repositories, whence they are not likely to be drawn forth at an ordinary summons; though, if a gentleman with a competently long purse should call for them, I doubt not that the signet-ring of Joseph’s friend Pharaoh, or the Duke of Alva’s leading-staff, or the dagger that killed the Duke of Buckingham, or any other almost incredible thing, might make its appearance.  Gold snuff-boxes, antique gems, jewelled goblets, Venetian wine-glasses, (which burst when poison is poured into them, and therefore must not be used for modern wine-drinking,) jasper-handled knives, painted Sevres teacups,—­in short, there are all sorts of things that a virtuoso ransacks the world to discover.

It would be easier to spend a hundred pounds in Mr. Redfern’s shop than to keep it in one’s pocket; but, for my part, I contented myself with buying a little old spoon of silver-gilt, and fantastically shaped, and got it at all the more reasonable rate because there happened to be no legend attached to it.  I could supply any deficiency of that kind at much less expense than re-gilding the spoon!

* * * * *

LYRICS OF THE STREET.

III.

THE CHARITABLE VISITOR.

  She carries no flag of fashion, her clothes are but passing plain,
  Though she comes from a city palace all jubilant with her reign. 
  She threads a bewildering alley, with ashes and dust thrown out,
  And fighting and cursing children, who mock as she moves about.

  Why walk you this way, my lady, in the snow and slippery ice? 
  These are not the shrines of virtue,—­here misery lives, and vice: 
  Rum helps the heart of starvation to a courage bold and bad;
  And women are loud and brawling, while men sit maudlin and mad.

  I see in the corner yonder the boy with the broken arm,
  And the mother whose blind wrath did it, strange guardian from childish
    harm. 
  That face will grow bright at your coming, but your steward might come
    as well,
  Or better the Sunday teacher that helped him to read and spell.

  Oh!  I do not come of my willing, with froward and restless feet;
  I have pleasant tasks in my chamber, and friends well-beloved to greet. 
  To follow the dear Lord Jesus I walk in the storm and snow;
  Where I find the trace of His footsteps, there lilies and roses grow.

  He said that to give was blessed, more blessed than to receive;
  But what could He take, dear angels, of all that we had to give,
  Save a little pause of attention, and a little thrill of delight,
  When the dead were waked from their slumbers, and the blind recalled to
    sight?

  Say, the King came forth with the morning, and opened His palace-doors,
  Thence flinging His gifts like sunbeams that break upon marble floors;
  But the wind with wild pinions caught them, and carried them round
    about: 
  Though I looked till mine eyes were dazzled, I never could make them out.