the Eternal Father, whose robe swells as though puffed out with the
storm. To the right of the window, in the embrasure, is the
Wandering Jew. He wears a three-cornered hat, a large, white
leather apron, hobnailed shoes and a stout stick. 'Never was such
a bearded man seen before or after,' says the legend that surrounds
the picture. The draftsman has not forgotten this detail: the old
man's beard spreads in a snowy avalanche over the apron and comes
down to his knees. On the left is Genevieve of Brabant,
accompanied by the roe, with fierce Golo hiding in the bushes,
sword in hand. Above hangs The Death of Mr. Credit, slain by
defaulters at the door of his inn; and so on and so on, in every
variety of subject, at all the unoccupied spots of the four walls.

I was filled with admiration of this picture gallery, which held
one's eyes with its great patches of red, blue, green and yellow.
The master, however, had not set up his collection with a view to
training our minds and hearts. That was the last and least of the
worthy man's ambitions. An artist in his fashion, he had adorned
his house according to his taste; and we benefited by the scheme of
decoration.

While the gallery of halfpenny pictures made me happy all the year
round, there was another entertainment which I found particularly
attractive in winter, in frosty weather, when the snow lay long on
the ground. Against the far wall stands the fireplace, as
monumental in size as at my grandmother's. Its arched cornice
occupies the whole width of the room, for the enormous redoubt
fulfils more than one purpose. In the middle is the hearth, but,
on the right and left, are two breast-high recesses, half wood and
half stone. Each of them is a bed, with a mattress stuffed with