down to this on the subject of keys and their infinite variety of construction. In the Middle Ages locks and keys exercised and disciplined the finest mechanical skill and artistic taste of various ingenious communities. They were not only elaborated for security but for ornament, and nothing made in these modern days can approach those unique productions. Indeed, the artist in iron, steel, and brass set to work upon the lock and key for a city gate, cathedral, or palace door to connect the memory of his name with the edifice for ever; or as a Raphael would sit down to a Madonna which should attract the reverent admiration of ages to come. The artist-mechanic was moved by the same impulse and in the same direction. The religious enthusiasm of the age inspired him with the same devotion to his work, and he threw his whole heart, mind, body, and soul into it. If the great Italian painter presented to the world, his "Assumption of the Virgin," he fixed his eye and heart upward in the wake of the same glory. He with his steel pencils, chisels, and drills would do something in the same line. And he did it. His idea was rude and material, but his sentiment was honest and clear; and let no one of this later age of light blame him for his conception. Such was the thought of a mechanic of Gaul in the dawning light of Christianity in that country, soon after the name of France was born. The sketch of his
