and his comely
young wife sees it and is ready for it; and the fat son at the supper
table--a living example of the good eating to be had here--is serene,
and has the air of being polite and knowing to a houseful. This scrap
of a child, with the aplomb of a man of fifty, wise beyond his fatness,
imparts information to the travelers about the wine, speaks to the
waiter with quiet authority, and makes these mature men feel like boys
before the gravity of our perfect flower of American youth who has known
no childhood. This boy at least is no phantom; the landlord is real, and
the waiters, and the food they bring.

"I suppose," said Mr. King to his friend, "that we are opening the
season. Did you see anything outdoors?"

"Yes; a horseshoe-crab about a mile below here on the smooth sand, with
a long dotted trail behind him, a couple of girls in a pony-cart
who nearly drove over me, and a tall young lady with a red parasol,
accompanied by a big black-and-white dog, walking rapidly, close to the
edge of the sea, towards the sunset. It's just lovely, the silvery sweep
of coast in this light."

"It seems a refined sort of pla