me a fine intaglio, mounted me within a fibula, and once more I was sold for a high price. Curiously enough I again became a marriage gift, for my latest purchaser, a noble Roman, had

young wife, Sybilla. They had

bought me for his quarreled that day,

and I was intended as a gift of reconciliation.

"Let this, our first, be our only quarrel, love," he said, as he gave the fibula to his wife. "Sardonyx

ensures wedded happiness, the Indians say. Let it ensure ours. May we never dispute again."

"I trust we never may," she replied.

'They never did. Three weeks after that day, the fair Sybilla was no more. A sickness that raged in Rome carried her off in the bloom of her nineteen years, in the heyday of her life.

'Her husband was wild with grief. For a long while nothing could draw him from his sorrow. The news of Caesar's triumph in Gaul first roused his interest, and he determined to join the great general's legion, more from a desire to deaden his sad thoughts than from warlike ardour. He had not long entered the army before Cæsar undertook the conquest of Britain. Then came that fierce battle that I spoke of before, when I rolled from my master's shoulder, where he had worn me since the day his dearest one had

breathed her last,'

Once more the Sardonyx paused.

'There is little more for me to tell,' he said at length. That long time of unconsciousness followed of which I have spoken before. The workman who found me took me to the lord of the manor, and for some time I remained in his English home, and was exhibited to all who visited him as a curiosity and treasure.

'But before I had time to learn much of his home life, and to compare it with those very different ones I had known, I was again transported, this time to come here. And here I hope I may remain in peace until

What that limit of time might be, the Sardonyx was not able to tell. For the first streak of the morning sun had glanced into the room, and with its light the nocturnal gift of speech was ended.

'W

September.

KEPT FROM DESPAIR.

HEN I was a little boy,' said my grandfather,

'I was apprenticed to a jeweller. He had not by any means a grand establishment; on the contrary, it was a tiny place where very little business was done except exchanging and pawning. Indeed, but for this branch of his trade, I don't know how the old man' could have subsisted; even so it was a hard pinch for him to make both ends meet. My work was of a varied nature; it combined errand-boy and shopman. The master was as kind a man as ever breathed. Often and often, when we sat alone in the back parlour on winter evenings, he would tell me all about gold and silver and precious stones; where they were found, how polished and manipulated. Ay, and he knew many a quaint old legend about them too; how each month had a particular gem attached to it, which possessed a distinctive attribute, and how these said gems were supposed to influence the destiny of the person born within that month. I could listen enrapt for

hours to his queer stories. He would often say that there was poetry in every profession if we would but open our eyes to it. Certainly, he made me see the poetry in mine, though it is one too often identified with avarice and greed, and I thank the old man's memory for the many happy hours he has caused me.'

My grandfather, as he spoke, raised his eyes to the blue sky above our heads, and doffed his black velvet skull-cap reverently.

'Grandfather,' I said, scrambling upon his knee, ‘tell me one of those stories.'

If

'I will tell you one I heard myself, Georgie. you don't believe I heard it, you can leave it alone. I shall always persist I did. But that does not matter. Listen:

My master had often told me that at night, after we were all gone to bed, the jewels below would hold converse together. Particularly the pawned jewellery was very talkative; it had had more experience than the new. Now I dearly wanted to overhear one of these conversations. So one night, when the master was snoring loudly, I slipped down stairs and laid myself on the counter, close by the drawer where the secondhand jewels were kept. I hoped they had not

heard me come, for I felt convinced they would not speak before a stranger. I don't think they could have heard me, for when I got down, the whole shop was full of such a buzzing and chattering that I really began to despair, and feared that among all this gossip I should not be able to listen to a connected conversation.

At last, however, by dint of applying my ear resolutely to this particular drawer, I could distinguish what was passing.

It's your turn now,' I heard a tiny voice say. 'You are the latest comer; we demand that every one who enters here should account for himself. I have been in pawn off and on twenty years now; I begin to despair of ever being permanently redeemed. If I should be, I shall edit my memoirs. I have heard most interesting things during the time of my imprisonments.'

'I can well believe that,' I heard a timid voice reply; 'your experience must be vast indeed. I am sure we should all be better entertained if you would tell us one of your adventures, than if I——'

'Contempt of rules!' cried the first voice. 'It is written in chapter i., section I, "that every new comer here must pay tribute for shelter and companionship."

Contempt of these rules," says chapter iv., section.