from the early years of Louis Philippe's reign--the 'Reapers' and the
'Fisherman,' after Leopold Robert. So far the arrangements of the
rooms evidenced no trace of a woman's presence, which showed itself
in the adjoining chamber by a display of imitation lace, lined with
transparent yellow muslin, and a corner-cupboard covered with brown
velvet, and more especially by a full-length portrait, placed in a
good light, of Mme. Heine, with dress and hair as worn in her
youth--a low-necked black bodice, and bands of hair plastered down
her cheeks--a style in the fashion of about 1840.

"She by no means realized my ideal Mme. Heine. I had fancied her
refined, elegant, languishing, with a pale, earnest face, animated by
large, perfidious, velvety eyes. I saw, instead, a homely, dark,
stout lady, with a high colour and a jovial countenance, a person of
whom you would say she required plenty of exercise in the open air.
What a painful contrast between the robust woman and the pale, dying
man, who, with one foot already in the grave, summoned sufficient
energy to earn not only enough for the daily bread, but money besides
to purchase beautiful dresses. The melancholy jests, which obliging
biographers constantly represent as flashes of wit from a husband too
much in love not to be profuse, never deluded anybody who visited
that home. It is absurd to transform Mme. Heine into an idyllic
character, whilst the poet himself never dreamed of representing her
in that guise. Why poetize at the expense of truth?--especially when
truth brings more honour to the poet's memory."

One is sorry that Heine has not risen again to enjoy this. One can
easily picture his reading it and, turning tenderly to his "Treasure,"
his "Heart's Joy," with that everlasting boy's look on his face,
saying: "Never mind, Damschen. We know, don't we? They think they