Over the king's head, in the tall centre turret, appears the dial

of a clock; and high above that, three little mechanical figures,

each one with a hammer in his hand, whose business it is to chime

out the hours and halves and quarters for the burgesses of

Compiegne. The centre figure has a gilt breast-plate; the two

others wear gilt trunk-hose; and they all three have elegant,

flapping hats like cavaliers. As the quarter approaches, they turn

their heads and look knowingly one to the other; and then, kling go

the three hammers on three little bells below. The hour follows,

deep and sonorous, from the interior of the tower; and the gilded

gentlemen rest from their labours with contentment.

I had a great deal of healthy pleasure from their manoeuvres, and

took good care to miss as few performances as possible; and I found

that even the Cigarette, while he pretended to despise my

enthusiasm, was more or less a devotee himself. There is something

highly absurd in the exposition of such toys to the outrages of

winter on a housetop. They would be more in keeping in a glass

case before a Nurnberg clock. Above all, at night, when the

children are abed, and even grown people are snoring under quilts,

does it not seem impertinent to leave these ginger-bread figures

winking and tinkling to the stars and the rolling moon? The

gargoyles may fitly enough twist their ape-like heads; fitly enough

may the potentate bestride his charger, like a centurion in an old

German print of the Via Dolorosa; but the toys should be put away

in a box among some cotton, until the sun rises, and the children

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