the sea. And now from the cabin emerges a tiny-creature, clad in costly robes of satin, richly embroidered, and stands at the upper end of the plank in the gangway opening, as if in doubt which way to turn or how to proceed. She is not more than four feet in height—slender and graceful of figure. Her lustrous blue-black hair is puffed out at the sides and fashioned into a wonderful rudder-shaped structure behind, supported with gold and silver skewer-like ornaments thrust through it; and her head, guiltless of hat or bonnet, is surmounted by a small wreath of bright-colored artificial flowers. Her face is really pretty—the features being delicately formed—despite the obliquity of the almond-shaped eyes, and the slight projection of the anything but Grecian nose. Her complexion, naturally whiter than that of the common working people of her country, has been so cunningly improved by her maid-servant—who could teach our enamellers and beautifiers the first rudiments of their profession—that she is as fair to look upon as the blonde beauties of our race, and you would hesitate long before you would swear whether the red which tinges her cheeks and lips is real or the work of "high art" in its perfection. Her tunic or sacque is of sky-blue satin, embroidered with flowers in bright-colored silk; her wide, loose trousers of darker blue satin, similarly but more elaborately embroidered; and her dainty little feet are encased in slippers of blue satin, with gold-bullion embroidery and thick white felt soles, with thin bottoms of polished wood. In her hand she holds two fans, with which she endeav-
