The Washington bee., 1893-05-06
THE POMPADOUR CLOCK.
1T WAS VAIN AND BELIEVED ITSELF
SUPERIOR TO EVERYBODY.

| It's Musical Voice Eesembled the Vibrations
| of Harp, and the Belfry Chimes Were
| Second Rate in Its Opinion -Discontented
| With Its Environment, 1t Pined Until a
| Worse Fate Overlook 1t.
In the shop of q bric-a- brac dealer
there was once an old clock of the time
| of Nine. Pompadour. 1t was of chisel-
led bronze, and was decorated from
head to foot with gilt and enamelled
ornaments. Its face was of silver, and
its hours an minutes were marked by
| precious stones. The clear tones OF its
striking resembled the vibrations of a
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. It 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
at itself in mirror Nobody in the
world has an air of more elegance and
distin ction than I. am sure that if
the Shah of Persia should come by here
he would PROSTATE himself at my feet.
Upon neighboring shelf stood
collection of little Saxony porcelain
marquises. They looked at the clock
through b their long-handled eye. glasses,
and paid court to it from morning till
night. It was droll to see how the
clock was puffed up with pride in the
presence of all the beaux. Sometimes
it 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.
It believed its charms eternal. "Ah T.
it said, in its little crystal voice, show
weary am of this shop! Every time
this horrid old man comes to wind me
up it seems to me as if the Evil One
had laid hold of me. 1 do just hate
him, with his eternal complaints of his
aches and pains What have 1 ever
done to be stuck up among his dusky
candelabra and his fusty old engrayings
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 were born
for such fate, my dear Never ray
of sunshine comes into this forlorn old
shop r
"Oh it is killing, my dear, and if
we did not hear your lovely SYM
phonies, it's not much pleasure we
should have in the world"
Every day the clock and it's admirers
would repeat this discourse.
It happened that one day the old
bric-a-brac 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 had
not been wound, and it stopped. In
vain it tried to move it's hands, to
sound Its silysry 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 r. said one |
of the porcelain figures. "She has
bored us quite long enough with her
babblings ! Let her rest now she has
had her day yp'
The mortified clock tried to strike,
but could not make sound.
Come, now, don't rouse the old
dowager," said the Saxony marquis.
with an amused air. 1T would be
sacrilege to flirt with that old skeleton
when we have such bevy of pretty
ladies here"
So saying, he brought his eye-glass
to bear on the engrayings of the ladies
of the First Empire, with their short
waists. They had been neglected so
long that they were now all smiles and
courtesies, and the friendly old gossip
the clock-was forgotten.
The poor clock became paralytio.
That which had ridiculed the gouty
merchant and his aches was bought by
q jeweller, who took it to pieces to sell
The gold and precious stones on its face
and In its works Dismantled, it was
to the shop Of another
dealer across the street, where it was
thrust among rubbish on the back
shelf. There remained only a few
hours of life, but from the corner of its
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.
H.. a