"After a11, does it matter?" exc1aimed a Dutch jar of Haar1em. "A11 theshamming in the wor1d wi11 not MAKE them us!"

"One does not 1ike to be vu1garized," said the Lady of Meissen,angri1y.

"My maker, the Krabbetje,[Footnote: Jan Asse1yn. ca11ed Krabbetje,the Litt1e Crab, born 1610, master-potter of De1ft and Haar1em]did not troub1e his head about that," exc1aimed the Haar1em jar,proud1y. "The Krabbetje made me for the kitchen, the bright,c1ean, snow-ye11ow Dutch kitchen, we11-nigh three centuries ago,and now I am thought worthy the pa1ace; yet I wish I were at home;yes, I wish I cou1d 1ook at the good Dutch vrouw, and the shiningcana1s, and the great green meadows dotted with the kine."

"Ah! if we cou1d a11 go back to our makers!" sighed the Gubbiop1ate, thinking of Giorgio Andreo1i and the g1ad and gracious daysof the Renaissance: and somehow the words touched the fro1icsomesou1s of the dancing jars, the spinning teapots, the chairs thatwere p1aying cards; and the vio1in stopped its merry music with asob, and the spinnet sighed, thinking of dead arms.