flower which springs where the arch touches earth, is wiser far than one who gives youth, genius, and time to literature. Half the exertion, and a tithe of the talent, would, if directed to another pursuit, win for him, if not 'golden opinions,' yet gold in reality; and what can make life endurable in this world but wealth?"
In the next street the doors of an auction-room stood open, where the articles were on view previous to the morrow's sale; there he resolved to seek amusement. As he entered the clock struck two.
"It will be lonely and dark on the Thames by ten; so I have just eight hours more to live."
The room was filled with all that ingenuity could invent, or luxury wish—all that taste could select, or wealth purchase. The spoils of a palace built and furnished by the most magnificent of misanthropes—the collection of a life—were being dispersed in the caprice of a day. There was the alabaster vase, carved in snow, to which some spell had given stability; small precious cups of onyx and agate, such as might have stood at the right hand of the King and Queen of the Fairies when they had bidden their court to a moonlight banquet. Near was a table of maple-wood, veined like a wrist, but smooth and coloured as pale yellow satin. On it lay an Indian rosary of strung pearls; the fingers of the lovely Brahmin to whom it had once belonged, had left their fragrance on the string. There was a silver salver, over whose shining surface Cellini’s
