D URING the Spring of 1884 Oscar Wilde was often
in the studio. One of my sitters was a young
gentleman of such peculiar beauty that his
friends had nicknamed him "The Radiant Youth."
Each afternoon Wilde watched the work advance,
enchanting us, meanwhile, with brilliant talk, until,
at last, the portrait was finished and its original had
gone his ways -- rejoicing, without doubt, to be at
liberty.

Now, the beauty of " Dorian" was of that kind
which depends on color and expression for its charm.
His hair was bright and wavy; the ruddiness of health
suffused his cheeks; his eyes sparkled with wholesome
fun, good humor, and high thoughts. He was the
sort of boy who makes the world seem jolly even when
the east wind blows. Goodness and merriment radi-
ated from him visibly; the darkest room appeared to
glow and brighten when he entered it.

"What a pity such a glorious creature should ever
grow old," sighed Wilde.

-xi-