THE great moment is when, after an ocean, frontiers, and inexorable Paris landlords, you arrive, disembarrassed of everything, on the inner terrace of the Trocadéro palace. You hold yourself open to the impressions that may naturally be expected to seize upon you. There is a school of “ impressionist ” painters here, who give, as it were, the first broad flash of anything, immediately turned away from, and not looked back at or reflected about. Flash! some rapid patches of pink, of white, scattering blue, a ground tone of tawny yellow, — a young woman with a parasol walking in a wheat-field. Let us try that. Flash! a blue sky; four large shining spots, colossal golden animals, close in front. They are a horse, an ox, an elephant, and a rhinoceros, rearing defiantly around a basin of numerous streams, with rainbows in them. The mailed rhinoceros is particularly picturesque. […]

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