In the entrance court we found Evelyn Breatrice Longman's "Fountain of Ceres," the last of the three fountains done on the grounds by women, and decidedly the most feminine. "Mrs. Longman hasn't quite caught the true note," the architect remarked. "The base of the fountain is interesting, though I don't care for the shape. But the figure itself is too prim and modish. Somehow I can't think of Ceres as a proper old maid, dressed with modern frills. The execution, however, shows a good deal of skill. The frieze might be improved by the softening of those sharp lines that cut out the figures like pasteboard. And these women haven't as much vitality as that grotesque head down near the base, spouting out water." The architect glanced up and noticed the figure of "Victory" on one of the gables, so often to be seen during a walk over the grounds. "There's more swing to that figure than to the one here, and yet there's a certain resemblance between them. They both show the same influence, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Of course, Miss Longman has purposely softened the effect on account of the mildness of her subject. But she might have been more successful with her draperies if she had followed the suggestions in the Winged Victory more closely. There the treatment of the draperies is magnificent. Both the Greeks and the Romans were very fond of this type of figure. And it's often found among the ruins of Pompeii, which kept so close to Rome in its artistic enterprise." The need of separating the entrance to the Court of the Four Seasons from Ryan's display of scintillators on the imitation of Morro Castle at the edge of the bay, had given John McLaren a chance to create another of these deep green masses that surrounded the pool. It shut the court off from the rest of the world and deepened the intimacy, leaving, however, glimpses of the bay and the hills beyond. IX The Palace of Fine Arts From Across the Lagoon In returning to the Court of the Four Seasons, we started along another of those inner courts, made charming by those Spanish doorways and by the twisted columns, a favorite of the Romans, evidently borrowed from the Orientals. "All through the Exposition," the architect remarked, "we are reminded of the Oriental fondness for the serpent. Some people like to say that it betrays the subtlety and slyness of the Oriental people. But they admired the serpent chiefly because, in their minds, it represented wisdom, the quiet and easy way of doing things, a little roundabout perhaps, but often better than the method of opposition and attack." Before us, looking down as if from an eminence, stood, the Palace of Fine Arts. The architect reminded me of the clever planning that had placed this magnificent conception in so commanding a position, looking down into the courts, on what he called "the main axis."