or three old Sèvres cups, as the words go, for a trifle; it was in fact, in days gone by, a first-rate market for the bric-à-brac hunter; and, among other treasures, fine old Louis Quinze clocks were attainable.

Being at the latter place one fine summer's evening with a friend, we strolled through the town, when he purchased for a very small sum, as I own to having judged at the time, two very pretty vases marked with the French horn, or bugle, as purporting to be Chantilly ware. At the moment I envied him his possession; on a closer inspection, however, notwithstanding their beauty, they proved to be modern, and quite unequal to old Chantilly. Indeed, I find I can now obtain any number of them. I refer to these facts, simply to prove how careful a novice should be if he desire to obtain objects worthy of his collection and worth his money. There are dealers in London who are rarely deceived, from long practice and constant experience; but the most clever may make a mistake.

Napoleon never uttered a truer sentiment, viz.,

S

that we were a nation of shopkeepers; and shopkeeping, I regret to say, in this the year 1875, is marvellously easy in the matter of honesty. In a gallant regiment, in which I had the honour of serving under the command of a noble lord,— one of the best officers and kindest of men—the messman once complained that many of the officers had not paid their mess bills regularly; consequently we were called one morning before the colonel-in the presence of the claimant-and thus he was interrogated :—" Has Captain

paid? Yes, my lord." "Has Lieutenant

"Yes, my lord," "Has Cornet?"-"Well, my lord, he owes me a trifle for soda and b-s." "Then why on earth did you request me to bring these gentlemen here?"-"Well, my lord, when I comes face to face with them, I finds it necessary to have a trifle of honour to spare."

In fact, I believe several owed him something, but, when face to face, he gave way to self-interest. Such is the "New Era." I am rambling, my readers will probably say, from the subject of my shop. Not so.

It is a dark and gloomy night in what is generally termed the genial month of May. I am, nevertheless, reposing in a comfortable arm-chair, in company with a true friend and agreeable companion, before a cheerful wood fire-for the early, or, rather, late, spring is intensely cold-in our pleasant apartment in one of the so-called aristocratic streets of a city which, under the Empire, had no rival, alike as to order, beauty, and cheerfulness. Alas! ces beaux jours, at all events for the time being, sont passés. And yet, and yetthe trees on the Champs Elysées, and the Tuileries are still as luxuriant and green; the birds sing as merrily; the children watch with infantine interest the gambols of Punch, and take turns on the roundabout. Nature, in fact, cares little for Empires or Republics. Man alone interferes with God's works, and allows his odious ambition, or thirst for blood or gain, to stain that which he can deface, but never destroy.

"How silent it is to-night," I observed, in a street in which formerly carriages were rattling till dawn. "What is the cause?"

"The cause, I take it," he replied, "is simply that all is more or less changed in this fair city. France lives, or rather exists, under a republic, formerly it luxuriated under an empire. Republicans are not much given to balls and late suppers, I take it; if so, they prefer walking or driving in fiacres; thus the roll of carriages disturbs not the quiet of the night."

Moreover, there are other changes as regards the comfort of man. The gastronomic art, in its own line equal in science to the ceramic art, to which, moreover, I shall show it has great relations, is on the decline; and, I regret to say, French cooking, once so celebrated, with rare exceptions, is defunct. The dinners of days gone by are few and far between, and the restaurants, once so renowned, are now for the most part expensive and indifferent.

Yet, believe me, there is something very imposing, nay agreeable, to a refined mind, in the aspect of a well-arranged dinner-table.

Glass thin and brilliant, silver bright and old, clustering waxlights, ceramic treasures, and exotics -the silent attendants who come and go noiselessly.

The table, in fact, ought to be perfect-the claret cease to be claret, but a libation, and the dining-room airy and charming. The most intellectual, indeed, are subjugated by the influence of such a repast.

For my part, one of the best, if so be the simplest and most agreeable, dinners I ever enjoyed in my life, took place in a small but elegant cottage in one of the most charming spots of which England can boast so many. We sat down only six: host and hostess, three friends and myself, all on terms of more than common friendship and intimacy. The menu was very simple, the centre cut of a crimped Severn salmon, fresh to perfection, rosy and curdy, a cool cucumber, from the frame to the table, a leg of lamb done to perfection, green peas and asparagus, four roast quails, a lobster mayonnaise, and apricot fritters, the windows of the room being open to a small but lovely flower-garden; the oil of the sherry trickling on the glasses, and the aroma of the claret vying with the scent of the roses. But what is all this as connected with the "New Shop"? Simply that