SEPT. 24 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
60S 
litfrarg Utisrcdang, 
THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 
Mark the forget-me-not by yon brookside, 
Its roots the mud, its stem the waters hide ; 
Its blossoms seek the sky. 
So, though thy feet be rooted in earth’s slime, 
Raise thou thy head above the waves of time— 
Look up on high! 
See how the blossoms, earthward bent awhile, 
Turn as they ope to meet the Bun’s bright Bmile, 
And, as they upward gaze. 
First flush with pink, then mirrow heaven’s own blue. 
And every flow’ret bears, of sunny hue, 
A crown of rays. 
O thou whose thoughts are fixed on this world’s toys. 
Look up to Him from whom are all thy Joys. 
The beatific sight 
Will change thee till the human grow divine. 
And at the last upon thy brow shall shine 
A crown of light. [Sunday Magazine. 
THE STORY OF A LOOKET, 
(A True Incident.) 
CHRISTIAN BYRDK, 
Thk well-known Jeweler In B -Street, at 
Versailles, sold, unwillingly, to me, a “ Prussian,” 
the lovely locket I am holding In my hand; but 
then why did he expose his antique treasures, 
which he generally kept so carefully under lock 
and key, to the experienced eyes of a foreign con¬ 
noisseur ? 
Everybody wanted to buy the pretty thing, 
and at last It was sold for Prussian gold, which Is 
really as good as French. And now the little 
work of art belongs to me, and la dally admired. 
It would be difficult to meet with anything pret¬ 
tier or more tasteful. It la oval, and about the 
size of a walnut, surrounded by a row of pearls, 
Inside which there Is a very narrow black enamel 
border with brilliants; the surface of the locket 
Is of pink enamel, and upon It is painted a charm¬ 
ing little Cupid, who, with sly looks and great 
delight, Is blowing into a silver trumpet, as if he 
were hastening to inform the world of one of his 
fresh victories. The reverse of the locket Is cov¬ 
ered b a strong glass surrounded by gold, and 
Inside It could be seen a rose-leaf, broken up 1 nto 
many llttie bits, the whole hung on to a pretty 
Interlaced pearl bow. with the help of a few 
dates given me by the Jeweler, and a piece of 
paper upon which was printed, In half-effaced 
characters, some very old French, which he had 
found In the case containing the locket, I discov¬ 
ered who painted the small Cupid, and what In¬ 
teresting woman had once worn the locket In 
years gone by. 
Many tears were shed on a bright, spring day of 
the year 1701, In the ante-chamber of the re¬ 
nowned painter and poetess, Sophie Cheron, In 
Paris. The little god-daughter ana maid of the 
lovely lady, the pretty Cadette, was crying bitter¬ 
ly, for she had met with a great misfortune. A 
locket, with an angel's bead, which her mistress 
called a “charm," had, as the little one In fun 
tried It on, slipped out of her hand, and t he pink 
enamel had broken into a thousand pieces upon 
the hearth. What a fright she had had! Mdlle. 
Cheron had for years worn the locket whenever 
she went to a party or entertained guests: she 
said, half In fun, half seriously, “that It pro¬ 
tected her heart.” And now 7 on the following 
Saturday there was to be a garden fete In honor 
of mademoiselle’s birthday, and she would want 
to wear the locket, that was quite certain. So¬ 
phie Cheron would rather have given up the fete 
than not wear her charm. And when she asked 
for the little locket, what should Cadette say? 
Her thoughts were confused at the idea; her 
heart beat loudly with fear. Her godmother 
would, when she heard of the accident, send her 
away, without, pli.y, that she was sure or. And to 
leave this happy homo and kind mistress, would 
be a very great trouble, even tor the sake of a 
certain somebody, who was only waiting till they 
had saved enough, to say, “Cadette, I want you 
to marry me." Ah! hew long t-hls saving up 
took; It even seemed more dlffiuult for a young 
man to save, than for a young woman, and for a 
painter most of all. Indeed, cousin Glllot de¬ 
clared that her husband’s pupil, Autolne Wat¬ 
teau, was the laziest fellow alive, and thought 
himself a great gentleman, and stared at every 
noble lady. Instead of attending to his work, and 
that he never did and never would do any good. 
But the cousin was known to have rather a sharp 
tongue, And this consideration comlorted the 
young girl. Cadette could not blame Antoine 
Watteau, because he did not admire the Jovial 
figures which Claude Glllot always painted, for 
she could not bear the stiff, ugly pictures of 
soldier and peasant life, which he made his pu¬ 
pils do. 
She only wished she could have persuaded An¬ 
toine, whom she admired on account of his beau¬ 
tiful, melancholy eyes, to paint Saints and Ma¬ 
donnas. But lie only laughed at her when she 
proposed it, and said he would rather paint, 
from morning till evening, beautiful women In 
handsome dresses covered with lace. 
Antoine Watteau was the first she thought of 
In her great trouble about the broken locket. He 
must and would help her, and paint quickly a 
new charm before her godmother discovered the 
misfortune. That would surely not be difficult, 
and surely Claude Glllot would give her a piece of 
enamel for it; she remembered having seen plen¬ 
ty In his studio; he himself used formerly to 
paint snuff-box lids on enamel. It was only ne- 
ceasary for her to run across and arrange every¬ 
thing. There was plenty or time as Mdlle Cheron 
would not wake for a couple of hours, at least. 
somebody was busy In GUlot’s studio. Antoine 
Watteau sat there before his easel; the master 
and the other pupils had not yet come ; the young 
painter was not, however, working, he waB star¬ 
ing before him sadly at the soldiers upon the 
canvas ; even at the appearance of the fresh rosy 
girl’s face, he smiled. This, however, she did not 
notice; her thoughts were full of only ono thing, 
the broken charm. She related breathlessly all 
to her young friend, and concluded with the re¬ 
quest that he would paint her as quickly as pos¬ 
sible a new angel, rose-colored enamel, and put 
It In. 
“ But what was the broken angel like 7" asked 
Watteau, laughing; “that Is what I must know 
first.” 
Cadette started. She had never looked at It 
closely, and only knew that It had little wings. 
“ Well, like all other angels!" was the hesi¬ 
tating answer. “ Paint an angel according to 
your own fancy, then it will certainly be beau¬ 
tiful. If you will arrange It all. and bring It to 
me In good time, then . . . " she stopped, smil¬ 
ing and blushing. 
“ Well, what then 7” 
“ You may then ask me for a reward. What 
should you like to have.” 
“ What should I like 7 To be allowed to look 
on quite uudlsturbed whilst your godmother en¬ 
tertains her guests, and to see what they do at 
these brilliant fetes of which you have told me 
so much. It will be easy for you to hide me In 
some corner. Will you grant me that, Cadette 7 ” 
She nodded acquiescence, but a cloud was on 
her brow. So that was what he wished for, only 
that 7 
" Bring me the charm, and I will allow you to 
look on," she said at last. In a low tone, and pre¬ 
pared to go. She suddenly felt In her pocket and 
took out a little silk purse. •* Then I have 
brought you something to take care of for me; I 
had almost forgotten It! My godmother gave It 
to me yesterday. She is so good; I should be 
very sorry to annoy her. It will be hard for me 
to leave her, Antoine.” 
“ Dear little one, you should not trouble your¬ 
self about that so lODg beforehand," answered 
GUlot’s young pupil, putting the little purse care¬ 
lessly Into his pocket, without looking at Its con¬ 
tents, “ the large wooden box Is unfortunately 
far from full, and until the money comes up to 
the Ud, we cannot marry, Cadette.” 
“ Is not the box too large 7" 
“ Oh! uo; do you think that I would let my wife 
wear shabby clotbes and work like a common 
burgher’s wife 7 Never ! I Intend to have a beau¬ 
tiful studio with large carved chairs In It, and my 
wife shall wear silk and velvet and carry a fan 
In her hand, and everybody must admire her as 
much as myself." 
Cadette burst out laughing. “ Well, then, you 
will marry a wife with grey liatr, and without 
teeth, If we must wait until we are rich enough 
for such things 1” she exclaimed, 
“ Cblld, your godmother Is a proor of how 
quickly people can make money. Formerly she 
painted Jewel-boxes and fans, and now she gives 
the most brilliant totes In Pails. How happy she 
Is!” 
*’ Do not say that; In spite of all her riches, I 
have often seen her cryshe cannot forget her 
first lover whom she sent away because he was of 
too high rank.” 
“ What nonsense you are talking, little Co¬ 
der te ; to send any one away because they are too 
grand!” 
“ But It Is quite true. When Sophie Cheron 
was still young, and when she painted ladles* 
tans, she did one very beautifully for the Duch¬ 
ess de Richelieu, who was so delighted with it 
that she sent for her, a thing she had often done 
before, for the duchess was fond of my god¬ 
mother, and liked having her to talk to. This 
time, however, she was not alone; a handsome 
page of the queen's, Robert de la Haye, was 
laughing and Joking wltu her. He duly admired 
the lovely painting, but the maiden still more. 
The next day he called upon the young girl in her 
father’s studio and ordered ten fans of her. He 
thought It necessary to come almost every day to 
see how the work progressed, and he always had 
many suggestions to make ; he asked her to and 
a tendril or a flower, and he Uked the butterflies 
such as Sophie painted. And as old Cheron had 
sharp eyes, but was very deaf, and Ills daughter 
worked In the deep recess by a window which 
was In Itself like a small studio, the young page 
could sit on a low stool near her, and looked less 
at her hands than at her face. My godmother 
must, In her youth, have been very lovely, for 
even now she Is like a picture; and I must say, 
Antoine Watteau, when she walks through the 
room In her costly yellow silk dress with her 
powdered locks which fall on her shoulders, 
when the large pomegranate flower hangs behind 
her left ear. with her white neck and throat bare, 
around which is fastened the black velvet ribbon 
to which the charm Is attached, she seems to float 
by so lightly and yet so proudly as if in a cloud, 1 
always think that amongst the youngest and 
prettiest women, she looks the youngest and 
prettiest of all. Therefore It was no wonder 
thatlu the days gone by, the young page (he was 
a marquis’ son) stepped off his seat at her small 
feet and whispered to her about love and truth 
(old Claude was scolding a scholar behind his cur¬ 
tain), and begged the mistress of his thoughts to 
accept his heart and life. 
“ Can you guess what Sophie Cheron answered, 
with a merry laugh? ’Not until you have re¬ 
mained faithful to me for thirty years will I 
believe your words and accept your offer.’ My 
godmother has told mo that pages are not noted 
tor their constancy,” added Cadette, very serious¬ 
ly. “ But fancy, the handsome Robert de la Haye 
disappeared, after her answer, out or Paris, and 
sent her as a farewell, the charm which 1 have 
broken, and a small piece of paper upon which 
was written, ‘ Au revolr In thirty years.’ And 
from that time until now, she has heard nothing 
of him. 1 believe the thirty years are over, but 1 
do not like to ask my godmother. 1 know full 
well,” added the girl very seriously, “ that she Is 
sorry she sent him away, and that she has never 
cared for anyone else.” 
“ The page was wise; It would have been diffi¬ 
cult for him to remain faithful In Paris, but abroad 
It Is different; does not Sophie Cheron under¬ 
stand that?” remarked Antoine, smiling. 
“ I shall only forgive such a nasty speech from 
you, If you make haste and paint the charm, de¬ 
testable Joker. And, now, farewell; If you keep 
your word, I shall keep mine." 
He held the little hand which she gave him a 
moment In his and whispered, “Cadette, you do 
not know how happy you make me, when you 
are so kind to me.” Blushing, and her heart 
beating violently, she escaped. It was high time, 
Mdlle. Cheron had already rung her bell. But 
how quickly the time had passed away I 
The artist was ranked, In fact, amongst the 
richest and most renowned women In Paris. Peo¬ 
ple treated her like a princess, and her former 
noble patronesses now visited her willingly as 
her guests. The flower of renown and wealth had 
sprung up quickly In her case. Her delicate and 
original painting had become the fashion after 
Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans, shortly before 
her death, had used a fan painted by Sophie Che¬ 
ron. The ladles of the Court and of the aristocra¬ 
cy, as well a3 their admirers, ordered for pres¬ 
ents, paintings on enamel from her, and her 
father’s studio was never free from visitors. It 
also sometimes happened that somebody wished 
for a motto, or a well-turned compliment to be 
put upon bis present. Sophie could write verses. 
About the same time she tried her hand at min¬ 
iature painting, and succeeded so well, that she 
soon had more orders than she could attend to. 
In her twenty-sixth year, she was elected (at the 
suggestion of the celebrated Charles Lebrun) a 
member of the Academle des Beaux Arts In Parts 
—an honor never before bestowed upon so young 
a lady. Cheron then bought a large house and 
began to live in grand style. She could now 
afford to enjoy the “ dolce far nlente," and only 
executed such orders as pleased her, and eDjoyed 
life like all the other women at that time. Her 
reputation remained spotless and her heart un¬ 
touched. Her poetry and prose soon excited as 
much Interest as her painting, and her fame as a 
poetess had spread far and wide, Some years be¬ 
fore, the Academy at Padua had elected her a 
member under the name of Erato. She rerused 
all offers of marriage, and said she would never 
leave her father. 
She was no longer young when the eld painter 
closed bis eyes forever on the things of this 
world; but there are some who in heart and 
feelings remain ever young, and to this number 
belonged Sophie Cheron. 
She was surrounded and feted by the elite of 
Parisian society; her house was the rendezvous 
of the learned and the talented; poets and mu¬ 
sicians met there, as well as the nobility, and 
her garden parties were much sought after. 
But not only did the rich and happy crowd to 
Sophie Cheron’s, the poor and unfortunate turned 
to her, sure of receiving aid and consolation. No 
ori-j ever gave help more Joyfully, or advised 
better than she did. The amiable Abbe Bos- 
qulilon had called her “ the angel,” and that re¬ 
mained her nickname. 
Antoine Watteau brought back the locket only 
about an hour before the garden party was to 
begin. Cadette was trembling with fear and 
anxiety, lest he should bring it too late. She 
could scarcely look at It, there was no time; she 
fastened It with trembling hands on to the vel¬ 
vet ribbon, and tied It around her godmother’s 
neck. Antoine Watteau, after having been re¬ 
galed with plenty of good things, was hidden In 
the bushes not far from tho large lime tree. At 
last his long-cherished and secret wish was 
realized. How anxiously he had dreamed of such 
a treat.. What a charming place, In the bloom¬ 
ing thicket, had Cadette directed hlrp to, behind 
the yew-tree hedge. There he remained quite 
motionless, and the whole world disappeared; 
only one thing absorbed his thought.—a large 
shady garden, with splashing fountains, old 
trees and dark green grass plots and charming 
forms that enlivened the garden and the lawns. 
It was not till long after dark, and when the gar¬ 
dens had been lighted up. that Antoine Watteau 
supped, enchanted, out of his hiding place, and 
went into the house; he had forgotten to eat or 
drink. Cadette ran towards him in the dimly 
lighted hall, carrying a dish of fruit. Ho seized 
her hand absently and excitedly. “Thanks, 
thanks,” she heard him whisper, and then he 
was gone, “ How foolish to be in such a hurry,” 
murmured the youug girl half sad and half an¬ 
gry, •• 1 could have spared him plenty of time ” 
It was long after midnight when Cadette, with 
sleepy eyes, undid her mistress’s hair. Sophie 
Cheron sat in her dressing-gown, and leant back 
fatigued In her arm chair. She drew dreamily 
the ribbon or her locket off her neck. Cadette 
had not thought of unfastening the bow, the 
locket slipped Into Sophie’s hand. Her beauti¬ 
ful eyes, gazed for a moment at her favorite 
jewel—she cried out with astonishment, then 
she burst out laughing, and at last exclaimed, 
hurriedly, “but where Is the enchanter who 
has painted this wonderful cherub ror me? 
What has happened to ray charm? tell me all 
Cadette!" The locket shone In tne candle-Ught; 
the trembling Cadette stared at it. Such then 
wore Antoine Watteau's angels! A lovely uttle 
Cupid sat In all his irresistible, roguish beauty 
upon a cloud, and held a silver trumpet to his 
mouth. Whom did he Intend to summon 7 
The young girl, sobbing, confessed all to her 
godmother. But wouderrul to relate Mdlle. Che- 
rou was not angry. She kissed the weeping 
maiden, and sent her to bed, telling her that she 
must bring the Cupld-palnter to her on the fol¬ 
lowing day. That Uttle Cupid decided Watteau's 
fate. The renowned and admired Sophie Cheron 
took the young painter under her protection, and 
introduced him Into society, where he soon be¬ 
came a general favorite. 
He painted the fashionable world of Paris of 
that time ln.all lta beauty and thoughtlessness, 
and was present at all the parties of pleasure 
there given to while away the time. 
But was the paluter of all these fetes happy ? 
He was the sou of a poor lace-seller In Valen¬ 
ciennes, who, since hta chlldboocf, had longed to 
be amidst such pleasures. Did he ever find love 
and truth equal to what had shone upon him 
during hts residence as scholar with Claude 
Glllot, and which he had thrown aside so lightly 
lu the days of his prosperity? Watteau’s bi¬ 
ographers relate that he left Paris sick and tired 
to go to England, and when there he was tor¬ 
mented by a longing to return to his enchantress, 
Paris. But when he went back he became pos¬ 
sessed with a still greater lODglng to visit Italy. 
That wish remained unfulfilled. Whatteau died 
at thirty years of age In Nogent. No heavy silk 
dresses appeared at his bedside, no joyful voices, 
no waving of fans struck upon bis ear, but a soft 
hand smoothed his pillow, gentle, faithful eyes 
looked at him forgivingly, a soft voice prayed 
for him In his last moments, a sister of mercy, 
once the joyful little Cadette, nursed the dying 
man. 
And as regards the charm t 
The little Cupid’s silver trumpet seemed to 
have wrought wonders. The former page who 
had disappeared so mysteriously came back 
again suddenly (after all sorts of adventures, 
and a long Imprisonment), as a great hero, and 
still more wonderful to relate, as a true lover. 
Sophie Cheron became In her fifty-ninth year 
Madame de la Haye, and no one seemed aston¬ 
ished at it. 
Where the rococo locket went after the death 
of Sophie Cheron, In ill l, perhaps might be re¬ 
vealed to us by the Uttle Cupid upon the rose- 
colored enamel If he had the gift of speech. 
The novel union of two exquisite talents will 
always make Cheron an ornament to France. 
The charms of her brush equalled the excellence 
of her pen. 
-»-* »-- 
VINTAGE TIME IN GERMANY. 
BERTHA A. WINKLER. 
It was on the first day of October when our 
travels brought us Into the famous wine regions 
of Germany where we Intended to sojourn for a 
few days In order to witness, what our portly 
landlord called, the “Kelter opening,” which, 
judging from the lively gesticulation accompany¬ 
ing hts description of that important event, must 
certainly be a rousing and curious sight. It vias 
therefore not strange that I rose the next morn¬ 
ing with more alacrity than usual at the call of 
the maid and took a peep, full of expectation, up 
and down the village road which, In spite of the 
early hour, was already groaning under the heavy 
wheels of clumsy carts. 
An unusual bustle, a strange, subdued noise 
pervaded the misty air about me. The whole 
village was astir and active, yet In such a quiet, 
mysterious manner that it reminded me more of 
an army preparing for a suq ien attack upon the 
unsuspecting enemy, than a quiet, peaceful Til- 
luge about to gather its annual harvest of grapes. 
Women, in short gingham petticoats, were pass¬ 
ing to and fro with all sizes of tubs and buckets 
on their heads. The younger folks were staudtng 
In groups, conversing and flourishing their grape- 
cutters or “ habbe" (a short knife bent In the 
shape of a sickle). While others stood tmpatlent- 
ly, cracking their whips over the backs of their 
ox-teams who were yoked and ready for service. 
Evidently something was being waited for, and I 
was about to turn to the Inn-keeper and ascertain 
the reason of the delay when my attention was at¬ 
tracted by the tinkling of a bell, and looking 
again 1 saw a man wearing a cocked-hat and a 
blue coat ornamented with immense brass but¬ 
tons, striding up the road In all the dignity of his 
office. Halting at the Inn, while he gave his bell 
a few more vigorous shakes, which soou collected 
a goodly crowd, he issued the following procla¬ 
mation : “ The inhabitants or E-are hereby 
notified that the Kelter will be opened this morn¬ 
ing at six o’clock. All those whose tanks are 
secured there will report at once. By order of 
the Herr Schultrhels.” 
This was the signal for starting. He had 
scarcely finished when a suppressed “Vivat!” 
burst from the Ups of the laughing, noisy stand- 
ers. The whole village rushed now in the direc¬ 
tion of the Kelter, and lu less than live minutes 
the hollow rumbling of empty tanks sounded like 
thunder on my ears. This roused my sleeping 
traveling-companion, who hastily dressed herself 
and joined me Just In time to see the first and 
largest tank, which measured about eight feet In 
diameter, drawn past the inn, followed by a long 
train of smaller ones, all decorated with gay rib¬ 
bons, flowers, and wreaths of evergreens, amidst 
the lusty shouts of "Hue! Hott!” from the brawny 
drivers, and songs and laughter from the villa¬ 
gers, as their happy, smiling faces were turned 
to us with a look of curiosity not unmixed with 
conscious pride at their own festive appearance. 
The novelty of the scene, the gay tumult and ex¬ 
citement were contagious, and we, unable to re¬ 
sist the Influences of the general excitement, 
waved our handkerchiefs to the passing caravan. 
A double “ Vivat !*’ greeted this unexpected salute 
from the strangers, and one handsome young Ger¬ 
man, not to be out-done in courtesy, gathered a 
handful of flowers which decorated his tank and 
threw it up to our window, amidst the shouts and 
elapplugs of his comrades. 
In the afternoon we made our way up to the 
•' wolu-bergs,” from whence we had a good view 
of tho quiet and now almost deserted village, 
nestling below amidst a miniature forest or fruit 
trees between the vine-clad hills which stretch¬ 
ed themselves In a small mountain chain around 
the reat of the valley, while further away the 
white stubble-fields, dotted here and there with 
patches of green clover and yellow corn, made 
the checkered landscape look like an immense 
patch-work In the far distance. Below, we saw 
peace and tranquility In the quiet village, with 
