the Prussian guns had spared. But though the headquarters of the Commune were in Paris, it had its supporters in other places, and especially in the towns situated on the banks of the Seine, between Paris and Havre de Grâce. In all these places its emissaries were active in seeking to persuade the poor, debased, and ignorant among the population to join its ranks.

And now Lucien Pierrot was again seen in Honfleur. He had at length worn out the patience of his father, whose eyes had become opened to his son's delinquencies, and, for the time being, the young man was paternally discarded. It was said that, out of spite, to annoy his father and gratify his own evil propensities, Lucien had leagued himself with the Commune, and had become one of the most active among its minor leaders. At all events, he was constantly to be found busily disseminating its atrocious doctrines; but persons who professed to be better informed in the matter than others, declared that Lucien Pierrot was in reality a paid government spy.

It was at this period that Antoine again came home from sea. He had been absent longer than usual, but had made a profitable Voyage to various ports in his own lugger. Moreover, shortly before her husband's return, Madeleine had given birth to a son, which delighted the heart of the worthy young sailor. Little did he or the people of his native village trouble themselves about the Commune; probably few among them knew the meaning of the word; and so long as they were healthy and prosperous, it concerned them little whether France was an Empire or a Republic.

On the first day of his return, Antoine was seated, in the evening, opposite his happy young wife-now so proud of her maternity-in their snug little cottage, with the infant sleeping quietly in his cradle between them. Antoine had related the events of his voyage, and Madeleine was acquainting her husband with all that had occurred in the village during his absence, when suddenly rising from her chair, she approached a buffet, and took from a drawer a letter bearing the Paris postmark, which she presented to her husband. In my joy at seeing thee again at home, my Antoine,' she said, smiling, 'I had well nigh forgotten this letter, which I received a fortnight ago.'

Antoine took the letter from his wife's hand. It was rather a strange and suspicious-looking document-so at least thought the young fisherman. It was weighty, and bore a huge red seal, which was unbroken.

'Thou hast not opened it, my Madeleine,' said Antoine, who had rarely before in the course of his life had a letter addressed to him, and who looked upon it with something like alarm in the expression of his countenance.

Nay, my husband. It is directed to thee,' said Madeleine. I had no right to open it without thy permission.'

But thou knowest I cannot read,' said Antoine. This was true; the young fisher-lads had to work from so early an age that few of them could read or write. The girls were, as before remarked, better educated.

'If thou wilt, I will read it for thee,' Madeleine replied.

The portentous seal was broken, and when the

letter was unfolded, a piece of folded parchment fell from it on to the table.

Madeleine proceeded to read the letter aloud. It was nothing very alarming after all. It was written by an avocat in Paris, who informed Antoine, that through the decease of one Marie Lupin, at the advanced age of eighty-nine, he had inherited the sum of fifteen thousand francs, bequeathed by will to her grand-nephew Antoine Duroc, by the aforesaid Marie Lupin; and that it was desirable that he, Antoine Duroc, should come to Paris at an early day to receive the money, which was in the hands of the avocat.

'Fifteen thousand francs! It is quite a fortune, my husband,' cried Madeleine, laying the letter aside, and opening and reading the inclosure, which was merely a copy of the will. 'Our little Antoine will some day be a rich man,' she added, glancing lovingly at the sleeping infant.

'Marie Lupin!' exclaimed Antoine. 'It must be my old aunt Marie, whom I have never seen in my life! It is strange that she should leave me anything. Only think, my Madeleine, fifteen thousand francs!'

'But must thou go to Paris, Antoine, and thou but just returned to me?'

"Twill occupy but a few days, ma petite,' replied Antoine, who had never visited Paris, and though loath to leave his young wife even for a day, was pleased with the idea of seeing the great city.

'But just now, Antoine, when 'tis said there is such dreadful trouble in Paris?'

'It will not concern me, Madeleine. I shall return to thee as soon as I have received the legacy.'

Madeleine was much troubled; but it appeared necessary that her husband should do as the avocat requested, and she thought it would be wrong on her part to object to Antoine's undertaking the journey.

Two or three days afterwards, the cargo having been discharged from the lugger, and sold by auction in the fish-market, and the vessel having been left in charge of the mate, Antoine set forth for Paris by railroad, his wife, up to the moment of his departure, entreating him to take great care of himself, and to hasten back to her as soon as possible.

By this time the Commune had nearly run its destructive course. The newly established Republican government, with M. Thiers at its head, had been terribly frightened at the excesses of the Communists, and had resorted to dreadfully severe measures for their suppression. To be suspected was to be denounced and condemned; the government spies were active, and it was said that many innocent persons were punished along with the guilty. Lucien Pierrot, who had been on a visit to Honfleur, chanced to return to Paris on the same day on which Antoine took his seat in a railway carriage for the first time in his life-Lucien travelling by the same train. Unobserved by either, he had witnessed the parting between Madeleine and her husband, and wondered greatly what was the object of the young fisherman's visit to the capital.

To Antoine, Lucien was a perfect stranger; but Lucien would have recognised the features of the young fisherman even if he had not

witnessed the parting scene between the husband and wife. Burning with a desire for revenge, he resolved to keep watch over the young man on his arrival in Paris, and if any opportunity for wreaking vengeance upon him should present itself, to take advantage thereof.

The train duly arrived at Paris; and the two young men passed out of the depôt, Lucien following close behind Antoine. He observed the young fisherman apparently asking directions, as a stranger, from several persons whom he met; and saw him, after he had wandered about for some time, looking around him with the wondering air of a provincial who has visited a great capital for the first time. Finally he tracked him to the bureau of an avocat in the Rue du Faubourg St-Antoine. Wondering more than ever what could have brought the young fisherman thither, Lucien remained on the watch till Antoine, in the course of half an hour, reappeared, accompanied by a clerk, who conducted him to a small hotel near by, to which he had been recommended by the avocat.

It was already late in the day; and believing that the object of his animosity was safely housed for the night, Lucien left the spot and went about his own affairs; but at an early hour next morning he stood opposite the hotel, and waited for the unsuspecting Antoine. Nor had he long to wait, for presently the young fisherman sallied forth, and proceeded direct to the bureau, which he shortly afterwards left, apparently well satisfied with the result of his second interview with the lawyer.

Anxious as was Antoine to return home to his wife and child, he would have been something more than mortal if he could have resisted the temptation to look around him in the great capital which he had now visited for the first time. He decided to spend the day in roaming about the city and looking at the grand shops, which displayed treasures such as he had never imagined to exist in the world, and in purchasing some trifling presents for Madeleine and his little Antoine, ere setting forth on his return to Honfleur early the next morning.

ECONOMICAL DECORATION.

BY THE MOTHER OF A FAMILY.'

In my former paper on the subject of household decoration which appeared in this Journal (No. 904), I endeavoured to give a few practical hints as to the rejuvenating of old and shabby furniture, and the manufacturing out of trifling materials some of those minor articles of ornament which are certainly not indispensable to the comfort of a room, while they add considerably to its appearance and artistic effect. Since writing that paper, I have been fortunate in one or two further efforts in the ornamental decoration of my drawing-room; and as all has been done in the leisure-time of a 'mother' who has three active little boys to make, mend, and knit for, I trust that many of the young people who sigh enviously for pretty things, and bemoan their hard lot in not having money enough to purchase them, may be induced to try and make for themselves, at very little cost or trouble, many of the dainty trifles which they covet.

Nearly every household in this æsthetic age possesses at least one member who can paint a little in oil-colours. One day the idea occurred to me that, instead of the difficult, troublesome, and expensive process of china or enamel painting, it might be fairly successful if oils were tried for the same purpose. I at once experimented on a pair of ordinary white-ware dinner-plates. On one I painted a large blue iris, on the other a branch of vivid scarlet hollyhocks. They were a great success; so I painted several others in the same way, choosing large bold flowers for my subjects. I also painted a pair of oblong breakfast dishes, with rocks, dashing spray, and a boat or two in the distance. The margin of those dishes I carefully painted over with gold ink, giving them three coats; and now those commonware dishes form prominent ornaments on the top shelf of the over-mantel, which is described afterwards. On the rims of the plates I glued dark ruby velveteen, which was cut to fit them accurately, and after being wired, they now hang on the walls; and no one suspects their lowly origin.

After so triumphant a sequel to my trials, I naturally became more ambitious, and bought several proper plaques, on which I painted either a pretty landscape without much detail, or a bit of sea scenery. I have been lucky enough to meet with a joiner who enters into my decorative ideas with great shrewdness; and he, for a very small sum, made circular wooden frames, which I covered with velveteen; then fastened the plaques securely into their new receptacle by means of pieces of wood glued on, or small nails hammered into the wood so as to retain the plate in its proper position; while a circular piece of brown paper glued over the back forms a discreet cover to the workmanship. An ordinary picture-ring screwed into the frame suffices to hang it up; and thus is formed a handsome ornament, and tangible proof that money is not always requisite to produce what is gratifying to our love of the beautiful. I may say that I use ordinary boiled linseed oil-two-pennyworth from any chemist's will last for months-or copal varnish-one shilling per bottle at any oil-colour shop-as medium for plaque-painting; and when once dry, thoroughly dry, they may be washed with perfect safety with warm water and a sponge. Vandyke brown is a slow drier; but a little sugar-of-lead, a very few drops added to the medium, will be found to dry much more quickly.

As few people have either time, means, or patience to expend on enamel-colouring, to them I commend oil-painting on china. Each frame requires half a yard of velvet or velveteen ; the wood must be laid on the velvet, which is cut three or four inches larger, in order to allow for covering the sides and on to the back; a circular piece is then cut out rather smaller than the frame, to enable the 'rabbit,' or interior edge of the frame, to be deftly concealed. I cannot here enter into any further minute details as to the home manufacture of plaques and their frames; suffice it to say that ordinary glue, not too thick, must be applied to a thoroughly warmed wood; then a free use of a pair of sharp scissors here and there at the sides and back, prevents any unseemly crinkling. The front is necessarily perfectly smooth, and easily laid on.

red on several occasions by informing my visitors that 'Mother made my hoop into that bird's nest.' I covered the hoop with a coarse brown wrapper, bought at a draper's shop for a few pence, then scattered the twigs all over. I tacked them on with twine, to keep them in their places, and made an imitation nest of cotton-wool and feathers, which I carefully glued on in the centre of the screen. Our hens at this juncture kindly laid two or three very tiny eggs, which were brought to me in triumph by busy little fingers, and completed our screen by becoming the inmates of the nest. It is a most useful ornament; for as we always have a 'cold' fire laid, the screen can be removed in a moment; when by the application of a match, a cheerful fire speedily diffuses a warmth and ruddy glow, very acceptable in this fickle climate of ours.

For some time I have had a vague idea floating in my head as to door-panels; but my space for the nonce is quite exhausted, and all further talks about economical decoration must be deferred. My end will have been amply achieved if I have induced any one to try for herself how very readily the simplest materials may be utilised to form articles tasteful and pleasing for one's home and family. Truly, there are trials and sorrows enough in the world, and if we can add to its pleasures and gratifications, is it not worth one's while to try?

A PILGRIMAGE TO CHEOPS' TOMB. THE re-awakening of a general interest in Egypt, occasioned by M. Maspero's great discovery at Thebes, in conjunction with the recent unfortunate disturbances that have taken place, may serve as apology for adding anything, however small, to the already voluminous literature on the country of the Nile. We shall endeavour to give an account of a day's drive, under the glorious blue of an Egyptian winter sky, to the monuments that stand on the limestone platform

of Gizeh.

We have had our first peep at the Pyramids from the walls of the Citadel of Cairo; and have

had the same sensations that

every traveller experiences when he looks for the first time across the dirty and odorous city to the narrow strip of green, bright with early-springing corn, which constitutes arable Egypt; and beyond this to the dreary sand-waste, where the eye rests upon the pyramids that loom out of the far haze of the Libyan Desert. In order to have a nearer view of these monumental antiquities, we left Cairo in the early morning of a brilliant day, sweeping out in carriage and pair, with saïs or runner in cleanest of linen garments and richest of embroidered vests, to warn the unwary foot-passenger out of the path of our august progress; over the iron bridge, and along the road which was constructed for the convenience of our Prince and Princess of Wales when they paid their visit to the Pyramids. It is a shady road, with trees well and regularly planted, shutting out a portion of the hot sunshine. It is at times hard work for our poor horses; but the Egyptian driver does not spare the whip; and the wheels

drag heavily through the deep sand, which in places has drifted up over the road from the surrounding desert.

We have been pursued for over a mile by two lithe Arabs, who were picketed at an outpost, to obtain the earliest possible intelligence of the arrival of the legitimate prey of the desert-the Englishman. They are clean enough, these two men, their white linen tunics and trousers almost spotless; how they keep them so, does not appear, for their homes are no better than pigsties. They have been trying all the way along to do a little business in curios of suspicious genuineness, producing scarabai and ostrides of undoubted Birmingham stamp from mysterious depths in their tunics, and pressing us to buy; but we are on our guard, and we mention the word Brummagem,' which is quickly understood, though the innuendo is slily deprecated by the grinning Arabs.

6

Our carriage is at length fast in the sand, so we are compelled to walk the few hundred yards that lie between us and the base of Cheops' great building. Our troubles now begin in real earnest. The birds are gathering thick around their prey. They are swooping down, the halt, the blind, and the lame, over that sandy hill, from the village which lies dirty, dog-infested, and sunbaked almost at the foot of the Big Pyramid. There are fully thirty Arabs about us now, clamouring, voluble and demonstrative, and the cry is still, they come.' One yells that he is the man to take us into the most hidden chamber, Cheops or any one else ever built-he is indeed ready for anything. Another shouts that he is prepared to run up and down as many pyramids as lie within reach in as many minutes as we choose to name. A constant amount of goodnot the right man, sar; Him let you go, and natured chaff goes on amongst themselves.-Him you fall;' 'Him afraid to go up, sar'-and so on, and so on; this all screamed at the highest pitch of the shrill Arab voice; while beneath this upper stratum of uproar is an under-current, steady and ceaseless in its flow, of demands for backsheesh. A few days will serve to steel a very Wilberforce against the begging of the people.

As a fact, from the moment of one's leaving one's hotel until one's return, the demand for charity never ceases. Money, money, money! We have heard from a group of little naked urchins, who sat far away from the public highway in the middle of a field, cries of Backsheesh, sheesh, backsheesh!' when there existed not the smallest probability of our stopping the carriage and satisfying their craving for coin; nor did they appear to expect that we should, for they remained sitting where they were, screaming to us from mere habit. Sir Gardner Wilkinson has suggested that this is merely the Egyptian's mode of wishing a 'good-day;' but we question whether any traveller will subscribe to this opinion after experience.

Another hundred yards, and the Pyramids tower dark and massive above us with their multitudinous steps, which fatigue the eye to count. Now, we are wading ankle-deep in sand, pushed and pulled hither and thither by a clamouring, bargain-driving mob of swarthy Arabs; and are half maddened by the heat of the fierce sun and the demands for backsheesh, till we long