" ' The blind bow-boy,' " who smiles upon us from the end of 

 terraces in old Dutch gardens, laughingly hails his bird-bolts 

 among a fleeting generation. But for as fast as ever he shoots, 

 the game dissolves and disappears into eternity from under his 

 falling arrows ; this one is gone ere he is struck ; the other has 

 but time to make one gesture and give one passionate cry ; and 

 they are all the things of a moment." Virginifrus Puerisque 



