Well, we are doomed to progress, and must resign ourselves to the sad necessity. My anglicised nose would perhaps turn up in disgust at the haunts of my youth.

Ah, dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans,

sings Béranger: one can't go back to the twenty years or the garret, but one may linger on the recollections of the past-so morally bright, so physically dingy. My brother was studying painting in Paris, and inhabited a very small bedroom and a very large study in the Rue de la Harpe, and on all red-letter days (saintly, scholastic, or political) he regularly plodded across the entire length of Paris to fetch me at my school-an arrangement made by our friends at home, not at all in accordance with my governess's rigid sense of propriety. In summer we took little railway excursions to Meudon, Ville d'Avray, St. Germains, &c., when our invariable proceeding was to dip at once into the most secluded part of the wood or park and stretch ourselves full length upon the grass in the shade. Will drew from his pocket a book or two, some delicious sentimental volume forbidden to us school-girls,* and I removed the cover from my little basket of "brioches" and grapes, or cherries, and so we feasted for hours body and mind, laughing jolly peals, or weeping delightful tears over the pages, or dreamily watching the light glancing across the foliage, the hare rushing through the long ferns, or the butterfly. dancing here and there on the wild flowers. So would pass our summer holiday. But in winter, or in bad weather, or when our funds were low, we only walked back to Will's lodging, which appeared to me the most charming, the most wonderful, the most unschool-like place in the world, which latter commendation it certainly deserved. On our road we invested four sous in a litre of chesnuts, then went into the porter's lodge to take the key from amongst some twenty hanging there, all belonging to different locataires, and presided over by Madame Babois, a fat old Frenchwoman, with a figure like a pillow tied round the middle, who sat continually by the fireside, with her feet on a chaûfferette, paring vegetables, and tending the huge "pot au feu" hanging in the chimney. Madame Babois had a most agreeable face, enlivened by black eyes still brilliant, and surmounted by a red handkerchief, which almost concealed her silver-grey hair. And here I would remark how rare it is to find an old Frenchwoman with false fronts or wigs, or destitute of matronly covering. What we call their taste in dress is, in reality, their sense of propriety, which keeps the old venerable and the young simple, and the servant the neatest of handmaidens, never the vulgarised parody of her mistress. When I stepped in to wish madame the good day, she would exclaim:

“Ah la petite mère, vous voilà, et ce pauvre frère est-il heureux done! tenez il est bon sujet monsieur votre frère-oui." And she would nød her head and go on saying, "Oui, il est bon sujet," whilst we were scrambling up the six flights of stairs which led to the garret, the room next the skies, consecrated naturally enough to art.

Walk in: there is nothing to wipe your shoes on, and no carpet to dirty when you are within. It is a very high room, and lit only by a

*Such as Lamartine's Jocelyn, or a novel of Captain Marryat's.

skylight, which at once distinguishes it from ordinary abodes. The walls, painted dull grey, are covered almost entirely with sketches and studies, in which is conspicuous that early ambition for high art which brightens the opening career of so many artists who have yet to learn it may yield dreams, but not bread. Across the high fireplace, where is never fire lighted, is draped a piece of antique tapestry, which some Jew gammoned Will into buying at three times its value, and a few casts-good subjects, but generally mutilated-stand up ghost-like amongst the most unpoetic and common-place of household requirements. In the middle of the room is placed a great stove, with tubes, like a giant's rusty armour, elbowing up through the roof-a most uncouth-looking object, which gives out a furnace-like heat.

Chairs are very scarce and superlatively shabby; but there is a huge -dare I call it by so elegant a name as ottoman? on which everybody lounges, and where I am perched up to pose for the different females of the before-mentioned sketches. An old oak chest, with only one carved corner left intact, serves as a table when we have anything to eat, but, oftener still, it groans under the kicks of Will, who sits astride upon it. The amount of dust collected was not surprising, when one was made aware that only once in the year was Madame Babois admitted armed with broom, pail, &c. And then the peculiar smell, the varnish, the paint, the seediness, the smoke, stale and fresh! And, more peculiar still, were Will's chums, who were continually dropping in, mostly in blouses, always in beards and smoking-caps, always with some length of pipe (which, however, they smoked only with my permission), always dirty in person, always polished in address. Towards evening, especially, they would assemble round the stove, the tube of which grew red-hot, and looked grimmer than ever in the twilight. They would roast chesnuts, talk excitedly, and drink Will's English tea out of glass tumblers, for there were but two cups and saucers. Oh, my poor schoolmistress! she

would have fainted had she seen me (if, indeed, she could have seen me through the tobacco-smoke) listening eagerly and delightedly to the wild talk of these madcap fellows, and yet in few societies could I have learnt less harm. I doubt whether I am more edified now by the scurrilities of that pink of propriety Mrs. B., or the affectations of that finished prude Mrs. A., though the drawing-room smells of roses, and the solemn butler hands round the china teacups on a silver waiter. It is true nearly all the students made love to me with more or less ardour, but it was in the most respectful chivalrous fashion; besides, what could a body of admirers do in each other's presence beyond burning their fingers to secure me the finest chesnuts, or kissing a glove I chanced to drop, or squeezing a paper of rhapsodical verses into my hand, in which I was invariably addressed as "charmante fille d'Albion," and which I communicated in confidence to my bosom school friend on my return to prison at night. Many of them were foreigners, and would detail customs of their native land, but more often the conversation turned on painting, to which they were devoted, with all the earnestness of enthusiastic youth, deifying their favourite masters, secretly resolving to be 'masters too in a year or so, and throwing all prudential considerations to the winds, Are they any truer, I wonder, their present views of art, now that their youthful fire is extinguished, and the world has taught them the hard lessons of experience?

This much I know, that one only of that young band of art-heroes has made himself a name! A man is not born an artist, though he may be born of the right stuff to make one; and how few have the means, the patience, the industry, to work out the promise of their early years!

I

I

1.

One Sunday that my brother had been to meet me after morning service, we found, on our arrival in the Quartier Latin, that our united purses would not furnish us with a dinner. His quarterly remittance from home was due the next day, and mine was nearly exhausted in the purchase of a birthday present. I burst out laughing as the very small tin coins rattled on the old chest, but Will looked quite grave: " "Really, Nelly, it's no joke I am hungry." "So am I," I replied, laughing still louder, "or there would be nothing funny in it. It is so absurd to be so poor. But come, have you nothing in your cupboard? Here is coffee in a tin-here is at least half a yard of bread-and what here? Confitures de cerises. Now, if there is a good in the world it is cherry preserve. How could you complain of hunger with such a feast provided ?" "Hum!" growled Will; it may be a feast for ayschool-girl, but a man requires something better than jam for his dinner, so I shall go and explore for food." He took the little yellowwhite pieces and ran down stairs, singing, as he went on stom

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גי

01 dieg zahlt Bonjour, belle Aspasie, comment, vous portez-vous ? 300 AL Je me porte à merveille, mais je suis sans le sou.g-guiend s

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Left alone, I sauntered about the room, turning round the canvases and drawing-boards which showed their backs to the public, reading the " various notices and addresses scratched on the wall with chalk or char-" 255107 9112 518 coal-the Quartier Latin style of leaving cards.

Poor Will was as innocent as possible of any aristocratic airs, but they all called him "My lor," after vain attempts to pronounce his name, or make him answer to the uncomplimentary" Vil," which was supposed to be his baptismal cognomen.

I was continuing my survey when a sharp knock, was heard at the door, and without waiting for further permission a man walked in, starting a little at sight of me. He wore a slouched hat, under whose brim shone a pair of large grey eyes, which would have appeared prominent but for the overhanging shadow of his bushy eyebrows. Large regular features terminated in a fine black beard, and his tall form was enveloped in an ample cloak, worn picturesquely yet not affectedly. I at once recognised in him the original of Will's sketch of the romantic, melancholy Master of Ravenswood, but as he doffed his beaver with grave courtesy, I was somewhat disappointed to observe that his hair was grizzled, and wrinkles were forming on his forehead. To my sixteen years old judgment he seemed an old man; he was really in the prime of life, though much the senior of Will's other companions, and his few grey hairs disenchanted me considerably.

1

"

"The sister of my friend, I presume?" he said. "May I introduce myself to her as Rudolf Meyer, a very sincere friend of her bro

ther ?"

He spoke in English, with no foreign accent, but that extreme precision and freedom from idiom which give so much elegance to the speech of well-educated strangers. I explained that my brother was

טי

absent only for a few minutes, and made a pretence of looking at a sketch-book, but having once ventured to raise my eyes to his face, met so penetrating a gaze fixed on mine, that I bent down again instantly in great confusion. A few satirical remarks on my brother's paintings soon aroused my interest, and made me defend him with as much animation as ignorance (doubtless) against the satire of his friend. Though I had begun by wishing earnestly for Will's return, he at length entered without my even perceiving him, as I was boldly pronouncing on the good drawing of some impossible figure in one of his designs. odo bic 91 Do balties enig m Ah, Will, good day to you. I cannot persuade your sister that you are not a genius."

2.

"

Բ

"

tour ad btwoë 919.1 16" gabgol llite "Of course not. If you could, of what value would she be as a sister?" bigid te bune ad try to i 99d-nic iftor And Will went to deposit his purchases in the cupboard. Meyer followed him and whispered something in his ear, which made him start and look hastily round at me. His friend frowned, and put up his. finger to enjoin caution. I thought that Meyer certainly had a terribly sinister expression. They whispered again, he looking still more sombrei and Will more confused, till I began to feel uncomfortably sure of something going wrong. In a few moments my brother came to where I still sat turning over the sketch-book: “I am expecting a fellow on a little business, and as he is rather a rough cove, and just as likely to be drunk as sober, would you mind waiting in my bedroom for a few minutes?" Of s?" Of course I could only assent, and as I sat in the little untidy room, I heard the heavy tread of some man in wooden shoes, and the voices of Will and his friend cautioning him to beware of something."Bah!" replied a rough voice," she can't feel, you know!" and there was a brutal laugh, unechoed by Will and Meyer. Then I heard. the pecul slam of the lid of the old chest, the wooden shoes went clattering down the stairs, and I was recalled into the painting-room. Mechanically I looked towards the chest, and as I did so the friends exchanged significant glances. སྙན # 3m Ex 100 "Mademoiselle thinks there is some great mystery," said Meyer; "what a pity we cannot invent t one for her benefit; as it is, I really must enlighten her, for I know feminine curiosity is a most painful disti ease. The fact is, I have driven a bargain for your brother, and purchased for his consumption a great sack of potatoes.

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And deposited them in here. Seeing is believing," said I, about to lift up the lid of the chest but Will, with a scream as of terror, threw in himself upon it, seriously begging me not to open it, and I heard his friend mutter, Ah, quel enfant!' but as I turned towards him he only smiled in the same grave way as before, exclaiming, Bravo! faith without sight, he will be believed.' -1, 77 ↑,

6

"Nay," I answered, warmly, "Will has not spoken. There is no call for faith h in his words. It was your assertion, not his."

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And, indeed," broke in Will," as a general rule never believe Meyer without proof, for his talent for story-telling is his only supportable, it qualification. He must spin us a yarn this evening. And now for some food. I am ravenous. Don't go, Meyer." "Thank you, I have just dined."

"So much the better for you and for us also, I assure you; but we shall not be long, and you can sip a cup of coffee with us."

As usual, I was proceeding to set the provisions on the chest, but before I had accomplished my intention Will had brought in the table from his bedroom, as being more civilised than a box, and for some reason I could not fathom, Meyer again indulged in one of his sardonic laughs. I felt half afraid of him: never was face so sombre, never was laugh so joyless beyond the precincts of a melodrama; he looked like my brother's evil spirit; the Tempter in "Faust," or Bertram in "Robert the Devil." When he took upon himself to brew the coffee, I declare he came out so weird-like, as the blue flame of the spirit-lamp flickered over his dark features, that I should not have been surprised had he suddenly vanished through the brick floor in the midst of some ghostly explosion. But he did not; he sat down, ate and drank like any other mortal in the Quartier Latin.

Will had done wonders with the tin coins; he produced a pat of fresh butter, some hard-boiled eggs-crimson and white,--and a bunch of radishes. The coffee was excellent; so were the preserved cherries; the only mistake was calling the meal dinner; and why should we be bound by such trivial conventionalities? Why might not a dinner consist as well of coffee and eggs as of soup, flesh, pastry, &c., if such suited the taste or purse of the consumers? We discussed the question merrily, and ate with better appetite than many a smart company at that moment assembled over their legitimate three courses and wines to correspond. Meyer scarcely smiled himself, but he furnished wit enough to keep us continually laughing, till at length, our meal ended, we turned our backs to the table, our feet towards the stove, and Will took down his meerschaum from the mantelpiece.

"Does mademoiselle allow that?" asked Meyer, producing at the same time a similar article from his pocket. I consented, and the two chatted in that quiet way in which conversations are carried on where the words drop gently from one corner of the mouth, whilst the other emits still more gentle clouds of smoke. I did not notice much of what they said, for, in spite of myself, my thoughts would run upon the mysterious errand of the wooden-shod peasant, and I could not get rid of the idea that there was mischief in the large keen eye of the older man, the more so when I heard my brother call him "doctor." Doctor of necromancy, or some sort of black art, most surely, thought I, and my brother, with his fair Saxon face and open countenance, seemed the fit pupil or victim of the crafty black-bearded master. Suddenly I heard Meyer observe, "That reminds me of something which happened to me years ago," and I listened, perceiving that a story was coming.

"I was studying medicine at Montpellier. We had for lecturer an old doctor, who determined to work reformation in the students in every way, and began by holding his 'cours' at seven o'clock in the morning, to prevent, if possible, our holding our orgies overnight. It had the effect of prolonging them, and most of us only went to bed when the lecture was over, by which also I am afraid we profited less than the poor industrious old doctor deserved.

"On one occasion it was my turn to prepare the subject for the next