Oh, madame," I do not know exactly; I am not well enough acquainted with this part of the country to describe it exactly; but the man wore a blue blouze. But why I should have taken him for the captain, I cannot imagine, as we are not yet in the carnival."

Madame d'Apremont said no more; but she was fully persuaded that the person mentioned was her husband. But why disguise himself? He must be engaged in some very If you really love me, you dreadful affair; and Nathalie shed tears as she thought "Oh, how unfortunate I am to have married a man who is so mysterious!"

The captain assured her that he had no occasion to be any thing but delighted with her conduct on all occasions, and for a time no angry expressions escaped him; but it soon return- Armand leaves the house for two hours every evening, afed. Nathalie was distressed beyond measure. She imparted ter dinner, and comes back in high spirits, and as anxious to her anxiety to her uncle, who replied-" Yes, my dear, I know please me as on the day of our marriage. Oh! uncle, I canwhat you mean; I have often remarked it myself, at back-not bear it any longer; if you do not assist me to discover gammen. He is very inattentive; and often passes his hand where he goes, I will separate myself from him." over his forehead, and starts up, as if something agitated "But, my dear niece-" him."

"The wretch! So, he has a key! But go on."

RECOLLECTIONS OF A PORTRAIT PAINTER.

A BROTHER OF THE BRUSH.

I AM a portrait painter, and strictly speaking, only a po

"When the door shut after him, I stole softly up stairs, trait painter. It has very seldom been my choice to emplo and peeped through the key-hole."

"Well! you shall have twenty francs more!"

my pencil on any subject excepting the human face divine to me the most interesting of all studies. Landscape and an

"I peeped through the key-hole, and saw him drag a great mals I have never painted save as adjuncts to some princip box along the floor."

"A box ?"

"Then he undressed himself, and-" "Undressed himself!"

"Then, for a few seconds, I could not see him, and directly he appeared again, in a sort of gray blouse, and a cap on his head!"

"A blouse, still! What in the world does he want with so many blouses? Well, what next?"

"I came away then, madame, and made haste to tell it to you; but he is there still."

"Well, now run to the corner, and get me a hack, and direct the coachman to the house where you have been." Whilst he was gone after the hack, Nathalie hurried on her hat and cloak, and ran into her uncle's room, saying"I have found him out-he is at his mistress' house now, in a gray blouse. He had a blue one in the country. But I will go and confound him, and then you will see me no more." The old man had no time to reply. She was gone, with her messenger, in the hack. They stopped, at last. "Here is the house." Nathalie got out, pale and trembling. "Shall I go up stairs with you, madame ?" asked the boy. "No, I will go alone. The third story, is it not?" "Yes, madame; the left door, at the head of the stairs." Nathalie mounted the dark, narrow stairs, and arrived at the door, and, almost fainting, she cried-"Open the door, or I shall die!"

The door was opened, and Nathalie was received in her husband's arms, who was alone in the room, clad in a gray blouse, and-smoking a Turkish pipe.

"My wife!" exclaimed Armand, in surprise. "Yes, sir, your wife; who, suspecting your perfidy, has followed you, to discover the cause of your mysterious conduct!"

"How, Nathalie, my mysterious conduct? Look, here it is"!" showing his pipe. "Before our marriage, you forbade me to smoke, and I promised to obey you. For some months I kept my promise; but you know what it cost me; you remember how irritable and sad I became. It was my pipe, my beloved pipe, that I regretted. One day, in the country, I discovered a little cottage, where a peasant was smoking. I asked him if he could lend me a blouse and a cap; for I should like to smoke with him, but it was necessary to conceal it from you, as the smell of the smoke, remaining in my clothes, would have betrayed me. It was soon settled between us. I returned thither every afternoon, to indulge in my favorite occupation: and, with the precaution of a cap, to keep the smoke from remaining in ray hair, I contrived to deceive you. When we returned to Paris, I hired this little room, at a distance from home, and here I keep this great box, in which I always lock my coat before I bring out my pipe; so that, on my return, you may not be offended by the odor. This is all the mystery. Forgive me for my disobedience, since I have done all I could to conceal it from you." Nathalie embraced him, crying-"Oh, no! I might have known it could not be! I am happy now, and you shall smoke as much as you please, at home. I will never make any opposition to it, and you need hide your pipe no longer." And Nathalie returned to her uncle, saying-"Uncle, he loves me! He was only smoking; but hereafter he is to smoke at home."

"I can arrange it all," said M. d'Ablaincourt; "he shall smoke while he plays backgammon." "In that way," thought the old man, "I shall be sure of my game every evening."

figure; and fancy groups I have never painted, unless all th faces introduced were portraits. But whilst confining myse almost to one branch of art, be it known to you, gentle reade that I am fully capable of enjoying and appreciating the tr umphs of genius in other paths than mine, and my taste ha been not unfrequently appealed to, when my more wealth friends have been desirous of enriching their mansions with pictures. These may seem unimportant matters to descan upon; but slight circumstances often lead to great results and by their means I once met with an adventure so full o the romance of real life, that I deem it worthy of a place amongst these records of the past.

street

My friend Sir Philip Borrodaile, shortly after his union with the fair Eleanor Armstrong, called upon me one morn ing, to request that I would accompany him to the gallery, to assist him in the selection of two or three pictures which were wanted to complete the furniture of his splendid dining-room.

"I know but little of pictures myself" said he, "but Eleanor dotes on them, and I am sure I owe it to the company of painters to encourage them by every means in my power.'

To the gallery we proceeded accordingly, and commenced a search for such pictures as my friend wished to purchase. Three were soon fixed upon-my share in the choice being rather a negative thing; for clever as they certainly were, they were not quite what I should have selected, if left to my own judgement. 'A Scotch terrier,' by one of the first animal painters of the day, Sir Philip fell in love with at first sight, because of the resemblance it bore to a favorite dog of his own, which had died a few weeks before. A party of Dutch boors' were purchased, because they were so amusing; and a large fruit piece concluded the trio, because, as Sir Philip remarked, nothing could be more suitable for a dining room.' But still a fourth was wanting to complete the required number; as I saw my friend casting an eye toward the representation of some nameless battle, simply because it accorded in size with those already chosen, I drew him away toward a picture which all along had attracted my attention, and which, whilst it was nearly of the proper dimensions, was far more tasteful in design than the battle aforesaid.

On examination I found that this work was not particularly well finished; but I was pleased with the poetical light and warmth, the freedom of outline, the stamp of natural genius that pervaded it. There could be no question but that the artist, whoever he was, had the root of excellence strong within him, though it might lack sufficient cultivation." The subject was an 'Italian vintage scene,' as we found by reference to the catalogue; and certainly the painting told its own story without words. A beautiful peasant girl had just reached her cottage door, and was reclining in a languid attitude on the turf before it. A large basket of grapes rested on the ground beside her, and an infant slumbered on her knees. Behind her leaned a youth of eighteen or twenty, who was twisting a few vine leaves among her dark curls. She was raising one hand as if to put up those tresses, and her eyes were uplifted with an expression of the deepest and most overflowing tenderness I ever saw in or out of a picture. But the most striking feature of the whole, was the appearance of the young man, whose features and dress were genu inely and evidently English. I felt that the picture had a history. Perhaps the very thing that fixed any attention so lovingly upon it, was the conviction that at once entered my mind that here were portraits. Sir Philip did not seem par ticularly taken with the object of my admiration. I assured him that Lady Borrodaile would be delighted with it; but still his eye obstinately wandered toward the battle piece. At last he consented to suspend his choice till his lady's opin ion could be taken; and directions were given, that while 'sold' should be marked on the three positively chosen, the 'Italian vintage scene,' and its gaudy rival should not be disposed of, without due notice being given to me or my friend. I had observed that an elderly man, of very prepossessing appearance, had several times lingered near us during our

perambulation of the rooms, and though there was not the
least of impertinent curiosity or obtrusiveness in his manner,
I could not but see that he was in some way interested in our
decision. He always kept in the neighborhood of the Ital-
ian scene,' and though as we came near it again and again he
withdrew his eyes from us, and seemed totally absorbed in
the perusal of a catalogue, I was sure wished to hear what
we said-sure that our choice was a matter of moment to
him. Once, when I was advising that my favorite should be
at any rate purchased, I caught his clear blue eye fixed on
me with the most intense eagerness; but the moment that
he perceived that I noticed it, he turned very red, and rolling
up his catalogue, retreated to the farther end of the room.
He came near us no more, but we passed him as we were
leaving the gallery, and as the door closed, a sigh reached
my ears.
I was sure it came from the old man behind us.
All day that old man haunted my memory-his tall, slight
figure, his thin, grey hair, his thread-bare garments, his one
eager look of prying interest. I could not account for this
unless he were the painter of the picture. If he were, he
must be in great need; his pale face, his emaciated form, his
shabby habiliments, all gave color to the supposition; and if
he were in distress—“I must find this out," thought I;
"my means are but small, but whether Sir Philip buys his
picture or not, a brother of the brush must not starve.
The next day, accompanied by Lady Borrodaile, we re-
visited the gallery. Our fair companion was pleased with the
picture, yet she wished the purchase delayed for a day or two.
"I should wish to visit some other exhibition first Philip,"
said she, "and see if there be any thing that I like better, for
you know this last chosen picture is to be mine. I may seem
very capricious, Mr. Ashley," she continued, turning to me,
"but I really cannot relinquish my womanly privilege of turn-
ing over a whole warehouse of goods before I buy."

She laughed lightly as she spoke, and I could not blame her, but yet my thoughts turned involuntarily to the, poor painter. I made some excuse to part with my friends at the door of the gallery, and returned again when they had left me, for there was a strange restless curiosity awakened in my mind about the picture and its master. I inquired from the attendants if they knew any thing about Mr. Hamilton-such was his name-but the only information I could obtain was, that he had no other picture there-that he was exceedingly anxious about the sale of this, and was in the habit of coming almost daily to know if it were disposed of. Before I had concluded my questions, the object of them entered, and on seeing me, cast a hasty glance toward his solitary picture. Alas! it did not yet bear the ticket announcing its sale, and, turning away, he sank rather than sat down on one of the benches, where, resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. I was certain that he had tears of disappointment to hide at that moment.

I left the gallery and proceeded slowly along the streets, my mind full of my poor brother artist, who I now felt certain was laboring under some heavy distress. I blamed myself that I had not overcome the paltry scruples of caution and custom, and at once addressed him, as one who could sympathize in his sorrows, and who was ready to afford him what small aid my means would allow.

"It is not too late, even now," said I, half aloud, and I be gan to retrace my steps. At that moment my attention was attracted by a loud cry-I raised my eyes, and saw the people running towards the end of the street, where a crowd had collected by the time I reached it. With almost a prophetic knowledge of the truth, I forced my way into the center of the mob, and there extended on the ground, in a deep swoon, lay the unfortunate Hamilton. Putting aside the throng as I best could, and repelling the assiduities of one very busy gentleman of doubtful aspect, who was anxious to search the pockets of the sufferer, for a card of address, I directed a coach to be called, and having placed Mr. Hamilton therein, I conveyed him to my own residence, which was at no great distance. He speedily gave signs of returning animation, and when he was established on the sofa in my apartment, a glass of wine and water soon restored him so far as to enable him to raise his head and thank me for my care.

"I am better now, I shall be quite able to walk presently," he feebly reiterated; but the attempt was vain, and he sunk down again.

"Do not try to move yet, sir," said I, "you are much too weak to leave your seat at present: rest here awhile, and believe me you are most welcome to any little kindness that is in my power to show you."

He pressed my hand gratefully, and then, leaning his head on the sofa, burst into tears, and wept like a child. A few words did not suffice to tell his story, but they were enough to enlist all my pity on his side, and to make me anxious to do him service. He was old and feeble-he lived in a poor street about half a mile off-he was in the extremity of poverty, and had a sick grandchild--he had looked forward to the sale of the picture so often named, as his only remaining hope of succour. Hitherto he had been disappointed, and on returning home that day, had fainted-I strongly suspected more from want of sustenance than fatigue. All this I gathered in a few minutes, and as soon as he was sufficiently recovered, I accompanied him to his lodgings. We ascended two or three flights of stairs, each narrower and dirtier than the one below it, and there in a garret, I found, was the painter's home. Scraps of canvass, half finished drawings, (very inferior, as I saw at a glance, to the picture in the exhibition,) were scattered about the room. An old tent bedstead, entirely despoiled of its hangings, and furnished only with a wretched mattrass, stood on one side, and a bundle of straw, partly covered with a small coarse rug occupied a corner. But there was one jewel-one glorious feature in that wretched scene, which shed a halo of beauty and romance even over that poor chamber, and made it seem a fit abode for the very spirit of poetry. This was a young girl of about fifteen years old, who, reclining on a wooden settle near the small window-slept! Yes-amidst all the desolation of the scene amidst the pressure of her sorrows, (for the tears might still be traced where they had dried on her cheeks,) she slept!-the beautiful image of Christian peace in the midst of a cold and persecuting world. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breathing short and quick; her brow was pale and pure as marble, but one little crimson spot on each cheek told of "the foe that worked within," and her white, shrunken hand hung powerless by her side, almost transparent in its exceeding thinness. But her hair! Never have I seen such masses, such wreaths of deep golden hair as those which hung, half uncurled, in heavy, damp waves round her face and shoulders. The string that should have confined it had evidently been unfastened as she stirred in her slumbers, and all that ocean of hair was falling around her, bright, rich, unscathed by the illness that was evidently consuming her life. I have known one other instance in which the hair of a consumptive patient seemed to grow more luxuriantly than in health-probably drawing its strength from the very vitals of the sufferer-and never but one. All this was impressed on my mind in a few moments, and Hamilton going up to the side of the invalid, she awakened. With a low, sweet voice, and somewhat of a foreign accent, she inquired, "Why he had been away so long, and if the picture"She paused, for she saw a stranger, and fixed on me a look so sweet, so plaintive, that it clung to my mind for days after.

"You are faint, my Madeline," said Hamilton, as he assisted her to rise-" faint and weak, but God has helped us, see here"-and he showed her a certain coin which I had just deposited in his hand. "You shall have nourishment-medicine, dearest-soon, very soon."

This was half whispered, as if for her ear alone, but I caught every word.

"I have not wanted," said the poor girl; "I was weak, and faint, and sinfully sad an hour ago, but I have slept, and angels have come to me with pleasant dreams, and now I am quite strong and well."

And she smiled such a smile as a ministering spirit might wear when assuming the office of a comforter to some sorrowing mortal. Then followed a scene of temporary joy and relief, which it gladdened my very soul to witness. Oh, ye who have more wealth at your disposal in a single year than I ever possessed in my whole life, and who yet are in want of an excitement and emotion, seek out the abodes of the sick, the poor and the wretched, and see how much happiness to others, and, above all, to yourselves, may be purchased for a single sovereign!

The story of Hamilton's life was now told. He was the son of a country artist, a struggling man, who had never risen to any eminence in his profession, but who had managed to "make a living," as the phrase goes, for himself and his family by portraying the effigies of the boors who surrounded him, occasionally copying a picture for the squire, touching and remodeling the sign-posts for a dozen miles round. To his son he bequeathed little, except a talent for painting, some degrees superior to his own, but still not of the kind that is likely to bring its possessor much fame or profit. He married

early, and somewhat imprudently, but his wife died a few years after their union, leaving him one only child, a son. That son was, indeed, a genius. The light which, in descending, had passed by his ancestors, leaving them but a faint reflection of its glories, seemed to settle in full and perfect ustre on the forehead of George Hamilton. Even in early childhood its emanations were apparent in the bold and beautiful sketches that were the produce of his untaught pencil. In like manner was the love and pride of his father's heart concentrated on him. Once he had felt some faint aspiration for fame on his own account, but this was all merged in an absorbing thirst for the glory of his son. Poor as he was, he resolved to submit to every possible sacrifice that might promote the cultivation of his child's talent, and converting his little property into money, he departed for Italy, resolved, by privation, and toil, and self devotion, to procure for the youth those advantages which a residence on the continent alone af fords. One trait of this mighty love and unselfish ambition must be told :-He actually bound himself to grind colors, and perform the most menial offices for an eminent painter in Rome, in return for lessons bestowed upon his gifted son. He who so loved his art himself—who had once even hoped to attain some excellence in it, gave up all, and became a very servant for the sake of that son of his heart.

stern manners, who whilst he allowed his lovely lady to do pretty much as she pleased, never troubled himself to make any extraordinary manifestations of attachment to her. She was, moreover, childless, and she made this little orphan the recipient of the overflowings of her warm and passionate nature, her liberal gifts, her pent up affections. Strange that cne so affectionate should have been scarcely amiable! She loved Madeline because she was beautiful and returned her iove; and, moreover, early showed herself the possessor of a brilliancy and diversity of talent most remarkable in a child. Of Hamilton she soon got tired. He had not depth enough or genius enough to interest her long she had taken him as a pendant to her "little cherub," as she called Madeline, and soon began to count him an incumbrance. Not like a happy dream did his ten years pass away, but in the endurance of slights and neglect that amounted to insult. In Madeline's presence, indeed, open unkindness was forborne, and to her he never complained—with her he tried to be cheerful and happy, and for her dear sake he bore all that was to be borne, for she was the last tie of earth around his heart, and he fe't he could not voluntarily leave her.

Ten years of loving dependence and nearly unruffled happiness to the one: ten years of smiling but bitter endurance to the other, and they were once more nearly destitute. The Years rolled on, and found the father contentedly laboring Marchesa died suddenly, and before she had time to make in the very drudgeries of his profession, and the son still permanent provision for her protege. The Marchese bemoanpromising to excel in its highest walk. He designed and ex-ed her loss for three months, endured the presence of her decuted several small pictures, which were advantageously dis- pendants for three months more, and then brought home anoposed of, and the father began to see the reward of his self- ther bride with a tribe of relations. A few days afterwards denying love in the dawning excellence of his son. But he placed a small purse of gold in Hamilton's hand, and poGeorge Hamilton, unfortunately, was not of a temperament litely intimated that he must seek a residence elsewhere. to persevere patiently in a course of steady, pains-taking im- Madeline had permission to remain if she pleased, but she provement. He had submitted to the trammels of a tutor so felt it was impossible to do so if she were to be separated long, because mighty and glorious creations were swelling in from her grandfather. For the Marchese she had never felt his soul, which he lacked the power of pouring forth on can- any affection. His second wife was a cruel, proud piece of vass. No sooner did he attain this power to a moderate de- still life, and Madeline had sense enough to see the misery of gree, than with the self-confidence which is so often the at- such a position as her's must be if she staid. They left Flotendant upon high talent, he imagined he had no more to rence, therefore-like our first parents, "the world was all learn, and that genius, rich and vivid as his own, could need before them where to choose," and they naturally chose to go no farther training. At nineteen he married an orphan Ita- to England. They bent their course to Hamilton's native lian girl, without any dower but her beauty and her virtues; town, for there he trusted he might yet obtain a subsistence and dearly as father and son loved her, she could not but be by the exercise of his long neglected art. He was doomed to a serious burden on finances so slender as theirs. Another be disappointed. Twenty years had raised his birth place year saw a farther addition to their cares, in the shape of a from an insignificant to a wealthy town, the seat of a thriving little girl, who was named "Madeline" after her mother. manufacture. His old connections were dead or dispersed, Young Hamilton continued to paint, but, alas! not to im- and other painters had arisen, enough not only to fill his place, prove. The few English at Rome, who had purchased his but to starve in their own. He quitted H-in despair, pictures at first, as an encouragement to rising genius, either and went to London, for he felt that in that great mart he left the city, or were attracted to the studio of some new was most likely to obtain a living by the exercise of some humartist. He was naturally of a roving and restless disposition, ble branch of his calling. Moreover, there Madeline, skilled and he now imagined if he were in England, the land of as she was in all pretty works and womanly accomplishments, his birth, he should more than realize his dreams of fame and might be able to contribute something towards their support. fortune. He left his family in Italy, and came to England, For two years longer they struggled on. Hamilton obtained where, before he had time to make trial of his success, a vio- humble but constant employment as repairer to a picture lent fever hurried him to the grave. dealer, and Madeline, flying to the usual resources of ladylike females in distress, made some little additions to their finances, by the sale of embroidery, &c. But her health began to fail-she could no longer bend much over her workthere were sickly mists in her eyes when she gazed intensely on muslin or canvass-there was a dull constant aching at her chest, and frequent stitches in her side-there were faintings that made her suddenly drop her needle, and fall back exhausted. Anon she grew pale, and there and then came the short gasping cough, and the daily recurring hectic of the cheek, and drenching night perspiration. How could Hamilton doubt with what fiend her constitution was silently wrestling, with the certainty of being finally the conquered Their main resource, the employment furnished by the picture dealer, was at this time suspended, in consequence of some embarrassment in his affairs, and they were almost pennyless. Hamilton declared that this was the most trying part of his life. He had barely the means of procuring bread for their daily sustenance, and poor Madeline's case called not only for this, but for comforts and luxuries which it was impossible to obtain for her.

For weeks his relatives remained in ignorance of his death. They learned it at last through the medium of an English paper, which found its way into Mr. Hamilton's hands. His daughter-in-law was near her confinement, and the shock of the tidings proved too much for her. She gave birth to a still-born child, and expired in a few hours afterwards.

Poor Hamilton was now utterly desolate. The loss of his son had crushed his pride and hope forever, but the death of his beloved daughter was almost a more distressing stroke. He was left a stranger in a strange land, without resources, and with an infant grand-daughter dependent on him for support. He gathered together his few remaining effects, and was on the eve of leaving Italy, determining to make his way, if possible, to England, and consigning his little charge to some public charity, lay down his lonely head and die. But circumstances occurred which changed his plans.

On the very day before that on which he intended to leave his residence. the carriage of the Marchesa di V– broke down before his door. Its fair inmate sought refuge beneath his roof-was charmed with the beauty of his grandchild drew from him the outline of his story-and, with the quick decision of a rich, young, and self willed woman, determined on taking his future fortunes into her own keeping. On the day which was to have witnessed the beginning of their pilgrimage to England, Hamilton and his Madeline were rolling in the carriage towards her splendid villa near Florence.

And for ten years Madeline's life was like a dream of fairy land. The Marchesa was married to a man of calm, almost

How often had the poor painter stood by the shop where were stored the delicacies of daily purchase by the rich, and felt the bitterness of his poverty in full, when he thought of her who had been reared in a palace, and for whom he was now unable to procure one morsel of that tempting food, that might have stimulated her sickly appetite! How especially the sight of piles of costly fruit exposed for sale in windows or markets, almost drove him mad, when he thought of his

Recollections-How Cheery Are the Mariners-The Fireman's Trial by Fire.