Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1893-07-15
THE POMPADOUR CLOCK.
1T WAS VAIN AND BELIEVED ITSELF
SUPERIOR TO EVERYBODY.


its Musical Voice Resembled the Vibrations
of Harp, and the Belfry Chimes Were
Second Rate In Its Opinion Discontsnted
with It's Environment, 1t Pin Il Until
Worse Fate Overlook 1t.
In the shop OF bric.a- brac dealer
there was once an old clock Of the time
of Nine. Pompadour. 1t was Of chisei.
led bronze, and was decorated from
head to foot with gilt and enamellsd
ornaments. It's face was of silver, and
its hours an d minutes were marked by
precious stones The clear tones OF It's
striking resembled the vibrations Of q
harp, and it struck several notes Like
the Ginning of ancient Flemish clocks
At noon it played fragment of min.
uet. 1t sang its little air very sweetly.
but when it had finished it was silent
until noon of the next day. 1t had for.
merly belonged to very rich people.
Indeed, the clock had been the queen
of the prettiest salon of the time. How
many beautiful ladies had been charm
ed by listening to it. So it was proud
or than the Grand Turk. 1t believed
itself superior to everybody, and even
the belfry chimes and the great bell it.
itself were second-rate in its opinion.
How pretty am, it said, looking
ct itself in mirror. Nobody in the
world has an air of more elegance and
distinction than I. am sure that if
the Shah of Persia should come by here
he would PROSTATE himself at my feet"
Upon q neighboring shelf stood a
collection of little Saxony porcelain
marquises. They looked at the clock
through their long handled eye. glasses,
and paid court to it from morning till
night. It was droll to see how the
clock was pulled up with pride in the
presence of all the beaux. Sometimes
1t would tell them of the boudoirs
where it had reigned, and of the beau
tiful powdered ladies in their brocaded
silk robes, among whom it had lived.
1t believed its charms eternal. "Ah +
1t said, in its little crystal voice, "how
weary am of this shop Every time
this horrid old man comes to wind mo
up it seems to me as if the Evil One
had laid hold of me. I do just hate
him, with his eternal complaints of his
aches and pains What have l ever
done to be stuck up among his dusky
candelabra and his fusty old engravings
of the time of the First Empire They
are too ridiculous, are they not ?"
And me, too," the little marquis
answered.
DO you suppose that we we're born
for such fate, my dear ? Never ray
of sunshine comes into this forlorn old
shop
"Oh it is killing, my dear, and IL
we did not hear your lovely sym
phonies, it's not much pleasure we
should have in the world"
Every day the clock and its admirers
would repeat this discourse
1t happened that one day the old
bric-a-brao merchant fell i'll. Gout
took him and nailed him fast to his
couch, and kept him month Of aches
and groans, in the rear of his shop
December 81 came. The clock hal
not been wound, and it stopped. In
vain it tried to move its hands, to
sound Its silvery chimes. 1t remained
silent.
"Oh, oh what is the matter With
you, my dear ?" asked the little mar
quis on the shelf. You are so silent.
Are you in pain p
But the clock did not reply.
Plague take the old witch T. pa;d one
of the porcelain figures. She has
bored us quite long enough with hor
babblings Let her rest now she has
had her day p
The mortified clock tried to strike,
but could not make sound.
Come, now, don't rouse the cid
dowager," said the Saxony marquis.
with an amused air. 1T would be
sacrilege to flirt with that old skeleton
when we have such a bevy of prest,
ladies here"
So saying, he brought his eye-glass
to bear on the engravings of the ladies
of the First Empire, with their shor:
waists. They had been neglected 50
long that they were now all smiles ant.
courtesies, and the friendly old gossip
the olock-was forgotten.
The poor clock became paralytio.
That which had ridiculed the goutv
merchant and his aches was bought by
a jeweller, who took it to pieces to sell
the gold and precious stones on its face
and in its works. Dismantled, it was
transferred to the shop Of another
dealer across the street, where it was
thrust among rubbish on the back
shelf There remained only few
hours of life, but from the corner of it's
dusty shelf the clock had time to per-
ceive the little porcelain marquis who
had been SO devoted to it, with his
hand on his heart and his leg extended
for an elaborate bow. He was blowing
kisses to the ladies of the First EN-
pire.