In the next minute, Caper, the two models, a he-goat, a dirty little donkey, and a yelping dog, were rolling head over heels down-stairs, one confused mass of petticoats and animals.

Rocjean roared with laughter; he could do nothing but hold his sides, fearful of having an apopletic fit or bursting a blood-vessel.

The small donkey slid down-stairs on his back, slowly, gradually, meekly; his long ears rubbing the way before him.  But the billy-goat was on his feet in an instant, and was charging, next thing, full force into the knot of old women at the foot of the stairs, who, believing that their last hour had come, and that it was old Nick in person, yelled out,’ ‘Tis he; the devil! the devil!’ and fled before the horns to come.

Giacinta was the first one on her legs, and after picking up the caro Giacomo, alias Caper, and finding he was not hurt, she then good-naturedly helped Nina to arrange her tumbled garments.

Rocjean rushed to open the studio-windows, to air the room, for it had not the odors of the Spice Islands in it.  Caper hastened to pick up paints, brushes, books, easel; but they were too many for him, and at last, giving it up in despair, he sat down on a chair.

‘Well!’ said he, ’there has been a HARD fight here!  The dog must have tackled the billy-goat; the goat must have upset this table, broken his string, and pitched into that dirty little donkey; and the donkey must have put his heels through that canvas; and all three must have broken loose and upset us ...  I say, Rocjean, send out for some wine; I am dry, and these girls are, I know.’

Peace was soon made.  Nina was promised that she should sit for Lady Godiva, as soon as the donkey was caught; for she was to be represented seated on him instead of a horse.  Giacinta posed for a contadina at a fountain.  Rocjean passed round the wine, and helped put the studio in order; and Caper, brush in hand, painted away, determining that under any circumstances, he never would open another menagerie, until he was able to pay a keeper to look after the animals.

* * * * *

FAIRIES.

  Our fathers, when the race was young,
    And therefore some say better,
  With fresh simplicity, believed
    In Dryad, Faun, and Satyr. 
  The Zephyrs breathed throughout the air,
    And when the scene was fitting,
  The Naiads combed their golden hair,
    Beside the waters sitting.

  And we ourselves in childhood loved
    A faith so sweet as this is;
  We felt the touch of rose-leaf palms,
    And almost felt their kisses: 
  We tracked them through the shadowy grass,
    Or when the evening glistened,
  We lay in wait to see them pass,
    And to their singing listened.

  The hawthorn stretches wide its arms,
    And all the woods are fragrant,
  But Fancy walks in high-heeled shoes,
    And is no more a vagrant. 
  No Satyrs from the greenwood peer,
    No more we see at gloaming,
  The Naiads sit, their golden hair
    Beside the waters combing.