anything with myself of set purpose, but it doesn't last. If you remind
me that one ought generously to overlook the faults of others--I
generously overlook the faults of others--for five minutes. If you
remind me that to harbor jealousy and envy is mean and contemptible, I
make an effort, and throw out all jealous and envious thoughts--for five
minutes. And so you see I got discontented with myself; and I hated two
men who were calling loud jokes at each other as they parted different
ways; and I marched home through the fog, feeling rather inclined to
quarrel with somebody. By the way, did you ever notice that you often
can detect the relationship between people by their similar mode of
walking, and that more easily than by any likeness of face? As I
strolled home, I could tell which of the couples of men walking before
me were brothers by the similar bending of the knee and the similar
gait, even when their features were quite unlike. There was one man
whose fashion of walking was really very droll; his right knee gave a
sort of preliminary shake as if it was uncertain which way the foot
wanted to go. For the life of me I could not help imitating him; and
then I wondered what his face would be like if he were suddenly to turn
round and catch me."

That still dream of Regent's Park in sunlight and snow he carried about
with him as a vision--a picture--even amidst the blustering westerly
winds, and the riven seas that sprung over the rocks and swelled and
roared away into the caves of Gribun and Bourg. There was no snow as yet
up here at Dare, but wild tempests shaking the house to its foundations,
and brief gleams of stormy sunlight lighting up the gray spindrift as it
was whirled shoreward from the breaking seas; and then days of slow and
mournful rain, with Staffa, and Lunga, and the Dutchman become mere dull
patches of blurred purple--when they were visible at all--on the
leaden-hued and coldly rushing Atlantic.

"I have passed through the gates of the Palace of Art," she wrote, two
days later, from the calmer and sunnier South; "and I have entered its
mysterious halls, and I have breathed for a time the hushed atmosphere
of wonderland. Do you remember meeting a Mr. Lemuel at any time at Mrs.
Ross's--a man with a strange, gray, tired face, and large, wan, blue
eyes, and an air as if he were walking in a dream? Perhaps not; but, at
all events, he is a great painter, who never exhibits to the vulgar
crowd, but who i