shadows of night. Despising the omnibus,
we went down Jacob's Ladder, rejoicing and revelling in all the
old-world atmosphere about us, and on our way passed our Antiquarian. He
was still at his doorway, evidently watching for our arrival, and might
have been motionless as a wooden sentry ever since we had left him in
the morning.

The workshop was lighted up, and the old cabinets and the modern
wood-carving looked picturesque and beautiful in the lights and shadows
thrown by the lamps. The son, handsome as an Adonis, was bending over
some delicate carving that he was chiseling, flushed with the success of
his work, yet outwardly strangely quiet and gentle. The cherub we had
seen a morning or two ago at the doorstep ought now to have been in bed
and asleep. Instead of that he was perched upon a table, and with large,
wide-opened blue eyes was gazing with all the innocence and inquiry of
infancy into his father's face, as if he would there read the mystery of
life and creation, which the wondering gaze of early childhood seems for
ever asking.

It was a rare picture. The rift within the lute was out of sight
upstairs, and there was nothing to disturb the harmony of perfection.
The child saw us, and immediately held out his little arms with a
confiding gesture and a crow of delight that would have won over the
sternest misanthropist, as if he recognised us for old friends between
whom there existed a large amount of affection and an excellent
understanding. His father threw down his chisel, and catching him up in
his arms perched him upon his shoulder and ran him up and down the room,
while the little fellow shrieked with happiness. Then both disappeared
up the staircase, the child looking, in all his loveliness, as if he
would ask us to follow--a perfect representation of trust and
contentment, as he felt himself borne upwards, safe and secure from
danger, in the strong arms of his natural protector.

The old man turned to us with a sigh. Was he thinking of his own past
youth, when he, too, was once the principal actor in a counterpart
scene? Or of a day, which could not be very far off, when such a scene
as this and all earthly scenes must for him for ever pass away? Or of
the little rift within the lute? Who could tell?

"So, sirs, you are back once more," was all he remarked. "Have you seen
Roscoff? Was I not right in praising it?"

"You were, indeed," we replied. "It is full of indescribable beauty and
interes