The average Italian antique-dealer will crowd into a given space, say, four wooden candlesticks made to represent four angels, two or three Venetian glass mirrors, a Savonarola chair, seventeen pieces of china, three wooden chests containing fifty-six square feet of surface and eleven miles of worm-holes, a dozen venerable and tattered altar cloths, made by ancient weavers and embroiderers in Naples in 1919, and a few wrought-iron odds and ends removed from a palace in the purlieus of Pisa by a prominent palace-wrecker. [Illustration: PLATE VIII COLONIAL TRIGLE-STOOL, DISCOVERED IN A NEW HAMPSHIRE WOODSHED, AND PURCHASED FOR A MERE SONG BY PROFESSOR KILGALLEN As one of the legs was partially missing, it is believed that the owners considered this rare old piece valueless. Professor Kilgallen has not allowed any restorations to be made. The profane hands of the modern reproducer of old furniture have never been permitted to touch any articles of his collection. ] In the same space the average French dealer seems unable to find room for more than one dough-trough, two pewter plates with the salamander of Francis I done on them in _repoussé_, a pair of Louis XIV curling-tongs, and a washed-out-looking portrait of a satin-clad and powdered-haired lady whose face has the lop-sided aristocratic appearance that will only be found in true aristocrats or in persons who have been kicked by mules perchance in their early days. And the portraits which are on sale in every Parisian antique-shop are sometimes most valuable because the general unpleasantness of the aristocrats which they represent serves to make every beholder wonder why the French Revolution didn’t start exterminating aristocrats about a hundred years sooner. At any rate, the superior shop-filling ability of the Italian dealers is one reason why it is far easier to indulge one’s passion for antiqueing in Italy than in France. A disappointing feature about the French antique-shops is the apparent indifference of the shopkeepers to the attempts of customers to engage them in violent and interesting altercations over the prices of their wares. This is a modern phase of the antique-business and ranks, in France, with such inexplainable matters as why man-sized boys wear little tight knickerbockers that come only halfway down to the knee, and why a Parisian who apparently lives in comfort in his home or a hotel with the thermometer down to forty degrees will shriek with anguish when any one raises a window in a railway compartment in which the temperature is hovering around ninety-four degrees.