Jacob's Ladder. We let our gaze linger and rest upon all the old
familiar points; the quaint gables, the dormer windows in the red, red
roofs; the latticed panes, behind which life must seem less sad and
sorrowful than it really is; the antiquarian and his old curiosities. He
knew we were leaving, and was on the look-out for us. The pale,
spiritual face stood out conspicuously amidst its surroundings: the
spiritual strangely contrasting with the material. The eyes looked into
ours with their sad, dreamy, far-away gaze, so full of the pain and
suffering of life. Behind him stood his Adonis of a son, the flush of
genius making the countenance yet more beautiful. Perched on his
shoulder was the cherub. He held out his arms as soon as he saw us, and
seemed quite ready to go forth with us and, as Catherine would have
said, see the world. Some of the old Louis Quatorze furniture had been
transferred from the seclusion of the monastery to the glitter of the
outer world, and here found a temporary repose.

"You are leaving," said the old antiquarian sadly--but his tones were
always sad. "I am sorry. I am always sorry when anyone leaves who
possesses the true artistic temperament. The town feels more deserted.
There are so many things around us that appeal only to the few. But you
have made quite a long stay amongst us; people generally come one day
and depart the next. And now you are bound for Quimper?"

"Yes. What shall we find there?"

"Much that is interesting; the loveliest church in Brittany; many quaint
and curious houses and perspectives; some things that are better than
Morlaix, but nothing better than our Grande Rue. Brittany has nothing
better than that in its way; nothing so good. Du reste, comparisons
should never be made. But you will find few antiquities in Quimper--and
no old antiquarian," he added with a quiet smile.

"I am under the impression," said H.C., a sensitive flush mantling to
his poetical and expressive eyes, "that some of these good people are
mistaking us for dealers in curiosities, and fancy that this is our
object in travelling."

[Illustration: QUIMPER.]

"What would your aunt, Lady Maria, say to her nephew's being so
degraded?" we asked.

"She would diminish her supply of crystallised violets," he returned.
"You know she lives by weight--Apothecaries' Weight--and measures
everything she takes. She would put a few grains less into the balance,
and incense her rooms."

All the same, I