ne end, where a gallery
ran straight across and then curved around the whole room, hooping it in
like a horseshoe. In front of the straight gallery ran a row of stone
pillars--tall, large, and shiny as glass--spotted, too, like the
leopards in a show, and towering up like the pillars in Solomon's
Temple, which the Queen of Sheba travelled so far to examine. The idea
that she took all that trouble to get acquainted with Solomon, is just
ridiculous. Why, it would have taken the hymeneal monarch a whole
lifetime to have introduced her to his family in a decorous way.
Besides, if he provided for his own household out of the government,
only think how busy he must have been in finding places for the
relations of all his wives! No doubt he let the Queen of Sheba see his
Temple, and left her to be entertained by two or three hundred of his
wives. Not being a ladies' man, what more could he do?

Well, as Cousin Dempster says, I do sometimes let my pen run away with
me; but when it turns toward the Scriptural history of my sex, I let it
run.

XLV.

RANDOLPH ROGERS' BRONZE DOORS.

"Well," says I to Cousin D., "what room do you call this?"

"Oh, this is the old House," says he.

The old house! Sisters, there are times when I think Dempster is beside
himself. I did not deign to answer him, except with a look that would
have stopped the sap running from a young maple in the brightest April
day you ever saw. He didn't seem to mind it, though, but went on as if I
hadn't pierced him with my eyes.

"These doors," says he, swinging back the half of a door that seemed to
be made of brass and gold and powdered green-stone pounded together, and
cut into the most lovely pictures that you ever set eyes on--"these
doors open to the new House. They are by Rogers, and cost thirty
thousand dollars."

"Thirty thousand dollars for these two doors, Cousin Dempster! I have
just been a-wondering if you were crazy, and now I know you are."

"Upon my word," says he, "that is just what they cost."

"What! thirty thousand dollars?"

"Thirty thousand dollars."

I bent forward, and looked at the door--close. It was sunk deep into
squares, and each square had a picture of men and women that seemed to
be busy at something.

"What is it all about?" says I.

"Every picture is taken from something connected with the history of our
country," says he.

"You don't say so," says I. "Who did you say made them all?"

"Mr. Rogers, a sculpt