is a question too hard for us to decide; if we had the stick in our own hands for a little while it might be easier, but in the meantime there is nothing for it but patience, and to bear the blows as long as we are the anvil; some day our turn will come at the hammer! While I was talking, the Seigneur of Maillebois stood looking at me, in two minds whether to laugh or be angry; fortunately one of his equerries had seen me one day when I was with the late Duke, and he explained who I was, that I was no minstrel, but a fine sculptor and worker in wood, known far and wide for my talk, and somewhat of a free thinker. The noble Lord did not seem much impressed by this information, but he showed a faint interest in my insignificant personality when his host told him that my work had been admired by princes of his acquaintance, and he soon fell into ecstasies when they showed him the fountain I had made in the courtyard. It is a girl with her skirts tucked up, holding two ducks in her apron with their wings extended; the water trickles out of their beaks;--a pretty conceit as I think it. He saw also my carved furniture and panels in the castle, which Asnois displayed with as much pride as if he had been their creator instead of being merely the man who paid for them. Maillebois expressed himself as astonished that I should bury my talent so far from Paris, and he also wondered that I should confine myself to work which showed chiefly observation and fidelity to nature; no grandeur or symbolism, nothing allegorical, both things which the critic considers essential to great sculpture. (A lord, you know, admires nothing that is not lordly.) To which I replied with due respect, as became a country booby, that I knew my place, and was always careful to keep in it; that it would be presumption for a poor man like me, without knowledge or education, to attempt anything vast or sublime, and that he ought to be content with a modest place on the lowest step of Mount Parnassus, aiming only at such things as may be useful in everyday life. Utility in art should be his motto. “Utility in art!” exclaimed his Lordship; “that is a contradiction in terms, true beauty is only found in what is useless.” “A lofty sentiment,” said I, bowing, “and profoundly true; you see it everywhere, in art as well as in life; a diamond is beautiful, and so is a king, a prince, a great noble, or a flower.” On this he turned away, much pleased with so much proper feeling; but Asnois pinched me, and whispered in my ear, “Shut up, you old humbug! I don’t mind if you do make a fool of this fop from Paris, but don’t try anything of that sort on me, or it will be the worse for you!”