Mary looked, and, to her unbounded surprise, beheld “The Transfiguration of Christ”—her husband’s painting—suspended against the wall. Mr. Sedley hastened to explain. “I thought it a pity,” he said, “that so fine a picture should be lost to the exhibition. I accordingly hired an artist to give it the last touches, and had it brought here.” Mary thanked him with a glance full of gratitude. She looked again, and beheld her husband’s picture surrounded by eager admirers. Among them were the titled and noble; and it was with an emotion of pride that she heard the expressions of admiration which it elicited, and the eager questionings as to the author’s name. “I do not know,” she heard one say: “I believe it is some _protégé_ of Sir Francis Sedley. At all events, he presented it.” “Sir Francis Sedley?” she inquired, pausing, and looking in her companion’s face. “I cannot deny it,” said he, smiling. “But come: let us draw nearer to the head of the hall: the prizes are to be announced.” They pressed forward; and the chairman of the committee arose, and after a few preliminary remarks, in which he commented on the difficulty they had experienced in making the award, and congratulated himself on the splendid collection which had that day been brought together, announced that the first prize, of five hundred pounds, was awarded to Arthur Elliott for his painting entitled “The Transfiguration.” Loud shouts rang through the hall. Mary was oppressed by the fulness of her joy. “Let me go out into the air,—I shall feel relieved,” she said. Sir Francis kindly accompanied her. “Oh, sir!” said she, “it is to you that we are indebted for this great joy. Poor Arthur! how he will be delighted!” “Will you not return to him and communicate it?” asked Sir Francis. A hackney coach was called, and Mrs. Elliott soon arrived at her lodgings. “Oh, Arthur!” said she. “The prize! the prize!” It was all that she could utter. “Who has got it?” asked the sick man, eagerly, as he rose in his bed. “It is yours! They have awarded it to you!” A proud flush passed over the faint cheek of the artist. “I am satisfied,—I am happy,” said he. The joy occasioned by his success operated most beneficially on the sunken energies of the artist. Before many weeks, he recovered fully, so as to resume his art. His prize painting was sold for a great sum to an English nobleman, who was bent on adding it to his collection. * * * * *