in its purse or in the stocking-heels and in the cracked teapots which were the equivalents thereof. The trouble was that the boom could not last; and old Sarah Samble voiced the general opinion as she held forth on the subject to Mrs. Mary Hancock, her nextdoor neighbor.

""Tis not tu be denied," she said as the two conversed from their adjoining doorsteps, "that them artises comin' tu Treporth have been better for us nor the biggest shoal o' pilchers the boats ever fetched tu harbor. I've a sold my poor dead man's uncle's clock, that's been under the bed we slept on this twenty year, for five goolden poundses.'

"An' Johnny Friday, e' wouldn't ha' gone above five shillin'," commented Mrs. Hancock.

"That 'e wouldn't. 'E says last time I had it out, 'Put a hammer through her, missis,' 'e says, 'an' I'll give three pennies the pound for the old brass in she.' An' I've gotten ten shillin' apiece," the old woman went on, "for them chiney cups an' saucers was left by my mother's cousin Martha Anne Toms; 'sides as much for a broken carved chair frame as the chicken roost on in the yard. An' you, Mary Hancock," she concluded, "must ha' done nigh-hand as well?"

The other nodded. "Middlin' ways," she acknowledged curtly, not being a woman of many confidences.

"But what I sees," Mrs. Samble continued volubly, "be that none o' us has got more that them artiss people'll buy; though why they won't take the good new gilt-and-green tea-set I has, in place o' them other done gimcracks, beats an honest woman tu tell. Now, I've naught left fitty for them, savin' that old cloam jar my sister's husband's brother brought from I-taly, an'".

"You ain't got call tu complain, same as some," her neighbor interrupted, "for you 'm got Jenifer. They 'm all for makin' her pictur', an' pays her well

for sittin'; though, by what I see, she's mostly took standin' up."

"An' I won't have Jenifer long neither," retorted Mrs. Samble grumblingly. "See her there now a-talkin' tu a furriner; she'll be goin' off soon, sure enough."

The speaker nodded towards where, in the sunshine on the other side of the narrow street, a young man, evidently a "commercial," from the sample-case he carried, stood talking to a tall, handsome girl, attired in the picturesque costume common to Treporth's womenkind.

"Her might du worser," remarked Mrs. Hancock, with evident reference to the girl's companion. "That there Mr. Biddley she'm wi' be traveller for t' big makers as the shops gets their cloam from. He must do good trade, for he does be here constant-'specially lately."

"Look at that now!" ejaculated her friend; "an' me not knowin'-Jenifer bein' that close. I be goin' tu have a talk wi' he."

She moved out and down towards where the couple stood.

"Jenifer!" she called shrilly as she approached them, "why be 'e a-standin' clatterin', chatterin' there, when Mr. Vanholt be 'specting of 'e. The gentleman wouldn't keep 'e if 'e knawed."

The girl tossed her shapely head indignantly at this pointed reproof, but walked off; and her grandmother turned to the man.

"Maids take a deal o' huntin' after," she commented in casual fashion; then, more earnestly, 'Come 'e in along now, an' taste my guseberry; 'tis a comfortin' liquor of a hot day."

Biddley accepted the invitation with alacrity.

"That I will, Mrs. Samble," he said heartily. "I've often heard the fame of your wine."

Which was scarcely the case. However, when it was placed before him

as

on the table of the tiny parlor, he not only swallowed the condiment though he liked it, but further sacrificed veracity by saying he did so.

"You'm in the cloam trade?" queried his hostess when she had duly acknowledged her guest's commendations.

"Yes," the man replied, "with the Pekin Patent Pottery Company-biggest people in their line in the country. A good berth I have," he added in what seemed an unaccountable outburst of confidence.

"See that now!" exclaimed Mrs. Samble, "an' me just dyin' to get a 'pinion concarnin' this jug -'tis fair providential, as they says up tu chapel."

She stretched out her hand as she spoke, and took from behind the window curtains-where it was placed in view of the street-a gracefully wrought vase of antique shape. Its very simplicity and the purity of its outlines proclaimed its age, and the visitor examined it with interest.

"What might that be worth, now?" the old woman asked. "A friend-by-law o' my sister's, bein' a sailor, fetched it from I-taly."

"Maybe a sovereign," returned the young man. "It looks to be a curious old piece. But I'm only a salesman," he added apologetically, "not a connoisseur."

"I knaws you can't be sure," returned his hostess, making a bold effort to comprehend the last word; "but, though you'm in the cloam trade, I misdoubt you'm noways skilled in it. Mr. Vanholt-a real American gentleman, as is paintin' Jenifer's pictur' he offered me three poundses no furder back nor yesterday for she."

"For the vase?" queried Biddley amazedly.

"Not for the maid," retorted the old woman somewhat tartly; "but what I said to Mr. Vanholt I says to you; I've been 'customed-like to see the jug

there, an' I won't take no money for it, unless so be I can get another the same -cheap."

She looked at Biddley; and Biddley, with something of a smile about the corners of his mouth looked at her. And so for a space there was silence.

"I could," the visitor said slowly at last, "let you have a vase which no one in Treporth could tell from this, for half-a-crown-on one condition."

"If you'd make the pair four shillin'," responded Mrs. Samble, "it might be an order to you."

"We wouldn't quarrel about that," the traveller answered a little impatiently, "provided I had the promise of your good word with your granddaughter."

"Lawks a-mussy!" the old lady cried, her hands going up with simulated astonishment. "Be you after Jenifer, then?"

"I love her, Mrs. Samble," Biddley answered with obvious earnestness; "and if she'll have me, I could make her comfortable as my wife."

"Jenifer will please hers'n," she said; "an' it'll not be me will stand in the way of 'e. But I'll look for a threepenny luck-money off them pair o' jugs."

To which modest proposition the suitor agreed with an outward willingness hardly in keeping with his unexpressed opinion of the old woman's greed.

The vases, however, duly reached Mrs. Samble by parcel post; but no person save the recipient knew of their arrival, for she had specially stipulated that the package should bear no outward indication as to its contents or sender. The reason for this might have been found during the next visit of Mr. Cyrus Vanholt to the old woman. The American was a bright youth of twenty or so, the only son of a rich father, and as such possessed of more money than experience. He was supposed to be

studying art in Europe, and had drifted to Treporth in the track of one of its most advanced exponents.

"I've been a-thinkin'," Mrs. Samble said to him on the day of the arrival of the parcel from Biddley, "that if you could see your way tu six poundses for that jug I wouldn't say but I could do wantin' she."

Vanholt was standing beside the window and took up the vase referred to.

"I reckon you're on top at a deal, Mrs. Samble," he laughed; "but, as I want the thing, and think it real old Etruscan ware, I must pay the price."

He drew a handful of notes and gold carelessly from his pocket, and laid the amount on the table. Jenifer, who was standing by, opened her soft brown eyes in astonishment.

"If you'd come across the pond," remarked the visitor, who was watching her, "I guess you'd find dollars a deal more freely handled than in this old rookery."

"I wonder you stay in it," retorted the girl, stung by the implied reflection upon her native place.

"Can't you guess why?" he returned swiftly; but as she turned away her flushed face without answering, he went on.

"Can you come to the studio now?" he asked in more business-like tones. "I want to get that purple-black tint in your hair, and calculate the light is just right."

Jenifer understood nothing of tints; but to be paid for sitting still was, in her view, much preferable to scrubbing her grandmother's floors for nothing. Therefore she concurred, and the pair went off, Vanholt bearing the vase.

To his surprise, when he performed the wholly unnecessary duty of escorting Jenifer to her home some hours later, another, and identical, vase occupied the place of honor in the window.

"I found un in t' cupboard," Mrs.

Samble explained as she saw him look at it. "You can have she, an' welcome, if you'd like a pair."

For answer the young man drew out his money and paid down the same sum as before; then, carrying the vase, he made his way back to his rooms, meditating deeply. And next day, when he passed Mrs. Samble's window and saw the prototype of his preɣious purchase again there, he smiled knowingly.

"Sure 'nough!" exclaimed Jenifer's grandmother as she ushered Vanholt into the parlor, "tis surprisin' how things be found when a body b'ain't lookin'. See now ef I didn't go fetchin' another of thiccy jugs out o' t' old cloam oven."

"And I guess you're a seller?" queried Vanholt.

"I'm noways anxious," responded the other quickly.

"I'll take it at that," returned the artist; "and I reckon I'd best show my hand, Mrs. Samble," he went on, his face full of boyish eagerness. "I'll take as many of these vases-which are not all Etruscan, I'll bet-and no questions asked, if you'll get Jenifer to marry me."

If Mrs. Samble had had any anticipation of such a declaration, she concealed it well.

"Patience have us!" she exclaimed with astonishment. "You'm not serious, Mr. Vanholt. The maid be no wife for the likes o' you."

"That's my lookout," he retorted. "All I want from you is your good word. I've asked Jenifer, but she sits on the fence-won't say one way or another. You'll do what you can for me, won't you?" he pleaded.

The wooer deemed he had found the old woman's weak spot by his offer to purchase the vases, and was disposed to congratulate himself upon the delicacy with which he had taken advantage of it, whilst refraining from complaining of the trick played upon him.

And certainly Mrs. Samble's attitude strengthened these beliefs.

"Jenifer should be proud, sure 'nough," she said simply, "and if so be as anythin' I say can persuade her tu be made a lady o'-why, in course I'll say it. And, seein' you'm wishful for more o' them jugs, I'll try tu find 'em for 'e. I knows a man as goes that same I-talian v'yage reg'lar-maybe he has some by him."

Thus, for the time being, all parties were satisfied. As Mrs. Samble put it later on to Mrs. Mary Hancock:

"I du believe," she said confidentially, "'tis not onpossible tu find cloam fitty for them artises, for all the ways of 'em be past findin' out. I'll tell 'e the saycret some day, Mrs. Hancock."

It was Biddley who prevented the fulfilment of this neighborly promise. He had willingly supplied one pair of vases at a price below cost for the sake of ingratiating himself with Jenifer's relative; but when the order was repeated weekly-which was the extent to which Mrs. Samble's conscience permitted her, as she herself supposed, to plant them upon the willing Vanholt -the traveller felt his pocket unduly touched, and combined business with pleasure by unexpectedly visiting Treporth, to put the price-matter right and renew his suit.

When he knocked at Mrs. Samble's door it was Jenifer who answered him, and he persuaded her to accompany him into the parlor without calling her grandmother.

"You must know, my dear," he said lightly when they were alone, "what has brought me back. I could not live without seeing you, Jenifer-I really could not. You'll give me a plain answer this time-won't you?" he urged more seriously.

There was a look of her ancient relative about the girl as she answered.

"If you mean whether I'll marry you," she began boldly, "I shall"

He

This was enough for Biddley. tried to pass his arm round her waist; but as she shook herself free the door opened to admit Mrs. Samble, ushering in Vanholt. He had just called, and the old woman, supposing his errand comprised the customary purchase, was talking volubly, regardless of his silence.

"I has another for 'e," she was saying, "an' the ter'ble trouble I've had tu find un you”—

She stopped short, perceiving the other visitor; but her presence of mind did not forsake her.

"Marnin', Mr. Biddley," she resumed after a momentary pause, and with a look of intelligence to which the traveller responded blithely. "You'm come about the jug too, same as this gentleman? But 'tis promised to he, and I never goes back on a promise."

"You are a bit out, Mrs. Samble," Vanholt broke in, with a glance towards Jenifer in which anger and reproach mingled. "I hold stock enough in your goods, and called to tell you so."

The girl stooped to whisper into her relative's ear, and the old woman gripped her hands together in wrath.

"You'm said 'No' tu Mr. Vanholt!" she ejaculated shrilly. "Patience have us! Are 'e 'spectin' the king on his throne tu wed 'e, maid? Are'

It was Biddley who interrupted this outfly of anger.

"Not the king, Mrs. Samble," he said suavely, "but your very humble servant, whom Jenifer has just made happy by promising to marry him. As for the vase, of course I'll take it back willingly, and the others too."

Of the three answers which this speech called forth that of Vanholt was the loudest.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, "so you are the drummer for the imitation Etruscan ware. Of course I knew all but the first were modern; but I didn't

calculate you were in the running for the lady," he added bitterly, "at what must have been a big profit off the thirty dollars each I paid."

"I had no profit," the irate Biddley snapped back. "My price was four shillings a pair."

"An' Jenifer," interpolated Mrs. Samble, simultaneously with the American.

"And not Jenifer," the girl succeeded at last in saying. "When you came in, grannie, with Mr. Vanholt, you interrupted me as I was telling Mr. Biddley here that I shall not marry him. Harry Sponson"-here she colored hotly"that's home on leave from the Thunderbolt, asked me last night, and I said Chambers's Journal.

"I be feared, Mrs. Hancock," said Mrs. Samble next day to her neighbor, "that I can't give 'e that saycret; but I'll tell 'e this much, that them artises doesn't pay big money for cloam and sich-like for itself, but for what they gets by it. I be goin' tu sell no more tu none o' 'em; I've a-gotten my share, and Jenifer, seein' her be makin' a marriage I thinks well on, 'll have my money when I'm gone. So if you, Mrs. Hancock, or the rest in Treporth, likes tu sell old rubbitch tu the artises, you'll not find me in your ways. I allus likes tu be neighborly."

We resume our promenade through the apartment of the Dauphin. We had come to the threshold of the last hall, the one which ought to be called the ante-room of the Revolution. Almost all the portraits which hang here were painted between 1774 and 1789. After that fatal date, the condemned will make their appeal to posterity from higher up,-under the very roof of the Chateau. In order to complete the series, and trace through their subsequent agitations the destinies of these princely children and youth, we must climb to the North and South attics, especially the latter, where are gathered together those who saw and had part in the great Revolution. The visitor is earnestly requested, when he comes out of these rooms, to climb the staircases leading to that limbo which crowns the summit of the royal Cal• Translated for The Living Age.

vary. Up there, and in sundry other parts of the palace-Halls of the Empire, and the Restoration-he will meet again these same youthful faces, under the tragic masks they will subsequently wear. He will be able to trace, in their features, the development of the drama, whose obscure shadow he has already seen brooding above these heads devoted to the avenging gods.

For the present however, and for the convenience of our little talks, we will take no account of the tiring ascent our people will have to make after 1789. We will merely go up into the attics, now and again, for the sequel to some career, begun in the society of the ground-floor.

We left King Louis XV sitting to Drouais, for that portrait of which the lifeless look is that of one already gazing upon nothingness. He was attacked by small-pox at the Trianon but