ed in a science requiring delicacy of taste,
and skill in manipulation rather than power of muscle, in its practical
application. But after carefully examining the papers tied up in the
same package with his last will and testament, I ceased to wonder, and
sought no further for an explanation.

Most prominent amongst these carefully preserved documents was an old
diploma, granted by the University of Edinburgh, in the year 1821, to
"John Pollexfen, Gent., of Hallicardin, Perthshire," constituting him
Doctor of Medicine. On the back of the diploma, written in a round,
clear hand, I found indorsed as follows:

Fifteen years of my life have I lost by professing modern
quackery. Medicine is not a science, properly so called. It is at
most but an art. He best succeeds who creates his own system.
Each generation adopts its peculiar manual: Sangrado to-day;
Thomson to-morrow; Hahnemann the day after. Surgery advances;
physic is stationary. But chemistry, glorious chemistry, is a
science. Born amid dissolving ruins, and cradled upon rollers of
fire, her step is onward. At her side, as an humble menial,
henceforth shall be found

JOHN POLLEXFEN.

The indorsement bore no date, but it must have been written long before
his immigration to California.

Let us now proceed with the interview between the photographer and his
employee. Repeating the question quickly, "Who gave you the cue?"
demanded Pollexfen.

"My father taught me drawing and painting, but my own taste suggested
the coloring."

"Do you mean to tell me, really, that you taught yourself, Mlle.
Marmont?" and as he said this, the cold, gray eye lit up with unwonted
brilliancy.

"What I say is true," replied the girl, and elevating her own lustrous
eyes, they encountered his own, with a glance quite as steady.

"Let us go into the sunlight, and examine the tints more fully;" and
leading the way they emerged into the sitting-room where customers were
in the habit of awaiting the artist's pleasure.

Here the pictures were again closely scrutinized, but far more
accurately than before; and after fully satisfying his curiosity on the
score of the originality of the penciling, approached Lucile very
closely, and darting his wonderful glance into the depths of her own
eyes, said, after a moment's pause, "You have glorious eyes."

Lucile was about to protest, in a hurried way, against such adu