daughter a sweet, intelligent child of seven. She was the youngest of the family, and for her the day and night nurseries had been converted into a bedroom and sitting-room. The latter had its little divan, which could be used on occasions as a spare bed for a juvenile friend. Outside the window was a child's garden on a balcony; her own little tools and tiny aquarium were housed near by. The garden was a deep trough of terra-cotta broad enough to allow of a flower-bed being made for red daisies, alyssum, and other tiny plants. By her low chair stood her little work-tub, the copy of her mother's downstairs; a miniature cabinet contained her ornaments, which were of the doll's house order. She had neither doll nor doll's house; she had the reality; she lived in a doll's house herself. Her stone mantelpiece was covered with cloth tightly fitted on, with a border of fancy needlework. There were pieces of needlework of childish fancy, and fairy tales embodied in cushions and chair-backs. Her little bookcase held her story-books and her stamp album, and collection of Christmas cards. A curious Noah's Ark of foreign build made a corner cupboard; the animals, carved in flat pieces of wood, were fastened on outside; Shem, Ham, and Japheth dwelt within. Her little cornices were coloured in imitation of her mother's drawingroom, and her sitting-room papered with a frieze and dado, and otherwise decorated in the style of Queen

S

Anne. It was very childish, very pretty; the idea of love played about its innocent burlesque; it was the drop of sweet oil needed to make the whole polished

steel machinery of Plantagenet Lodge move onward : without this it must have remained a model, only to be looked at behind a glass case.

"Is it then so certain that taste and riches are indissolubly connected? That truth of feeling must ever be preceded by weight of purse, and the eyes be dim for universal and eternal Beauty till they have rested on gilt walls and costly furniture? To the great body of mankind this were heavy news, for, of the thousand, scarcely one is rich, or connected with the rich; nine hundred and ninety-nine have always been poor, and must always be so."-CARLYLE.

ESIDES exercising a splendid hospitality,

which is likewise its privilege, wealth has one great duty to perform towards art-namely, to make velvet-lined cases for its preservation; to keep it bright, clean, and in good condition, that it need no repairs, nor restoration.

A wealthy landowner has the abbey, or other monuments, on his lands to keep sacred in an emerald sward; he acts as dean and chapter to the

I wick Castle has been confided to his care by

that there are such wardens able to give space ntion, and right usage to the heirlooms of the ld! To be able to see them oftener than the rest the world can is but fair payment for the >ponsibility; they are trustees for posterity, and istee-ship is an onerous duty. To buy, amass, nd grow tired of treasures is no fulfilment of this ́ust; to keep them shut up from the world and then ontemptuously to sell them at Christie's or the Hôtel Drouot is no sign of culture; it is treating art as a rich roué of past times treated a ballet-girl he had grown tired of. To treat art with respect is the way to elevate one's soul by its means, and a man should choose his works of art as he would his wife— for her excellence, as well as her beauty.

But the works of art appertaining to great people are mostly not their choice but their heritage; therefore should they maintain their respectability, casting the veil of affection over their deficiencies as one would over those of one's family. The value of such possessions, even when only moderately good, is enhanced by their suitable ordering and maintenance. Let the taste be displayed in this way rather than in

nging it all at one fell swoop for something better