suggested　this　one。　　Here　is　the　whole　of　the　thing　as　it　is　printed
  here；〃　he　said；　and　read　the　following：
  LOVE'S　TWILIGHT
  I　am　dreaming；　loved　one；　dreaming
  Of　the　sweet　and　beauteous　past
  When　the　world　was　as　its　seeming；
  Ere　the　fatal　shaft　was　cast。
  I　am　sobbing；　sad…eyed；　sobbing；
  At　the　darkly　sullen　west；
  Of　the　smile　of　ignorance　robbing
  The　pale　face　against　the　breast。
  I　am　smiling；　tear…stained；　smiling；
  As　the　sun　glints　on　the　crest
  Of　the　troubled　wave；　beguiling
  Shipwrecked　Hope　to　its　long　rest。
  I　am　parting；　broken；　parting；
  From　a　soul　that　I　hold　dear；
  And　the　music　of　whose　beauty
  Fades　a　dead　strain　on　my　ear。
  I　am　dying；　sweetheart；　dying；
  Drips　life's　gold　through　palsied　hands；　…=20
  See；　the　dead'ning　Sun　is　sighing
  His　last　note　in　red'ning　bands。
  So　I'm　sighing；　sinking；　sighing；
  Flows　life's　river　to　the　sea。
  Death　my　throbbing　heart　is　tying
  With　the　strings　that　ache　for　thee。
  〃Yes；〃　I　said；　when　he　had　finished。　　〃I　shall　have　to　admit　that
  immediately　suggests　Higginson's　poem　and　Cleopatra's　name。　　But
  here；　try　this；〃　and　I　threw　an　old　copy　of　the　Atlantic　Monthly
  upon　the　table。　　Maitland　opened　it　and　laughed。　　〃This　may　be　mere
  chance；　Doc；〃　he　said；　〃but　it　is　remarkable；　none　the　less。　　See
  here！〃　　He　held　the　magazine　toward　me；　and　I　read：　〃Cleopatra's
  Needle。　　The　Historic　Significance　of　Central　Park's　New　Monument。
  Some　of　the　Difficulties　that　Attended　its　Transportation　and
  Erection。　　By　James　Theodore　Wright；　Ph。　　D。〃　　I　was　dumfounded。
  Things　were　indeed　getting　interesting。
  〃Magazines　and　newspapers；〃　I　said；　〃seem　to　be　altogether　too　much
  in　your　line。　　We'll　try　a　book　this　time。　　Here；〃　and　I　pulled　the
  first　one　that　came　to　hand；　〃is　a　copy　of　Tennyson's　Poems　I　fancy
  it　will　trouble　you　to　find　your　reference　in　that。〃　　Maitland　took
  it　in　silence；　and；　opening　it　at　random；　began　to　read。　　The　result
  surprised　him　even　more　than　it　did　me。　　He　had　chanced　upon　these
  verses　from　〃A　Dream　of　Fair　Women〃：
  〃'We　drank　the　Libyan　Sun　to　sleep；　and　lit
  Lamps　which　outburn'd　Canopus。　　0　my　life
  In　Egypt！　　0　the　dalliance　and　the　wit；
  The　flattery　and　the　strife。
  〃'And　the　wild　kiss　when　fresh　from　war's　alarms；
  My　Hercules；　my　Roman　Antony；
  My　mailed　Bacchus　leapt　into　my　arms；
  Contented　there　to　die！
  〃'And　there　he　died！　　And　when　I　heard　my　name
  Sigh'd　forth　with　life；　I　would　not　brook　my　fear
  Of　the　other！　　With　a　worm　I　balked　his　fame。
  What　else　was　left？　　look　here！'
  〃With　that　she　tore　her　robe　apart　and　half
  The　polished　argent　of　her　breast　to　sight
  Laid　bare。　　Thereto　she　pointed　with　a　laugh；
  Showing　the　aspic's　bite。〃
  〃There　is　no　doubt　about　that；〃　I　said；　as　he　laid　the　book　upon　the
  table。　　〃I　want　to　try　this　thing　once　more。　　Here　is　Pascal；　if　you
  can　find　any　reference　to　the　'Serpent　of　the　Nile'　in　that；　you
  needn't　go　any　farther；　I　shall　be　satisfied；〃　and　I　passed　the　book
  to　him。　　　He　turned　the　pages　over　in　silence　for　half　a　minute；　or
  so；　and　then　said：　〃I　guess　this　counts　as　a　failure；　…　no；　though；
  by　Jove！　　Look　here！〃　　His　face　was　of　almost　deathly　pallor；　and
  his　finger　trembled　upon　the　passage　it　indicated　as　he　held　the
  book　toward　me。　　I　glanced　with　some　anxiety　from　his　face　to　the
  book；　and　read；　as　nearly　as　I　now　can　remember：　〃If　Cleopatra's
  nose　had　been　shorter；　the　entire　face　of　the　world　would　have　been
  changed。〃
  It　was　some　minutes　before　Maitland　fully　regained　his　composure；
  and　during　that　time　neither　of　us　spoke。　　〃Well；　Doc；〃　he　said　at
  length；　and　his　manner　was　decidedly　grave；　even　for　him：
  〃What　do　you　make　of　it？〃　　I　didn't　know　what　to　make　of　it；　and
  I　admitted　my　ignorance　with　a　frankness　at　which；　considering　my
  profession；　I　have　often　since　had　occasion　to　marvel。　　I　told
  him　that　I　could　scarcely　account　for　it　on　the　ground　of　mere
  coincidence；　and　I　called　his　attention　to　that　part　of　〃The　Mystery
  of　Marie　Roget；〃　where　Poe　figures　out　the　mathematical　likelihood
  of　a　certain　combination　of　peculiarities　of　clothing　being　found
  to　obtain　in　the　case　of　two　young　women　who　were　unknown　to　each
  other。　　If　the　finding　of　a　single　reference　to　Cleopatra　had　been
  a　thing　of　so　infrequent　occurrence　as　to　at　once　challenge
  Maitland's　attention；　what　was　to　be　said　when；　all　of　a　sudden；　her
  name；　or　some　reference　to　her；　seemed　to　stare　at　him　from　every
  page　he　read？
  〃'There　is　something　in　this　more　than　natural；
  If　philosophy　could　find　it　out；'〃=20
  murmured　Maitland；　more　to　himself　than　to　me。　　〃Come；　what　do　you
  say？〃　and　he　turned　abruptly　to　me　with　one　of　those　searching　looks
  so　peculiar　to　him　in　moments　of　excitement。　　〃I　see；〃　I　replied；
  〃that　you　are　determined　I　shall　give　my　opinion　now　and　here；
  without　a　moment's　reflection。　　Very　well；　you　have　just　quoted
  'Hamlet'；　I　will　do　likewise：
  〃'There　are　more　things　in　Heaven　and　Earth；　Horatio；
  Than　are　dreamt　of　in　your　philosophy　I'
  〃You　seem　in　some　strange　way　to　be　dominated　by　the　shade　of
  Cleopatra。　　Now；　if　I　believed　in　metempsychosis；　I　should　think　you
  were　Mark　Antony　brought　down　to　date。　　There；　with　that　present
  sober　air　of　yours；　you'd　pass　anywhere　for　such　an　anachronism。
  But　to　be　serious；　and　to　give　you　advice　which　is　positively　bilious
  with　gravity；　I　should　say；　investigate　this　thing　fully；　make　a
  study　of　this　ancient　charmer。　　By　the　way；　why　not　begin　by　going
  to　see　Davenport　in　Sardou's　'Cleopatra'？　　You　have　never　seen　her
  in　it；　have　you？〃
  In　this　way。　　I　succeeded　in　getting　him　out　of　his　depressed　state。
  We　got　into　an　argument　concerning　the　merits　of　Miss　Davenport's
  work。　　I　know　of　nothing　Maitland　would　sooner　do　than　argue；　and；
  if　attacked　on　a　subject　upon　which　he　feels　strongly；　he　is；　for
  the　time　being；　totally　oblivious　of　everything　else。　　For　this
  reason　I　trapped　him　into　this　argument。　　I　abominate　what　is　now
  known　as　〃realism〃　just　as　much　as　he　does；　but　you　don't　have　much
  of　an　argument　without　some　apparent　difference　of　opinion；　so；　for
  the　nonce；　I　became　a　realist　of　whom　Zola　himself　would　have　been
  proud。　　〃Why；　man；〃　I　said；　〃realism　is　truth。　　You　certainly　can't
  have　any　quarrel　with　that。〃　　I　knew　this　would　have　the　effect　of
  a　red　rag　flaunted　in　the　face　of　a　bull。
  〃Truth！　　Bah！〃　he　exclaimed　excitedly。　　〃I　have　no　patience　with
  such　aesthetic　hod…carriers！　　Truth；　indeed！　　Is　there　no　other　truth
  in　art　but　that　coarse　verisimilitude；　that　vulgar　trickery；　which
  appeals　to　the　eyes　and　the　ears　of　the　rabble？　　Are　there　not
  psychological　truths　of　immensely　greater　importance？　　What　sane　man
  imagines　for　a　moment　that　the　pleasure　he　derives　from　seeing　that
  greatest　of　all　tragedians；　Edwin　Booth；　in　one　of　Shakespeare's
  matchless　tragedies；　is　dependent　upon　his　believing　that　this　or
  that　character　is　actually　killed？　　Why；　even　the　day　of　the
  cranberry…juice　dagger　is　long　since　passed。　　When　Miss　Davenport
  shrieks　in　'Fedora；'　the　shriek　is　literal　…　'real；'　you　would　call
  it　…　and　you　find　yourself　instinctively　saying；　'Don't！　　…　don't！'
  and　wishing　you　were　out　of　the　house。　　When　Mr。　Booth；　as　'Shylock'
  shrieks　at　'Tubal's'　news；　the　cry　is　not　real；　is　not　literal；　but
  is　suggestive；　and　you　see　at　once　the　fiendish　glee　of　which　it　is
  the　expression。　　The　difference　between　the　two　is　the　difference
  between　vocal　cords　and　grey　matter。〃
  〃But　surely；〃　I　rejoined；　〃one　doesn't　want　untruth；　one　wants　…　〃
  but　he　did　not　let　me　finish。
  〃Always　that　cry　of　truth！〃　he　retorted。　　〃Do　you　not　see　how　absurd
  it　is；　as　used　by　your　exponents　of　realism？　　With　a　bit　of　charcoal
  some　Raphael　draws　a　face　with　five　lines；　and　some　photographer
  snaps　a　camera　at　the　same　face。　　Which　would　any　sane　man　choose　as
  the　best　work　of　art？　　The　five…line　face；　of　course。　　Why？　　Is　the
  work　of　the　camera　unreal？　　Is　it　not　more　accurate　in　drawing；　more
  subtle　in　gradation　than　the　less　mechanical　picture？　　To　be　sure。
  What；　then；　makes　the　superiority　of　the　few　lines　of　our　Raphael？
  That　which　makes　the　superiority　of　all　noble　art　…　its　truth；；　not
  on　a　low；　but　on　a　high；　plane：　its　power　of　interpreting。　　See！〃
  he　said；　fairly　aglow　with　excitement。　　〃What　does　your　realist　do；
  even　assuming　that　he　has　reached　that　never…tobe…attained
  perfection　which　is　the　lifelong　Mecca　of　his　desires？　　He　gives
  you；　by　his　absolutely　realistic　goes　with　you；　and　interprets　its
  grandeur　to　you。　Stand　before　his　canvas　and　enjoy　it　as　you　would
  Nature　herself　if　there。　　Surely；　you　say；　nothing　more　could　be
  desired；　and　you　clap　your　hands；　and　shout；　'Bravo！'　　But　wait　a
  bit；　the　other　side　is　yet　to　be　heard　from。　　What　does　the　true
  artist　do　for　you　by　his　picture　of　Yosemite　Valley？　　He　not　only
  gives　you　a　free　conveyance　to　it；　but　he　goes　with　you；　and
  interprets　its　grandeur　to　you。　　He　translates　into　the　language　of
  your　consciousness　beauties　which；　without　h