cost. A handsome pelisse was attainable
at about three guineas—a mantelet at so low
as thirty shillings. At the same time, these
prices were susceptible of startling expansion
—a pelisse of rich satin, or kind known as
Vraye Martre, running up to ten and twenty
guineas. That must have been a day of
storm and trouble when Madame's bill came
in to Monsieur le Baron—when Monsieur
le Baron requested a few moments'
conversation in Madame's private chamber.

Who shall say whether these same St.
Honoré modistes ever came by their money?
Or whether this, with many more accounts,
was wiped off and extinguished for ever in
the great crash then just at hand? At those
great Versailles gatherings, very striking
to the provincial's eyes was the blaze of
diamonds and precious stones; stars, sword-
hilts, shoe-buckles, ear-rings—all reflected
back the snowy light of the royal lustres.
On a few millionnaire fingers were to be seen
rings of inestimable value; and in the ears
of some fermier-général's wife glittered
earrings one thousand guineas in price. On the
Quais de l'Horloge and des Orfevres, and in
Place Dauphine, and in the gay show-rooms
of BÅ“hmer and Bossange (Parisian Hunt and
Roskell), whence was to come forth hereafter
the fatal queen's necklace, all such glittering
treasures abounded plentifully. But in this
scene of dazzling splendours disturbing
doubts suggest themselves. For we are told
that the tiny buckles on beauties' shoes,
scintillating like brilliants, were commonly,
alack! of paste—at best of strass! False,
too, were the bracelets round the snowy
wrists! False, too, the brooch with all its
sprays and pendants! Provincial will admire
lovingly the cunningly wrought chain
attaching Madame's watch to her side; how
shall he learn that this is but another delusion,
being nothing save plain familiar pinchbeck,
costing at most twelve francs. Monsieur
—curiously enough—fancies a steel chain
which stood him no more than three francs!
Here are strange anomalies, significant in
their little way, of the utter rottenness of those
days of impending doom; "beautiful," as
has been nobly written of this same time,
"beautiful, if seen from afar, resplendent
like a sun—seen near at hand, a mere sun's
atmosphere, hiding darkness, a confused
ferment of ruin!" With which false japannery
may be matched the mode of conveyance to
these same royal parties—for such, at least,
as are so poor as to be utterly coachless.
From the Quai d'Orsay, on the evenings of
such festivities set forth coaches holding four
passengers each, who, for the charge of three
francs and a-half, are set down at Versailles
gate. True omnibus mode this of going to
court.

A not unusual toy for ladies' fingers, to be
brought forth and played with in pauses of
conversation or the dance, was the snuff-box,
of a different make and price from those of
gentlemen. In the Rue St. Méry was a
temple known as the Hôtel de Tabac, consecrated
exclusively to the sale of these delicate
trifles. Here were they to be found in
bewildering variety, and of all materials—of
tortoiseshell. gold, silver, mother-of-pearl,
and, strange to say, of a substance known as
cuir d'Irelande, or Irish leather. Ladies'
gold snuff-boxes ran from fifteen to forty
guineas; but a cheaper article, a gilt substitute
at thirty shillings, was found to answer
amazingly well, and had all the look of the
genuine ware. Wonderful, too, were the
shapes and devices of bijouterie to be had on
another story of this same Hôtel de Tabac.
Lacquered almanacs, mounted in gold, golden
garters, screen-canes, canes with golden,
apple tops, golden dice, secret cases for
carrying portraits—(is there not a certain
significance in this item, too?)—with a host
of costly trinkets and clinquillerie, the use
and meaning whereof it would be hard to
divine. It is not written whether it was
here were kept on sale these famous sachets,
the mere wearing of which was supposed to
keep away the stroke of apoplexy.

Nor was evidence of growing Anglomania
wanting, even in such small matters as these.
There were to be had portfolios à l'Angloise,
and in the Rue Notre Dame, a certain
Monsieur Tranchant, traiteur à l'Angloise,
prepared marvels of rosbif and bifteak. One
Materflint, then lodging with a cart-maker in
the Rue du Tour St. Germain, gave lessons
in the English tongue. So, too, did O'Reillii,
who was to be heard of—and truly Celtic
was his choice of abode—at a wine-shop at
the Café Bertheau. But there was a rival
in the field—a compatriot wearing the name
of Reilli—who professed to instruct in English
pronunciation only. How strangely does
this recal one other Irishman—father of the
great Brinsley Sheridan—who went northward
to Edinburgh town with richest of
brogues, and schooled Wedderburn and others
in all the niceties of English pronunciation!

It was perhaps interesting to citizens of
the great republic to know that Jefferson,
as he is written down with stern simplicity,
was to be seen every day at his residence,
Rue Neuve de Berri, near the Grille de
Chaillot. Those, too, who had commissions
for the delicate pencils of Greuze and Boucher
might seek those artists in the Louvre
galleries. There, too, were to be seen Carl
Vanloo and Vernet the marine painter; but
Oudry—Oudry of the graceful brush—was
best met with at his own residence, Hôtel de
Grammont, Rue de Clichi, where many a
pretty paysage and graceful face waited the
finishing touch upon his easel. But it is time
to have done, else we might run on for many
pages to come with more of these Purple
Tints.

Though it was once said that history in
certain hands was little better than an old
almanac—thereby depreciating calendars in