again the picture—the figure of a sad-looking youth, holding the violin, and in whose eyes was a depth of feeling that might have sold the article twice over. A single glance bestowed by the lady effected the purchase. It was not the importunate girl, but rather that little something that so frequently in this world of ours touches a cord in the human heart. A few days later we met this same lady, accompanied by a female friend, in one of the magnificent stores on the Rue de Rivoli. The surroundings were of a character both elegant and attractive, there being a triple range of statuettes, busts, mosaics, and beautiful paintings on canvas and porcelain to charm the eye. Whilst picture after picture was showed by the polite salesman, the following conversation ensued between the ladies:
"Are you in search of any particular thing?"
"No. I was rather beguiled into this place because I happened to think of a little picture I bought a day or two ago on the street—the simplest thing of all my purchases in the space of ten months."
The eager Frenchman, interpreting the meaning, and trusting to the favorable opportunity, presented to their notice an exquisite porcelain type, the subject being a Swiss Lake with snow-capped mountains in the distance, and afterwards an oil painting of Ophelia—so true to the poor distracted girl, that these words involuntarily came to our minds:
"There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of Crow-Flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples."
"Yes!" continued the interested lady, addressing her friend; "It is strange that I never had before an espe-
