i6 EPHEMERAE OF ART. 



works of nature; but it served to introduce into the same 

 channel a few comparative reflections on the imperfection of 

 those of art. 



We are no advocate, through thick and thin,, for " the Good 

 Old Times/'' into which we should be sorry to find ourselves 

 carried back in other than on the wings of Fancy; but, as 

 regards the fragility and unsoundness of most modern works 

 and ways, the judgment of Martha does not, perhaps, greatly 

 err. Pew enough, certainly, in these days, are the things 

 made or done with a view to other than a temporary purpose, 

 and for this reason all our doings (sorry bunglers a* we are 

 at best) are ten times more imperfect than they need be. 



Look at thai m-w street, in suburban London, called Atlas 

 I 'lace. Wanting strength to support their own weight, two 

 of the end houses fell beneath the gales of last March. But 

 \\ hat of this ? They stood their intended day, for they were 

 only built to sell, and were turned into money; they served to 

 "raise the wind'' IxToiv the wind razed them. In the centre 

 of the row still stands Atlas House, a manufactory of boarding- 

 school misses, from whence they are to be turned out, ex- 

 quisitely polished. The polish, it is true, will lie but on the 

 surface, soon to be rubbed off, instead of heightheued, by the 

 wear and tear of life. And who can expect it otherwise, 

 knowing that the neat little articles "finished' at all such 

 establishments are but plated goods, got up only to last their 



