I call them the Queens,because the Dutch do;and I like Holland so much that I should hate to differ with the Dutch in anything.But,as a matter of fact,they are neither of them quite Queens;the mother is the regent and the daughter will not be crowned till next year.

But,such as they are,they imparted a supreme emotion to our dying season,and thrilled the hotel with a fulness of summer life.Since they went,the season faintly pulses and respires,so that one can just say that it is still alive.Last Sunday was fine,and great crowds came down from The Hague to the concert,and spread out on the seaward terrace of the hotel,around the little tables which I fancied that the waiters had each morning wiped dry of the dew,from a mere Dutch desire of cleaning something.The hooded chairs covered the beach;the children played in the edges of the surf and delved in the sand;the lovers wandered up into the hollows of the dunes.

There was only the human life,however.I have looked in vain for the crabs,big and little,that swarm on the Long Island shore,and there are hardly any gulls,even;perhaps because there are no crabs for them to eat,if they eat crabs;I never saw gulls doing it,but they must eat something.Dogs there are,of course,wherever there are people;but they are part of the human life.Dutch dogs are in fact very human;and one I saw yesterday behaved quite as badly as a bad boy,with respect to his muzzle.He did not like his muzzle,and by dint of turning somersaults in the sand he got it off,and went frolicking to his master in triumph to show him what he had done.