are never plucked, and laid up as dry
relics of past delight; yet, alas! this sweet and
tender creature is, in truth, more dumb, selfish,
and merciless, in the presence of any strong, or
noble, or passionate emotion, than would be the
wayworn man or woman it shall one day become,
when the evil world shall have faded its freshness,
tangled the golden strands of its simplicity,
and set its footsteps to a funeral march, tramping
painfully through slough and shade, and
never more to lead the wreathed fandangoes long
left behind in the bowers of that singing paradise.

Poor, homely Miss Davida, ill provided, and
little cared for in her daily life! Poor, hard-
worked, prosaic Monsieur Victor! The little
overflow of tenderness conveyed in the giving
and the wearing of that uncouth garland was
very likely the first snatch of melody which had
sweetened the ever-jarring monotony of their
lives, in spite of all the scrapings of his tenor, and
the pensive pipings of her flute. But of course
the broad caricature of Monsieur Huillier's
bedizened hat and Miss Davida's drooping veil
were the only features of the picture which
touched my fancy. Would they had not done
so. For in the course of that day I was the
unlucky and unwitting means of bringing a hail-
storm of trouble about the ears of the ill-starred
pair, by the vivid remembrance I retained of
their strange appearance. .

It so happened that I was engaged to dine
and spend that lovely May afternoon at
Godpapa Vance's in Meadow-row. Aunt Bella was
unable, as it chanced, to sit and chat with me
that day before dinner in our usual sunny
window-seat, for she was closeted with Tackett
in the lower chamber, where the mysterious
gallipots and pill-boxes were, and where that
ghastly picture of the race-horse Childers stood
planted on its bony legs above the mantelshelf,
taking part in the careful bottling of some
delicate elder-flower syrup, that morning
concocted by Keziah from the Dowager Mrs. Vance's
family receipt-book.

I wandered in and out of the room once or
twice with a sniff and a shudder, for the
Venetian blinds were down, and the cupboards
wide open. I kissed and buzzed about dear
Aunt Bella for a while, and pronounced judgment
on the merits of her clear amber-coloured syrup,
and then I betook me to the drawing-room, where,
lighting on a pencil, and extracting a scrap of
paper from Aunt Bella's writing-book, now only
laid on the table for show, I sat down behind
the china bowl of early pinks, intent on executing
a sketch of that subject dear to every girl-artist
scarce yet in her teens, the "Portrait of a Young
Lady in Ball-dress."

But, somehow, the scene of the morning
recurred to me as I began, and in a twinkling
the curly head and feathers of the "Young
Lady " were transmuted into a likeness of poor
Miss Davida stooping over Hector's neck, with
Monsieur Huillier triumphally wreathed, pacing
at her bridle-rein. I had to begin from the
lady's poke bonnet, pushed backward and
upward, like the keel of a stranded boat, and
showing the thin harsh black hair pulled
straight behind her ears, as no one wore it then.
Next came the round forehead and large out-
looking eyes—Miss Davida's eyes were by no
means ugly, but of course that did not enter
into my conception of the portrait, so I gave
her the eyes of a lobster. I exaggerated, too,
the flatness of her nose, and the slight projection
of her upper front teeth, and then passed
on with masterly strokes to her lank figure,
insisting unduly on its real angularity, and
especially bringing out the long booted foot
projecting below the short habit. So much
importance did I give, in fact, to Miss Davida's
figure, that poor Hector became a sort of mere
after-thought and interloper, and was so
curtailed in the matter of legs, owing to the
shortness of the paper, that he assumed a
painful likeness to a monstrous turnspit-dog,
with the head and mane of a sea-serpent.
Monsieur Victor, too, I well remember,
preceded his lady and her steed, for I was totally
unable to make him occupy his proper place in
the picture, so he was represented as looking
back at her, cocking his Roman nose jauntily in
the air, and theatrically extending his hand
with all five fingers outstretched as in earnest
entreaty, while the garland, on the drawing of
which I lavished great care and pains, fluttered
a yard from his hat.

When the design appeared to me complete, I
put the finishing stroke to it, in order to leave
no possibility of mistake as to the subject, by
printing the names of Miss Davida Tolley and
Monsieur Huillier (mis-spelled, by the way, I
remember) over the heads of the lovers; across
the blurred pencil-marks which stood for the
hedge I scrawled "Staddon-lane;" while from
Monsieur Victor's open mouth proceeded the
touching exclamation, in round hand, "Oh, you
dear!"

I was stopped in a last flourish I was giving
to Hector's tail, by the sound of godpapa's
lame foot on the stairs, so I pushed paper and
pencil into the drawer where Aunt Bella kept
her knitting, and, by the time dinner was over,
had forgotten all about my drawing, and was
standing among the flower-beds of the little
garden, profitably engaged in patting the round
cheeks of the heavy Gueldres roses, to make
the rain-drops left in them by a morning shower
fly out in sparks upon my face and dress.
Suddenly Tackett threw up the drawing-room
window and called me. Wondering at the
summons, I turned unwillingly from my
Gueldres roses, and went slowly up-stairs,
possessed with a misgiving lest godpapa should
have lighted upon some terrible new sea
monstrosity in his walks, and should intend
to honour me with a first sight of it. But far
more appalling than sight of any living creature
that creeps or wriggles among rocks, was
the presence that awaited me. There, behind
Aunt Bella's chair, stood Madame Huillier, one
hand behind her back, the other grasping the
chair, her face flushed, her head trembling,
her black eyebrows twisted into a knot of