^OF DREAMS What jocund shouts of young life, making 

 what of old was called a "glad noise"! 



Now come some ancient gilds. What stately 

 march is theirs, what banners of scarlet and 

 white, yellow and blue, pink and rose ! It is the 

 very climax of color. Gold and crimson and 

 scarlet, melting now into soft greens and again 

 bright with flashing cobalt blue. What bla- 

 zonry flashing in the sunlight! Here, too, are 

 musicians, but the music is richer and deeper 

 toned, for these are master musicians and play 

 on all instruments. 



It is the ancient gilds of artists and musi- 

 cians who are passing now. 



Who are they flaunting themselves in red 

 shirts and mob caps? They are true prole- 

 tariats. They are workers from garden and 

 field, and draw great wagons laden with the 

 harvests of their toil. It is a frolicsome, trum- 

 peting crowd, singing songs of the field, and 

 of home, and of love. 



Close upon their heels is a group that does 

 not seem to fit into its place. They are dressed 

 as if they belonged to the section gone by some 

 time ago and had lagged behind and now fallen 



[ 62 1 



