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Pauloh that my mother were living, we might "Paul was persuaded, and, bearing his friend's yet go to Italy!

letter, bent his way to a fine-looking house, a long “Again the painter laid aside his pen and resumed way from his own abode. Upon ringing the bell, he his pallet. The one order was executed, the money was informed by the servant that the family were at transferred to his slender purse, and even now he dinner. Leaving the letter with the waiter, he debegan to think how much might be put aside for his sired him to hand it 10 Mr. C., and say that Mr. Taldarling project.

bot would call to-morrow evening. The next eve. "Could I but obtain enough to pay for my pas- ning Mr. C. was engaged, and on the next, when sage-once there, in that delicious climate, I could Paul was ushered into the drawing-room, and his live on so little. Oh that some one would buy this,' name announced, he received a stately and patroniz. he continued, taking up a small picture on which he ing bow from a short, stout gentleman, who stood had bestowed unusual care, it is worth more than with his back to the fire, conversing with three or either of the others. I shall leave it with the kind four more who were seated near him. Mr. Barry; how generous he was in refusing the ""Take a seat, sir,' and the short man waved his commission I promised him for the last one he sold.' hand toward the intruder, and resumed the conver.

“Mr. Barry, at whose print-shop Paul had left bis sation thus momentarily interrupted, first picture, had kindly drawn from him the story of “Paul grew nervous, and taking advantage of a his life, and felt deeply interested in the young artist's pause he rose, and bowing slightly, advanced toward changing fortunes, but, like many other generous- Mr. C. for the purpose of speaking. The latter behearted men, he was always forming schemes for gan first—- I have looked over Mr. Barry's letter, the benefit of others, which his means would not young man, and hardly think it will be in my power permit him to accomplish.

to assist you.' “ The kind man had just reared a goodly super- "I came not seeking assistance, sir,' replied structure of greatness, upon a rather sandy founda- Paul; 'my friend Mr. Barry thought you might pertion, for his young protégé, when Paul entered with haps wish to add another picture to your collection, the new work fresh from his easel.

and, as I purpose going abroad, assured me that you “Why, Talbot,' said he, cordially grasping the would cheerfully give a few lines of introduction to painter's hand, this is capital! and I consider my- your young countryman.' self a tolerably good judge. When younger, I was "Well, well, we will see, we wil see, but all in the employ of a picture-dealer, who pursued the you young men have taken it into your heads that profitable business of making old pictures look like you must travel, and this makes so many applicants.' new, and the still more profitable one of making new ". Applicants!' the word stung Paul 10 the quick, pictures look like old. You stare, it is a fact, I assure and again bowing to Mr. C., he left the apartment. you. To a Madonna, that had been bought for a tri- Once in the free air of heaven, he gave vent 10 his fling sum, I had the honor of imparting a time-worn suppressed feelings, and vowed that should be his tinge, which so took the fancy of an amateur, that first and last visit 10 a patron. he paid two hundred and fifty dollars for it at auction. “ Barry was indignant when he heard the nonBut I never could endure cheating, so I left the pic success of his young friend. Why, Talbot, that iure manufactory, and commenced the sale of prints man's name is bruited abroad as a most liberal pa. on my own account.'

tron of Art, a fosterer of early genius, an encourager " • Do you think there is any chance of selling this of native talent-how I bave been deceived !! landscape?' inquired Paul. "I will take fifteen dol- "Never mind, my dear friend, you will sell the lars for it.'

picture to some one else, and I will conquer yet.' 566 Why, Talbot, you are foolish, it is worth at “And Paul Talbot did conquer. When another least fifty.'

year had gone by, he stood with the hand of his “* Ah, no one would give me so large a sum for friend Barry clasped in his own, returning the warm a picture; ffty dollars! that would almost take me "God bless you,' fervently uttered by the old man in to Italy.'

that hour of parting. “ Well, well, my dear fellow, it is said, Provi- “In a wild tumult of feeling, half joy half sorrow, dence helps those who help themselves, and you are he stood upon the deck of the vessel, and watched sure to be helped in some way or other. I was think the shores of his native land as they faded in the ing about you this morning, and wrote a note of in- distance. troduction to Mr. C., who is a great patron of the · The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, Fine Arts. I have told him of your desire to go As glad to wast him from his native home.' abroad, and how you are situated

And now he is on the ocean—the waves are dashing Nay, nay, my kind friend,' interrupted Paul, against the ship and bearing him onward-whither ? this looks too much like begging a favor, remember To the land of his hopes. To the land of his dreams. I cannot sacrifice my independence, even to secure Why each moment does he grow sadder and sadder ? the accomplishment of my most ardent wishes.' Why, as the crescent moon rises serenely in the

“You are wrong, Talbot, you do not solicit him heavens, does he press his eyelids down to shut her for aid; he has a taste for art, and if he give you beauty from his sight? money, you return an equivalent in your picture, so "Oh that my mother were here! Great God! that the obligation is mutual.'

yon moon is shining on my mother's grave!'


the fortunate possessor was so justly proud. He Wilt thou take measure of such minds as these,

went, and in the picture gallery of the wealthy Or sound, with plummet-line, the Artist-Heart? Florentine was opened a new page in the artist's


book of life. Its holy flame forever burneth,

“Poets and painters have ever an eye for beauty From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth ; Too oft on Earth a troubled guest,

in women; and when Carlotta D. entered the apartAt times deceived, at times opprest,

ment, leaning on the arm of her father, Paul started It here is tried and purified, Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest!

as if one of the bright visions of his ideal world stood It soweth here with toil and care,

suddenly embodied before him. The lady, 100, was But the harvest time of Love is there. SOUTHEY.

for a moment half-embarrassed-for the same of the “Paul Talbot is in the city of wonders. Ivy- young painter had reached her ears, and, womangirdled ruins of the time-embalming Past are lying like, she had been wondering is report spoke truly in the distance. Lofty cathedrals, rich in votive when it ascribed 10 him the dark clustering locks, offerings of surpassing magnificence, surround him and the lustrous eyes of her own sunny south. on every side. Stately palaces, their long galleries Love's not a flower that grows on the dull earth; filled with the noblest works of the mighty minds of Springs by the calendar; must wait for sun

For rain; matures by parts---must take its time old, are baring their treasures to his gaze. The 'dew

To stem, to leal, to bud, to blow. It owns dropping coolness of the marble fountain, breathes A richer soil, and boasts a quicker seed !

You look for it and see it not; and lo! new vigor into his frame. He is excited--bewildered

E'en while you look the peerless flower is up, -dazzled and drunk with beauty,' and for weeks Consummate in the birth!! Paul wandered about Rome and its environs, half "Was it strange that Paul and Carlotta, both worforgetful that his lot was still 10 struggle and to toil. shipers of the beautiful, with souls alive to the most

“When roused to action, he threw himself heart holy sympathies of our nature, was it strange that and soul into his art, and the consequence was a they should love ? long and severe illness, brought on by that absorbing “ Paul had hitherto lived for his art alone. Painting devotion which osien kept him at his pursuits until was the mistress he had ever wooed with intense the morning dawn peering into his room reminded passion, but now another claimed his homage, and him that he was weary and overtasked. For monibs he bowed with a fervor little less than idolatrous at he lay wasted by sickness, helpless at times as a woman's shrine. Such a love could not long remain feeble child, but nature triumphed over disease, and concealed. The father of Carlotta, a vain and he wandered once more beneath the blue sky, and purse-proud man, hoping by his wealth 10 obtain a felt the kiss of the balmy air upon his pallid cheek. husband for his daughter among some of the haughty

“With a return to health, Paul returned with re- but decayed nobility, frowned on the artist, and for. newed ardor to his task, until the picture on which bade him his house. In secret the lovers plighted he had long and earnestly labored was at length com- their iroth, and parted, not knowing when they pleted. He had chosen for his subject a scene repre- should meet again. senting the Hermit Peter exhorting the people to join Paul left Florence with the resolve to win not the crusaders. Standing in the midst, with one arm fame alone, but wealth. outstretched, and the other raised to heaven, was "At Rome he was enrolled a member of the seen the enthusiast. On either side, were grouped Academy of St. Luke, under Overbeck-the spiritmailed knights and stalwort forms, the tillers of the ually-minded Overbeck-who himself the son of a soil. One gentle lady, like the weeping Andromeda, poet, has enriched his art with the divinely poetical was clinging to her lord, and a villager's wife held up conceptions of his own pencil. At Munich, one of her child for his father's last fond kiss. So animated his pictures was shown by Cornelius to the king of and life-like was the figure of the preacher-so Bavaria, and purchased by that munificent patron of eager and intense the emotion betrayed by the assem- art at a price far exceeding the painter's expectations. bled multitude—that you listened to hear the elo- At Vienna a similar success attended bim, and be quence that roused all Europe, and sent prince, peer, returned to Florence after an absence of six years, and peasant to rescue the holy sepulchre from the with fame, and wealth enough for the foundation of hand of the Infidel, to cast down the crescent of Mo- a fortune. hammed, and to raise the cross of Christ.

“From Carlotta he had rarely heard, but he knew “And now came that fame for which the young her heart was his, and he had that faith in her chapainter had toiled, and to which he had looked for- racter as a true woman, which made him believe ward as his highest guerdon. Crowds were daily that no entreaties or commands of her father would drawn to his atelier, and artists who had themselves induce her to wed another. And Paul was rightwon a world-wide renown, bestowed their warmest Carlotta D. still remained unmarried. In her the praises upon the • Hermit' of Paul Talbot.

budding loveliness of the girl had expanded into the “ The following winter Paul passed in Florence, fuller beauty of the woman, but Talbot was sadly and there his picture was purched by a Florentine altered. The feverish excitement-he continued merchant, at a price which relieved the artist from toil--the broken rest—the anxiety of thought to fear of pecuniary embarrassment. Paul was re- which he had been subjected, undermined his health, quested to visit the house of the merchant, and select and planted the seeds of that insidious disease, which, the most fitting place to display the work of which I while it wastes the bodily strength, leaves the mind

unimpaired, and the hope of the sufferer buoyed to Like twilight clouds of golden dyes, the last. The father of Carlotta finding that neither

When summer suns have set. persuasion nor coercion could make his high-souled Then fill the bowl-but while you drink, daughter barter her love for a title, consented at last In silence pledge all once so dear, that she should become the bride of the artist; but Nor let the gay ones round us think many said the wily Florentine had given his con

We sigh for those who are not here. sent the more readily, because he saw that Paul “My dear Paul,' said his wife, smiling through would not long be a barrier in the way of his ambition. the tears with which, in spite of her efforts to repress

“ Paul Talbot had buffeted the adverse waves of them, her eyes were sussused, 'this sad song should be fortune; he had gained renown in a land filled with the sung on the last night of the year, the night for which most exquisite creations of the gifted; he had won a it was composed. It should be sung while the stupromised bride. Whence, in that bright hour loomed dent-band of artists stood around, each holding the the one dark cloud that blotted the stars from the sky? flower-wreathed goblet from which he might quaff Could it be the shadow of the tomb? Was death in silence, while his heart-memories were wandering interweaving his gloomy cypress with the laurel on back to fatherland. Let me sing,'-she paused on the painter's brow? Oh, no, no—he was but weary seeing the deep melancholy depicted on her husband's -he only wanted rest, and his powers would again countenance— nay, forgive me for jesting, love, I be in full vigor. Then, with Carlotta at his side- know with whom are your thoughts to-night, and will with her smile to cheer him on-he would aim higher, not ask you to listen to a ligbier strain.' and yet higher in his art.

“A month went by winged with love and hope. “And the young wife was deceived. Although a Paul found himself growing weaker, but he looked nameless dread, a dark prescience lay heavy at her forward to a sea-voyage as a sure means of restoring heart, she yet thought the bright flush on the cheek him to health. Carlotta was hastening her prepaof Paul a sign of returning health. How tenderly ratory arrangements, willing to leave her home, and anxiously she watched lest he should fatigue willing to brave the perils of the deep, in the belief himself at his easel, and how gently she chid, and that old Ocean's life-inspiring ware would prove the lured him from his task into the open air of their fabled fountain of youth to her beloved. She had beautiful garden.

never seen consumption in any of its varied and “One of the days thus passed had been deliciously sometimes beautiful forms. She knew not that the mild, and, although mid-winter, in that heavenly eye could retain its lusue, that the cheek could glow climate where flowers are ever blooming in the open with more than its usual brightness, that the heart air, each breeze was laden with the heavy odor of could be lured by a false hope, until, like a red leaf the orange blossom, and the fainter perfume of the of the forest, dropping suddenly from the topmost Provence rose. Stepping lighily from the balcony bough, the doomed one fell, stricken down in an where Paul and she had been seated watching the unthought of moment by the stern destroyer. piled-up masses of crimson, of purple, and of gold "One morning, when Paul had remained much that hung like regal drapery round the couch of the longer than usual in his apartment, Carlotta sought western sun, Carlotta pushed aside the opening him for the purpose of whiling him abroad. blossoms of the night-jasmine which intercepted her "He was lying asleep on a couch, where he must reach, and gathering a handful of rose-buds, carried have thrown himself from very weariness, as one of them to Paul. He took the flowers from his wife, the brushes with which he had been painting had and looking mournfully upon them, said, When fallen from his hand upon the floor. His wife softly we cross the waters to visit my native land, we will approached. She stooped and kissed his lips. He take with us some of your precious roses, beloved, opened his eyes, smiled lovingly upon her, and and beautify my mother's silent home; and now,' he pointed to the picture. continued, twining his arm round her waist, and 66. You have made me too beautiful, dearest; this leading her to the harp, "sing me that little song I must be a copy of the image in your heart.' wrote while yet a student in old Rome.' Pressing "Ah, I have not done you justice, you are far her lips upon his brow, Carlotta seated herself, and more lovely, my own wife, yes, far more lovelysung the song, which she had set to music. The air my mother-my mother—' repeated Paul, dreamily. was soft and melancholy, and the sweet tones of the It was evident his thoughts were wandering. singer were tremulous with emotion.

" " You are exhausted, dear love; but sleep now,

and I will watch beside you.' Fill high the festive bowl to-night,

Carlotta knelt down and laid her cheek on his. In memory of former years,

Afraid of disturbing him, some minutes elapsed ere And let the wine-cup foam as bright

she again raised her head and turned to look upon As ere our eyes were dimmed with tears.

the sleeper. She took the hand that hung listlessly Pledge, pledge me those whose joyous smile by his side. It was cold, and she thought to warm it Around our happy circle shone,

by pressing it to her lips—to her cheek--to her heart. Whose genial mirth would hours beguile,

She bent her ear close to the sleeper-there was no Which, but for them, were sad and lone.

sound; she laid her lips on his-oh, God! where was Those hours, those friends, those social ties,

the warm breath? A horrible dread came over her, They linger round me yet,

and unable from the intensity of her agony to utter any the poet.

cry, she sunk down and gazed fixedly in her hus-, Florence, but a letter received since my return home band's face, realizing the heart-touching thoughts of informs me that after a short interval, in which

reason resumed her sway, the sufferer calmly de"And still upon that face I look,

parted, coupling the name of her beloved with the And think it will smile again,

rest and the bliss of Paradise. And still the thought I cannot brook

“The wretched father was filled with self-upbraid. That I must look in vain.'

ings. But for him, he said, Paul Talbot might have “And thus were they found by her father, who been living, and his daughter living, happy in each was the first to enter the apartment. Paul quite other's love. He spoke truly. To gratify his amdead-Carlotta lying to all appearance lifeless at his bition, Paul had overtasked the powers of life. The side—and before them the unfinished picture. frail shrine was consumed by the flame which for

“When the fond wife was restored to conscious- years had been scorching and burning into the heart ness, and felt the full weight of that misery that was and soul of the artist. Too late had he obtained his crushing out her young life, her reason became un- reward. Too late had Carlotta's father consented to settled. It was very sad to see her wandering from her union with Paul. Too late had the old man room to room as if in search of some lost object, found that by his daughter's alliance with a man of often stopping to unfold, and then folding again, the genius, a greater lustre would have shone upon his garments prepared for their journey. She would house than could ever be reflected from his glittering frequently rise with a sudden start, walk hurriedly hoard.” to the window, and stand for a long time in an atti- Here ended my friend's narration, and while with tude of fixed allention, then mournfully shaking her him I lamented the fate of genius, I could not forbear head to and fro, would slowly resume her accustomed blaming the conduct of the wealthy Florentine. Nor seat, and in a low voice repeat' not yet-not yet- could I help thinking, that too often the golden ears Paul still lingers in Rome.' Carlotta remained in betray the ass, while wisdom, virtue, talent, conthis melancholy state during the time I was institute the only real greatness.



So, from the blue sky shining overhead,

The whispering angels leave us, one by one.
I have past by the goal; 't is hard to pause,

And, but for pride, I should shake hands with Vice,
Trample on Virtue's desecrated laws,

And with my own dishonor pay the price.

LITTLE that moves the pulse of youth and joy

My wayward heart bends downward to confess; Little of virtue, without some alloy

To make my good deeds vain and valueless; Though the world pass me, trusting and deceived,

Though sunny smiles glitter where frowns have been, There is a spirit in my bosom grieved,

Before whose eyes I may not draw the screen; And here, when I am sad, she folds her wings

To warble of lost hopes and past desires, My heart-strings loosen as the spirit sings,

And cooling tears drop on my wasting fires.

And then I know that I have turned away

From the proud picture that my fancy drew, That I am passing further every day

From my own standard of the good and true; We go not to the grave as we arise

From childhood's slumbers, in the outward face, And the soul, looking out from human eyes,

Becomes corrupt and bitter in the race. I deemed that I should pass into my age

As I began, warm, generous and kind, And pausing here upon life's second stage,

I turn and look upon a cankered mind!

Wo to us, when our pride becomes our truth

And hollow-hearted selfishness our trust,
With age's avarice creeping over youth,

And clothing all things in corroding rust!
Pride is frail hold on virtue, yet 't is all

That binds me to one deed of human hope;
Let me forget my pride and I shall fall

So low contempt will lose me in its scope !
How long shall this frail pride support my name?

How long ere malice o'er my head shall creep,
And touch me with the fangs of his dark shame,

And lure me, with his serpent eyes, to sleep?

I have o’erstepped my bound—I have past by

The goal that none may pass and yet be pure, The pole star has grown glimmering to my eye,

And meteors have become my spirit's lureSo from one failing step we come to tread

Paths that in early youth we swore to shun,

I know not that I shall forget my kind,

Nor shame the form I owe to human birth;
I know not but the foaming of my mind

May leave a legucy of good to earth;
But I am saddened when I think that all

Of the world's plaudit flows from my deceit,
And that the eyes that love me would recall

Their pleasant looks, could they but trace my feet!
The heart's confession bears the curse

years, To be without a pure thought at my side, And if I fall lament me not with tears,

But think that time has shorn away my pride!

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