increased from the conversations he was hearing daily; but perhaps his taste would never have been developed without a particular circumstance, and his genius, like the fire from a flint, would never have produced a spark, if it had not been struck.

Amongst the numerous houses where Joe carried the orders given to Barbe, was one where he was received with much kindness, and which, in spite of his good sense, he found it very difficult to leave when his commission was finished. It was Mr Enguehard's: he was a respectable man, but not rich; passionately fond of the arts, and had practised that of the engraver, until the weakness of his sight obliged him to desist. Married late in life to an amiable woman, their constant occupation was the education of their only son, named Francis, about two years older than Joe. His parents intended him for a painter, for which he showed some talent, but was too volatile and fond of amusement to make much progress.

Mr Enguehard was at first displeased at his son's fancy for Joe, naturally fearing that he had not been carefully brought up, and might give Francis bad habits; but the sweet expression of the little boy's countenance induced him to make inquiries, the result of which was so satisfactory, that he permitted the intimacy to continue. Joe's spare moments were therefore divided between Dame Robert and his dear Francis. His first friend, Philip, was not, however, forgotten; but Joe was so well aware of the advantages he derived from the conversation of Mr Enguehard and his son, that he preferred it to being admired by Philip. His ideas expanded, and he grieved for his ignorance, and coveted that instruction by which Francis profited so little.

One day Francis, throwing down his book in one of his idle humours, said to him, " How happy you are, who do not know how to read or write; you are not obliged to learn lessons!"

"Ah!" replied Joe, "that is my misfortune, and it is you whom I think happy for being able to learn. Oh, if you would but teach me to draw!"

"Yes, yes," exclaimed Francis, quite delighted. "I will be your little master; but look to your fingers, my friend, if you do not work well!"

Joe smiled at this threat, and Mr Enguehard having given his consent, it was agreed that every evening that Joe was allowed out, he was to receive a lesson. The pupil advanced so rapidly, that his young master found that he must work hard to keep up that relation between them. Mr Enguehard neglected no oppor tunity of keeping up an emulation so useful to both children. He often spoke to them of the ancient masters, and related the events of their lives. "Almost all," he said, "showed their genius from childhood." After mentioning various instances, he spoke of "Claude Gelee, called Lorraine, who could not learn anything at school; his parents apprenticed him to a pastry-cook, with whom he was even more unsuccessful. Not knowing what

to do with himself, he went to Rome, and happened by chance there to go into the service of Augustine Tasse, to grind his colours and clean his palettes. His master, hoping to make him more useful, taught him some of the rules of perspective; and Lorraine, giving himself up entirely to painting, passed whole days in the country, drawing and painting, and became the celebrated and almost only landscape painter whose works are now to be admired in the museum."

Joe listened with breathless attention. When Mr Enguehard ceased speaking, there was a dead silence, which was broken by Joe's jumping up, exclaiming aloud, "Why not?-why not?" then he blushed upon seeing Francis roar out laughing.

Mr Enguehard sent them away to play, and reflecting upon Joe's words, was tempted to push him forward in the career to which he seemed called. But the excellent engraver was poor; it was impossible for him to take charge of Joe; and was he not then to blame, in giving this child ideas so unsuited to his situation? "What a pity!" repeated he; "but if I only made him unhappy, without being able to assist him!" From that day Mr Enguehard took no further notice of Poor Joe's drawinglessons. But the precaution came too late. Joe was born a painter: Claude Lorraine was always before his mind; and for want of fields, which he could not see, he drew horses and figures, and sought for subjects for composition in the historical events related to him by Francis.

Attentively observing the habits of the painters to whom he carried parcels, his imagination was still more excited; and he would grieve, when alone in his loft, that he had no colours or palette, and could only put black over white. Gabri was his sole confidant; but an event happened which revealed the secret to Mrs Barbe, and cost Poor Joe many tears.

IV.

We have already mentioned Barbe's kindness to young artists, who often left their pictures at his shop to be seen by the crowds constantly going there. Before being admitted to work for the grand prize in painting, which every year sends to and supports a young artist at Rome, at the expense of the government, the competitors have first a trial at full-length figures, secondly at coloured sketches, and six or eight of the most skilful then commence the pictures for which the prize is given. It may be easily imagined what importance young and poor artists attach to these trials. One of the most promising pupils of the time had just gained the prize of figure-drawing; and as Barbe had helped him in various ways, he wished him to share in his joy, and to leave with him his victorious study. He arrived at his shop, attended by a dozen of his companions and rivals, who, the first disappointment over, in general shared cordially in the

pleasure of the successful artist, particularly if they had studied with the same master. Joe was present, and became so agitated by the praises of the spectators, and the joy of the young people, that he would certainly have drawn upon himself a lecture from Mrs Barbe, had not Gabri dragged him away.

"My friend," said Joe sobbing," do you see that young man? He is only fifteen. Claude Lorraine was a pastry-cook; and Iwhat am I? There is something in me too!"

Gabri knew nothing of Claude Lorraine, but he succeeded in pacifying Joe, by promising that he should be gratified in one of his most anxious wishes.

The exhibition was just opened, and the merits of the different paintings were the constant subject of discussion at Barbe's shop. Workmen of all sorts, and soldiers, are not denied admittance to the exhibition; but Joe's age, his clothes stained with all the colours of the shop, and outgrown, made him afraid to pass the great frowning porter with his stick.

He confided his sorrows to his two friends. Francis, with his father's leave, gave his little companion an old greatcoat and trousers, which Philip, who was bound to a tailor, promised to make fit; Dame Robert bought a pretty piece of stuff, that her daughter cut out cleverly for a waistcoat; and Gabri engaged to furnish a hat. Joe was most impatient to profit by the gifts of his friends; but the preparations were of necessity tedious; for the little workers had more zeal than capability, and their daily task must be done notwithstanding.

Meanwhile Joe, happening to be alone in the shop, thought of amusing himself by looking at the new picture. Being hung up rather high, he climbed a ladder to take it down; but thinking he heard terrible Mrs Barbe coming, he hastily replaced it, when, in his hurry, the end of his sleeve rubbed the fresh painting, and took off part of the ground, and almost the whole of one leg. Nobody coming, Joe recovered his fright, and again looked up, and great was his grief upon seeing the accident. What was he to do? What would become of him if the young painter came for his work? What should he say to Mrs Barbe?

for, if he were questioned, he could not say what was not true. The poor child was in despair, and already fancied himself disgracefully turned out. Joe could think of but one remedy; he ran to hide the picture in his own room, and trusted to his own skill to repair the damage. This was daring indeed; but there have been many instances of the influence exercised on the minds of children by the objects of art to which they are early accustomed. Some years ago, at Florence, there was a great fall of snow, a very unusual circumstance in that mild climate. The children of the poor were seen to form it into statues, and even groups, remarkable for their imitation of the masterpieces by which they were surrounded. Joe possessed great natural talent; and we must recollect that the work he

wanted to touch up was only that of a pupil of fifteen years of age. Having often seen painters at work, he was at no loss for the management of the palette; but he wanted colours and brushes; and although placed in the centre of such things, he dared not make use of one.

Unfortunately, Gabri had gone to his own country for some days, the first time for fifteen years that he was absent from Mr Barbe's. In this dilemma he had, therefore, only his friend Francis to whom he could apply for assistance: he was as much frightened by the intended repairs as by the accident; however, Joe's intreaties were so urgent, for he was afraid of being missed, that Francis gave him what money he had. This was sufficient for what Joe required; and his purchases were made and hidden with such rapidity, that he was in his place before Mrs Barbe asked for him.

Joe was disturbed all day by the idea of his daring enterprise, and his mind was so distracted, that he could not half enjoy his new clothes which Philip brought home that evening. The poor boy was disappointed by Joe's indifference, and returned, thinking he must be sick, or that something was seriously the matter

with him.

Joe, up with the dawn, at first only thought of the pleasure of possessing colours and brushes; but when all was ready, he was struck by the difficulties before him, and remained motionless, not daring to take up the brush, when a happy idea suddenly restored his courage. 66 I have half of a leg to do," said he to himself. "Well, why not copy from my own? Great painters draw from nature, and I can arrange my foot so as to draw from it without inconvenience. By this means I shall certainly succeed." After carefully examining the figure, the legs of which, luckily for him, were stretched out, he turned one of his own nearly into the same position, and gave the first trembling touch. By degrees his hand gained freedom and facility, and he never rested until the mischief was repaired.

The study completed, Joe went down stairs to watch for a favourable moment to hang it in its place. It was late, and the family were going out to walk, and Mrs Barbe was in such goodhumour, her husband having made her a present of a pretty cap, that she readily gave Joe leave to go to the exhibition, provided that he returned early to put everything in order. No sooner were they out of sight than the picture was hung, and Joe, looking up, smiled at the fine effect of his labours.

Feeling then only the joy of a new dress, and proud of his brass buttons, he went to the exhibition at the Louvre, and passed the great porter.

The splendid staircase was not then built: still, the one which met Joe's unaccustomed gaze was that of a palace. Those wide stone stairs-the walls covered with pictures-the tumult of the crowd that pushed him along-no wonder that poor Joe's head

should become giddy. He looked without seeing, walked without hearing, until he reached the grand gallery of the museum containing the old pictures. At the sight of this immense gallery, beautiful even to those accustomed to such scenes, Joe was indeed astonished. Fewer persons being in this part of the museum, Joe breathed freely, and being no longer pushed about, he began to enjoy the happiness he had so often longed for. Several pictures attracted his attention, but too ignorant to understand the subjects of them, his pleasure was thereby considerably diminished. When he reached that picture of Raphael's known as the "Virgin in the Chair," the figures were easily recognised. Joe found himself, as it were, in the midst of old acquaintances: he could even make comparisons: having seen other church pictures, his taste was naturally so correct, that the sight of this masterpiece created emotions in his mind hitherto unknown to him. The longer he looked, the greater was the illusion. The head of the infant Jesus seemed to become animated, and to smile upon him. Joe, leaning over the balustrade, stretched out his arms, smiled in return, and in the charm of his new sensations forgot everything else, when a noise near him made him start up and shake off the fit of abstraction. He turned his head, and saw a man who was watching him attentively. He was still young, with a face remarkable for expression; his animated eyes were fixed with kindness upon Joe, who, notwithstanding his usual timidity, answered the questions put to him without embarrassment. The stranger wished to know his name, what he thought of Raphael's picture, what were his ideas, his occupation, &c. The natural expressions of Joe, through which his precocious genius might be easily perceived, warmly interested the stranger. "Thou art born a painter, child," said he, gently touching Joe's forehead; "thou knowest already what no master could teach thee; but thou requirest guidance, and I will give it thee. Here is my address. I am called G- : come to my house; I will do something for thee."

Joe recognised with rapture the name of one of the most cele brated artists, and clasped his hands together without being able to utter a word. Mr G- gave him another kind look, and went away. Joe could not for some time recover from his agitation, and it was late when he recollected that he was still in Mrs Barbe's service, and that he was in some risk of not remaining in it from the accident that had happened. Extremely uneasy, he hurried back to Barbe's. Everybody had returned, and the manner in which he was received, forewarned him that the storm was about to burst over his devoted head.

V.

Barbe was walking up and down the warehouse; he advanced towards Joe, as if to question him, and then turned sorrowfully