THE ,TOWN. 81

 of great banana leaves against the sky; the lazy
 splash of an oar beyond the hot sea-wall, are
 all parts of a stupor from which one would not
 be aroused. Perhaps, if it were not so still in
 the blaze of light, if there were any sound ex-
 cept that distant splash and the murmur of the
 pigeons, it would be easier to awake, and once
 more wonder and desire and feel them both
 worth while.

 In the Spanish burying-ground, steeped in
the white glare, one only finds a deeper and
more lasting sleep; and for the dreams, the
flood and silence of light will suffice.
 In this neglected spot, even memory seems
dead. The gate, opening on the dusty road, is
fastened by a twist of rusted wire, which leaves
a dull red mark upon the lichen of the crum-
bling post. The wooden crosses above the
sleepers are flaked and gray in the blaze of
sunshine; some of the cross-pieces have fallen,
and the white "I. H. S." has faded into the
weather-stained wood. A dried and withered
bunch of flowers placed very long ago on the