wound
artistically around the bottles and covered with dust and sand.

On reaching the saloon he went to work with paste and paper to mend some
rents in the tapestry on the wall; and then, after passing nearly half
an hour in brushing his clothes and disguising their threadbare spots
with water and ink, he came back to the table and made preparations for
a task which was still more singular than any he had hitherto been
engaged in. Taking from the drawer a silk thread, an awl, and a bit of
wax, he put his boot on his knees and began to mend the rents in the
leather with the skill of a cobbler! It will readily be supposed that
this odd occupation stirred a variety of emotions in the heart of the
poor gentleman; violent twitches and spasms passed over his face; his
cheeks became red, then deadly pale; till at last, yielding to a
passionate impulse, he cut the silk, threw it on the table, and, with
his hands stretched toward the portraits, cried out, with struggling
passion,--

"Yes! behold me,--behold me,--ye whose noble blood runs in my veins!
You, brave captain, who, fighting at the side of Egmont, at St. Quentin,
gave your life for your country,--you, statesman and ambassador, who,
after the battle of Pavia, rendered such eminent services to the Emperor
Charles,--you, benefactor of your race, who endowed so many hospitals
and churches,--you, proud bishop, who, as priest and scholar, defended
so bravely your faith and your God,--behold me, all of you, not only
from that senseless canvas, but from the bosom of God where you are at
rest! He whom you have seen at the wretched task of mending his boots,
and who devotes his life to the concealment of his poverty,--he is your
descendant, your son! If the gaze of his fellow-men tortures him, before
you at least he is not ashamed of debasing toil! glorious ancestry! you
have fought the foes of your native land with sword and pen; but I,--I
have to contend with unmerited shame and mockery, without a hope of
ultimate triumph or glory; my weary soul sinks under its burden, and the
world has nothing in store for me but scorn and contempt! And, yet, have
I ever stained your noble escutcheon? All that I have done is generous
and honest in the sight of God;--nay, the very fountain-head of my wo is
love and compassion! Yes, yes!--fix your glittering eyes on me;
contemplate me in the abyss of poverty where I am fallen! From the
bottom of that pit I lift my brow boldly toward you, and