e in the college of the learned, and
always, during service, I feel like a heretic in heaven.

But by no means do I ever overlook or minify the fact that this is one
of the most extraordinary experiences of my life. I have never seen
anything like this before. I have never seen anything so great and fine
and real as this devotion.

FRIDAY.--Yesterday's opera was "Parsifal" again. The others went and
they show marked advance in appreciation; but I went hunting for relics
and reminders of the Margravine Wilhelmina, she of the imperishable
"Memoirs." I am properly grateful to her for her (unconscious) satire
upon monarchy and nobility, and therefore nothing which her hand touched
or her eye looked upon is indifferent to me. I am her pilgrim; the rest
of this multitude here are Wagner's.

TUESDAY.--I have seen my last two operas; my season is ended, and we
cross over into Bohemia this afternoon. I was supposing that my musical
regeneration was accomplished and perfected, because I enjoyed both
of these operas, singing and all, and, moreover, one of them was
"Parsifal," but the experts have disenchanted me. They say:

"Singing! That wasn't singing; that was the wailing, screeching of
third-rate obscurities, palmed off on us in the interest of economy."

Well, I ought to have recognized the sign--the old, sure sign that has
never failed me in matters of art. Whenever I enjoy anything in art it
means that it is mighty poor. The private knowledge of this fact has
saved me from going to pieces with enthusiasm in front of many and many
a chromo. However, my base instinct does bring me profit sometimes; I
was the only man out of thirty-two hundred who got his money back on
those two operas.

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS

Is it true that the sun of a man's mentality touches noon at forty and
then begins to wane toward setting? Doctor Osler is charged with saying
so. Maybe he said it, maybe he didn't; I don't know which it is. But if
he said it, I can point him to a case which proves his rule. Proves it
by being an exception to it. To this place I nominate Mr. Howells.

I read his VENETIAN DAYS about forty years ago. I compare it with his
paper on Machiavelli in a late number of HARPER, and I cannot find that
his English has suffered any impairment. For forty years his English
has been to me a continual delight and astonishment. In the sustained
exhibition of certain great qualities--clearness, compression,
verbal exactne