of a train or a mistake in time-table, meant an unexpected
opportunity to explore for junk in some old shop, or, perhaps, to
bargain with a pretty peasant girl who hoarded a beloved heirloom, of
entrancing interest to us (and worth a pile of money really), while
she lived happily on cider and cheese!

It is doubtless the experience of every lover of the old and the
curious, that one never regrets the expenses incurred in this quest of
the antique, but one does eternally regret one's economies. The
writer suffers now, after years have elapsed, in some cases, at the
memory of treasures resisted when chanced upon in Russia, Poland,
Hungary, Bohemia--where not! Always one says, "Oh, well, I shall come
back again!" But there are so many "pastures green," and it is often
difficult to retrace one's steps.

Then, too, these fads open our eyes and ears, so that in passing along
a street on foot, in a cab or on a bus, or in glancing through a book,
or, perhaps, in an odd corner of an otherwise colourless town, where
fate has taken us, we find "grist for our mill"--just the right piece
of furniture for the waiting place!

Know what you want, _really want it_, and you will find it some time,
somewhere, somehow!

As a stimulus to beginners in collecting, as well as an illustration
of that perseverance required of every keen collector, we cite the
case of running down an Empire dressing-table.

It was our desire to complete a small collection of Empire furniture
for a suite of rooms, by adding to it as a supplement to the bureau, a
certain type of Empire dressing-table. It is no exaggeration to say
that Paris was dragged for what we wanted--the large well-known
antique shops and the smaller ones of the Latin Quarter being both
ransacked. Time was flying, the date of our sailing was approaching,
and as yet the coveted piece had not been found. Three days before we
left, a fat, red-faced, jolly cabby, after making a vain tour of the
junk shops in his quarter, demanded to know exactly what it was we
sought. When told, he looked triumphant, bade us get into his cab,
lashed his horse and after several rapidly made turns, dashed into an
out-of-the-way street and drew up before a sort of junk store-house,
full of rickety, dusty odds and ends of furniture, presided over by a
stupid old woman who sat outside the door, knitting,--wrapped head and
all in a shawl. We entered and, there, to our immense relief, stood
the dressing table! It w