that literally blazed with sun-like gems,--they were moving towards the river, and with them came young boys and little children, while on either side, maidens white-veiled and rose-wreathed, paced demurely, swinging silver censers to and fro. After the priestly procession walked a regal figure between ranks of slaves and attendants,--I knew it for the King of this 'City Beautiful,' and was almost moved to join in the thundering acclamations which greeted his progress. And that snowy palanquin, carried by lily-crowned girls, that followed his train,--who occupied it? ... what gem of his land was thus tenderly enshrined? I was consumed by an extraordinary longing to know this,--I watched the white burden coming nearer to my point of vantage,--I saw the priests arrange themselves in a semi-circle on the river-embankment, the King in their midst, and the surging shouting multitude around,--then came the brazen clangour of many bells, intermixed with the rolling of drums and the shrilling sound of reed-pipes lightly blown upon,--and, amid the blaze of the flaring torches, the White Palanquin was set down upon the ground. A woman, clad in some silvery glistening tissue, stepped forth from it like a sylph from the foam of the sea, but----she was veiled,--I could not discern so much as the outline of her features,--and the keen disappointment of this was a positive torture to me. If I could but see her, I thought, I should know something I had never hitherto guessed! "Lift, oh lift the shrouding veil, Spirit of the City Beautiful!" I inwardly prayed--"For I feel I shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness!" But the veil was not withdrawn, ... the music made barbaric clamour in my ears, ... the blaze of strong light and colour blinded me, ... and I felt myself reeling into a dark chaos, where as I imagined, I chased the moon, as she flew before me on silver wings,--then ... the sound of a rich baritone trolling out a light song from a familiar modern _opera bouffe_ confused and startled me,----and in another second I found myself staring wildly at Lucio, who, lying easily back in his deck-chair, was carolling joyously to the silent night and the blank expanse of sandy shore, in front of which our dahabeah rested motionless. With a cry I flung myself upon him. "Where is she?" I exclaimed--"_Who_ is she?" He looked at me without replying, and smiling quizzically, released himself from my sudden grasp. I drew back shuddering and bewildered. "I saw it all!" I murmured--"The city--the priests,--the people--the King!----all but Her face! Why was that hidden from me!" And actual tears rose to my eyes involuntarily,--Lucio surveyed me with evident amusement. "What a 'find' you would be to a first-class 'spiritual' impostor playing his tricks in cultured and easily-gulled London society!" he observed--"You seem most powerfully impressed by a passing vision!"