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 finch!" cried Miss Terry. How that little creature whistled, to be sure! Just as though its very life depended on the number and purity of its notes.

"He pipes all day," Prince's mistress said, running her fingers along the brass wires of the cage, "and we don't quite know what the tune is. When I bought him he was in a little wooden cage, and on it were written in pencil the names of two songs—'Du bist wie eine Blume,' and—what do you think?—Poli Berkins! But he's never whistled of 'My Pretty Polly Perkins of Paddington Green' to this day."

The drawing-room overlooks the gardens, and is fragrant with the perfume of the roses which fill the china bowls on the tables. A huge bouquet of carnations is just beginning to fade—a few fallen petals are strewn on the carpet. But it will rest there till it drops. It was a gift from Sarah Bernhardt. Tables are set out with silver trinkets, and a cabinet is crowded with blue china. The music of "Henry the Eighth" is open on the piano—on top of which is an oil painting of a corner of the kitchen of the "Audrey" Arms, at Uxbridge. Miss Terry saw this quaint, old-fashioned little place, and wanted it. A difficulty had to be overcome, for it was an inn. The place was bought, and an old woman was employed to sell the beer, and for some time Miss Terry spent her holidays in the rooms pertaining to the old "Audrey " Arms, previous to her settling at Winchelsea.

A beautiful specimen of the original, out-of-date, square piano is here, but still delightful in tone, it having recently been completely restored by Messrs. Broadwood. It bears the name of Longman and Broderip—the latter name being very similar to that of Mr. Irving's birth name. It was picked up at Deal. The old firm of Longman and Broderip has been continued through Clementi to Messrs. Collard, who still retain the old Cheapside premises, whence this pretty old piano came nearly a hundred years ago.

The case of curios must not be forgotten. Amongst other things, it contains a pair of old gold buckles which belonged to a Cavalier who was hidden in the oak tree with Charles II.; Mrs. Siddons's Bible, with a letter in her own handwriting; a tiara which was once owned by the famous Lady Blessington; a little blue china cup of Sir Walter Scott's; and surely the daintiest and tiniest of lace handkerchiefs—Sarah Bernhardt's. But what gave rise to most curiosity were a number of pairs of eye-glasses. I was holding in my hand a pair with the name of "Henry" written on one glass and "Irving" on the other. Then I learnt that Miss Terry has a rare collection of famous men's glasses, amongst them being Mr. Whistler's, Dr. Mackenzie's, Sir Arthur Sullivan's, and others.

From the time I laid down these eyeglasses and bade Miss Terry "Good-bye," to the day I arrived at the little Sussex village of Winchelsea and heard her "Welcome," was just two months. It was on one of the days just before her return to town and