sciously and unconsciously unveils them to us, are entirely of a nature to confirm the supposition that that moment is to be considered as the inception and presentiment of a sublimated aim in life.
Miss Miller concludes the list of her fancies with the following remarks:
"The dream seemed to me to come from a mixture of the representation of 'Paradise Lost,' 'Job,' and 'Creation,' with ideas such as 'thought which spontaneously produces its object': 'the gift of love,' 'chaos, and cosmos.'"
In the same way as colored splinters of glass are combined in a kaleidoscope, in her mind fragments of philosophy, æsthetics and religion would seem to be combined—
"under the stimulating influence of the journey, and the countries hurriedly seen, combined with the great silence and the indescribable charm of the sea. 'Ce ne fut que cela et rien de plus.' 'Only this, and nothing more!'"
With these words, Miss Miller shows us out, politely and energetically. Her parting words in her negation, confirmed over again in English, leave behind a curiosity; viz., what position is to be negated by these words? "Ce ne fut que cela et rien de plus"—that is to say, really, only "le charme impalpable de la mer"—and the young man who sang melodiously during the night watch is long since forgotten, and no one is to know, least of all the dreamer, that he was a morning star, who came before the creation of a new day.19 One should take care lest he satisfy himself and the reader with a sentence such as "ce ne fut que cela." Otherwise, it might immediately
