tered the old building, he was astonished at | the changes which he beheld every where around him. It is true, nothing betrayed greater wealth on the part of the proprietor, but every thing testified to the unwearied and intelligent care which had labored to repair and embellish the half-fallen building. The brass locks shone like gold; one could ascend the steps without, as heretofore, stumbling over rubbish, and the winding stairs that led from the court were adorned with blossoming orange trees in large porcelain vases. permit you to leave this house without partaking of our hospitality." As she uttered these friendly words, that were spoken in a tone which showed that Rubens would not be treated as a stranger in Rembrandt's house, she opened the door of the studio, and said: "Dear brother, here is Master Rubens." The studio had undergone fewer changes than the other parts of the house; the dust, however, which had formerly defaced it, had disappeared, and in place of the ill-shaped chimney, which ten years before had served Dame Catherine for the purposes of cook the sound of Rubens's name Rembrandt rose from his seat, and advanced to meet him. "Welcome, King of Antwerp!" he said. "But where has your highness left your accustomed train ?" At this somewhat ironical salutation, the color mounted to Rubens's face. "That is an attention which my brother knows how to prize, and for which he is very grateful to you," said Rembrandt's sister, quickly interposing. The old painter glanced at his sister, and his face suddenly grew brighter; he reached Rubens his hand in a kind and friendly manner. The changes in the inner part of the dwelling were still more striking. The utery, stood a large and handsome stove. At most cleanliness was visible, where formerly lay heaps of dirt and broken crockery; the windows were hung with curtains, and sweet flowers diffused on all sides their balmy perfume. At the first sound of the bell, a young and active maid-servant opened the gate. On entering, Rubens scarcely recognized Rembrandt's former dwelling. A small saloon formed the ante-chamber to the artist's studio. Here he met an aged dame, whose manners were evidently the result rather of natural tact than of the habit of intercourse with the world. Rubens's eye reposed with pleasure upon her soft and regular features. She was short in stature, and had attained that degree of rotundity which is so well suited to persons of mature years; she was clad in a cotton gown, and wore about her neck a massive golden chain, while a bundle of keys hung at her girdle. A snow-white, neatly-plaited collar encircled her neck; and her luxuriant auburn hair, which was slightly interspersed with silver, was fastened together on the top of her head, leaving her brow uncovered. Rubens bowed respectfully and gave her his name. "Master Rubens!" she exclaimed; "my brother will be proud and happy to receive such a guest, for you are our guest, I hope. Am I not right? Rubens has certainly not thought of taking up his abode elsewhere than with his admirer and rival, Rembrandt." As Rubens excused himself, she said, with a sweet smile: "If you have indeed thought otherwise, you must at once repair your fault; yes, your fault," she repeated. "If you will not sleep beneath our roof, you must at least take a place at our table. I am too faithful a guardian of the honor of our family, to "It is a long time since we have seen each other," he said. "Much has happened in the interval. I am a widower; old Catherine, whom you may remember, is dead. God be praised!" "Brother, dear brother!" cried his sister, interrupting him. "My sister Louise now lives with me; she has left all for her brother's sake, and devotes herself solely to his welfare. She is an angel, Rubens; in truth, an angel!" As he said this, he wiped a tear from his eye; and Rubens gazed with an air almost of reverence upon Louise, who blushed like a young maiden. "You will meet with a better reception here than you did ten years ago," continued Rembrandt. "I blush when I think of it. Louise understands how to receive a guest, except that she expends somewhat too much; and when one is but a poor artist, and is obliged to toil so hard to support life-but who comes here? Heaven preserve us! it is Master Nikeler, the Notary. Welcome, my worthy friend!" Louise hastened to meet the man of busi ness. "My brother is busy at present; he has no time to speak with you.' "I bring too good news, my dear dame, to depart without informing you of it. Your uncle Gerretz is dead, and has left you four hundred thousand florins." "Four hundred thousand florins!" exclaimed Rembrandt, with unspeakable delight; "four hundred thousand florins!" "Eustachius Gerretz left not less than six hundred thousand florins, which are to be divided in three parts: one part for you, lady, one for you, Master Rembrandt, and one for the children and heirs of your sister Margaret." "She is dead," said Rembrandt. "Their death is not yet legally established; and until this is the case, many years will elapse before you can enter upon possession, not merely of their third, but even of your own." "Are you sure of this?" asked Rembrandt. "Alas!" sighed Louise, "I would with joy resign all this gold, and more, to be able see my unhappy niece and her children once again!" "We cannot come into possession of our portions, then, until the heirs of the third are discovered ?" "Or until you can, in due form, establish evidence of their decease," added the notary. "That shall be done within an hour. The grandson of my sister Margaret must be still living; or, if he is not, we can easily procure evidence of his death." "My sister's grandson! How, my brother! you knew that he was living, and have never spoken to me of the matter! Where is he? Answer me, in the name of Heaven, in the name of our mother!" "Ten years ago," said Rembrandt, who well remembered the occurrence. "It was on Allhallow night." "Oh, Master Nikeler!" cried Louise, "you must know where this man, this Nicholas Barruello dwells. Lead me to him at once!" "He lives at the other end of the city, in Rotterdam street." "Let us hasten thither." "Permit me to accompany you," said Rubens to the aged dame; "I also have an act of injustice and forgetfulness to repair." VIL Ar the time when the tailor, Nicholas Barruello, found his family suddenly_augmented by two unhappy beings, whom Providence had sent to him, he asked himself anxiously how he should procure a maintenance for three persons, he who had thus far found it hard to provide for himself alone. But matters turned out better than he had expected. By his industry and activity, and owing to several fortunate accidents, in which the signs of the protection of Heaven were plainly visible, he never wanted daily bread; nay, he had at times his days of festivity. Not a Sunday went by but the families of the tailor and the joiner assembled at one common table. The future fortunes of the little Antonio Netcelli were often the subject of their discousre. The youth had become the joiner's pride, for he handled the plane and the chisel with remarkable dexterity and admirable judgment. When the tailor and the joiner looked at the drawings which he prepared as models for various pieces of work, they were unable to control their astonishment; these sketches obtained also the unanimous applause of the joiner's customers, who were attracted in great num "If the tailor, Nicholas Barruello, has not sent him to the hospital," continued Rem-bers to his shop by the skill of his apprenbrandt, who, solely occupied with the idea of their rich inheritance, uttered his thoughts aloud. "The tailor, Nicholas Barruello! my nephew is with him! And why have you kept this secret from me?" "What would you have, Louise? To feed and educate a child, when a man has children of his own, and, besides, is only a poor artist ?" "You discovered the existence of this child within a few days only, then?” tice. Thus, the good people's days passed calmly and happily. The only affliction which they experienced during the whole ten years was caused by the death of the maniac Netcelli; they had grown accustomed to the presence of this unhappy being, and at his death they wept tears of genuine sorrow. Antonio was for a long time inconsolable; yet his father's death did not render the boy an orphan, for the joiner and the tailor, especially the latter, treated him with a love as tender and devoted as he had ever experienced from his father when he was in the full possession of his senses. hood; you are rich, and will find relatives again. Embrace me, my child; I am your mother's aunt." Weeping, she reached out her arms toward the orphan, and Antonio sank sobbing upon her bosom. 66 'My mother's aunt! my aunt Louise, of whom my mother so often spoke to me! Oh, let me embrace you once again!" Antonio passed the whole day in the joiner's workshop; at evening he visited his second father, who could scarcely await the hour of his dear foster-son's arrival. Supper was then served by Master Nicholas, and Antonio did honor to it with the appetite of a healthy youth of sixteen. The remainder of the evening was spent in reading, drawing, or At this moment heavy steps were heard even painting, for Antonio displayed an un- upon the stairs, and Master Nicholas Barrucommon talent for this art. On Sundays ello entered the chamber, which, to his exand holidays he locked himself in his cham-treme astonishment, he found filled with ber, took the palette and pencil in his hand, strangers. Antonio tore herself from the and seated himself before an easel of his own arms of Louise to cast himself upon Barrumaking. Here he sketched little paintings, ello's neck. executed without art, but in true and lively colors; his models were almost always Master Netcelli, or his neighbor the joiner. Antonio sat thus busied one evening, while Barruello had gone out to carry to a customer an old coat which he had repaired, when he heard a knock at the door. He hastened to open it, and beheld a small and crooked old man, dressed in black, a cavalier of a lofty, stately figure, and an aged dame who seemed greatly agitated. He saluted them with a friendly air, and asked them whether they wished to speak with Master Nicholas Barruello. 66 He will soon return," he added. "Have the goodness to sit." Louise took the chair which Antonio offered her. Rubens seated himself before Antonio's easel, and was unable to repress an exclamation of admiration, which caused the boy to blush deeply. "Who is your master?" he said, turning to Antonio. "I have none, sir; I devote only my leisure hours to painting; by trade I am a joiner." "You must leave the joiner's bench, and become a painter." "Ah, that is easily said, but hard to be done. I and my father must live." "Your father!" cried Louise; "is your father still living?" "No; I mean my foster-father, the good tailor, Master Nicholas, for my poor father is with my mother and little sister in heaven. Ah, the story of my life is a very sad one!" "You are Antonio Netcelli, then?" "Yes." "My dear child, your life will now change; you need no longer work to gain a liveli "That is my dear aunt," he cried, "my mother's aunt! We are now rich; we are now happy. I shall give up my trade and become a painter." Master Nicholas pressed the boy again and again to his heart, and cast himself before an image of the Holy Virgin, to thank her for the happiness which she had bestowed upon his dear Antonio. But suddenly his face, which was flushed with joy, grew pale, and his features assumed an air of sadness and dejection. He fastened a sorrowful glance upon Antonio, whom his aunt held closely embraced; then he turned away his head and began to pray again, but tears choked his utterance; he rose quickly, tore Antonio from the arms of his aunt, clasped him with convulsive violence to his bosom, and cried : "You will love her, then, more than me!" "More than you, my father!" replied Antonio, embracing the old man; "no! but as much, for she is my mother's aunt. You must not be jealous of this affection; it does not in any wise diminish mine towards you, and never, never will we separate! A son should never forsake his father." "He is right, Master Nicholas; our family will henceforth be yours. Come, my friends, my brother is waiting for his nephew." "My uncle!" said Antonio, gloomily, and with an air of hesitation. "You must pardon him, as those who are in heaven pardon him!" murmured Louise, softly. "Come, then, my father !" cried Antonio, clasping his arm about Barruello's waist. "Young man," said Rubens, laying his hand upon Antonio's right shoulder, "are you willing to be my pupil? I will take you and this old man with me to Antwerp; my house shall be yours. I am Peter Paul Rubens." "Rubens !" exclaimed Antonio in astonishment; "you Rubens !—I a pupil of Rubens !" He gazed for some moments at the renowned painter; then, after some hesitation, he placed his left hand in his aunt's, while with the right he held that of the tailor. "I cannot part from her," he said; "she looks so like my dear mother." Antonio became Rembrandt's pupil, and soon obtained in Flanders the fame due to his distinguished talents. To please his uncle, he gave a Flemish termination to his name, and signed his paintings Kaspar Anton Netscher. TO STELLA. I LOVE thee not for rank or gold, For land or social fashion; I have lived too long with the gallant and bold, I love thee not for the wavy hair Or the step of Spring over flowers. I love thee not for the loving eye, Which has caught its hue from the deep blue sky, I love thee not for the noble brow, Where the shadow of Thought reposes; THOMAS GRAY. Or Thomas Gray, one who was no mean an approved part of the intellectual currency critic has said, "that he joined to the sublim- of the world. It is said that General Wolfe, ity of Milton the elegance and harmony of the night before his death, as he lay in the Pope, and wanted nothing to have made stern of the boat, gliding with muffled oars him, perhaps, the first of English poets, but down to the place from which he climbed to have written a little more." The impar- the Heights of Abraham, repeated to a tial judgment of time is evincing the justice brother officer the Elegy in a Country Churchof this praise. His works, of which he him- yard, and at the close of the last verse said, self humorously expressed a fear "lest they "I would rather be the author of that poem should be mistaken for the works of a flea or than master of Quebec to-morrow." This a pismire," are in size inconsiderable indeed. praise does equal honor to the poet and him A few short poems and a volume of familiar who uttered it. We do not undervalue letters to his friends comprise the whole the greatness of that exploit; the preciptious literary productions of his life, the entire re-ascent, the hard-fought battle, the glorious sults of fifty-five years of thought and study. But few as they are, they are a treasure for all time, and the precious life-blood of a master-spirit. No poet in the English language, who has written so little, is so much read and so well known. The fame of almost all, even of the authors of imperishable creations, rests upon a small portion of their works, while the great bulk of them has proved perishable and soon passed away. For every stanza of Pope or Dryden which is now remembered and admired, there are whole pages long since unread and forgotten. But not a line of Gray's will the world willingly let die; every ray from his genius still shines like the steady light of some faroff star. death may well command our praise. But the judgment of the young soldier, himself a scholar and a poet, was right. The fame of Gray will still remain after martial glory has ceased to dazzle, and the walls of that towering fortress are crumbled to dust. We have thought that a brief sketch of this poet's life might be a not unacceptable offering to our readers. It is indeed almost barren of incidents, the quiet life of a scholar, the history of an intellect rather than of a man. He was born at Cornhill, December 26, 1716, the son of a money scrivener, whose means, originally slender, had been reduced by extravagance. He was sent from a boy's grammar-school to Eton, and from Eton to Cambridge. On leaving the University he designed to pursue the study of the law, but after a few months gladly forsook the shrine of Themis to accompany young Horace Walpole on his travels. More than two years were spent in visiting the usual ob The quiet scholar, whose taste has been cultivated by long communion with the models of antiquity, finds relief in turning from the jejune literature of the day, to one whose every line breathes the spirit of the classics; while the verses of the Elegy in a Country Churchyard are familiar as house-jects of interest in middle and southern hold words to all the children in our land. There are few better proofs of an author's genius, than to have his words pass into proverbs. It shows that they embody truths to which the heart of universal humanity responds, and truths so well uttered that all mankind adopt the form of their expression. By this test we may judge of the merits of Gray; and after Shakspeare and Milton, we shall find hardly an English poet so many of whose lines have become common phrases, Europe; and then an unfortunate rupture with his companion and patron sent him home by the nearest and cheapest route. Shortly after his return to England, his father's death left him in yet more straitened circumstances, and he felt himself too poor to pursue the profession originally marked out for him. To avoid the importunities of his mother and aunt, who would willingly have stinted themselves to eke out his income, he went again to Cambridge, and in |