"No, history may be a fine, grand thing, but give me lowly beings and quiet feelings. Oh! Daisy, I wonder now that disappointed ambition ever made me bend the knee to the false goddess, success, who moreover always leaves me in the lurch; but our life is made up of mistakes; we stumble at every step, and the last thing we learn is to be true to ourselves." "Were your other pictures like this, Cornelius?" "Oh, Daisy, they were such charming things." he replied, sighing; "but Count Morsikoff wanted them, I wanted his rubles; but, never mind, I shall repeat them, and show Kate that my journey to Italy has not been quite lost." "Why did you let her admire Mary Stuart?" "How could I undeceive her? I had brought the unfortunate thing as a proof of my industry, not to encumber the walls of the Academy, or for her to admire; but when she looked at it with tears of admiration, what was I to do?" "To show her the sketches." "She won't care about them, Daisy." "Try her." I opened the door, and called her in eagerly. But the event proved the correctness of her brother's conjecture. Miss O'Reilly thought the sketches very pretty things, but she hoped Cornelius had not lost too much time with them. It would be such a pity, considering how admirably fitted he was for historical compositions. He winced, but did not contradict. She proceeded-- "I have been thinking of such a series of subjects: what do you say to the battle of Clontarf, or to Bannockburn? something to make one feel as if that grand lyric of Burns were being sung in the distance." Cornelius stroked his chin and looked puzzled. She resumed: "Perhaps you would like a subject more pathetic,--The Children in the Tower, eh, Cornelius?" "I have been thinking of something more domestic." Kate's face expressed the deepest disappointment. "History is a grand thing, Cornelius." "And Home is lovely." She said he knew best, but that he would never surpass Mary Stuart. Cornelius did not reply, and put away the portfolio with a smile at me. Then we all three went out into the garden, where we lingered until the noon-day heat sent us in: that is to say, Kate and I, for Cornelius, accustomed to an Italian sun, remained out, walking up and down the gravel path, and every now and then making long pauses of rest by the back parlour window, near which we sat sewing. Once Kate, called away by some domestic concern, left us; he stood on the side facing me, his elbow resting on the low window; he looked long, then smiled. "Well!" I said. "Well," he replied, "it would make a pretty picture; you sitting there sewing by the window, with the cool shady back-ground of the room, a glimpse of the bright sunny garden beyond." "And you standing there looking in, leaning on the window-sill, and the warm sunshine upon you, Cornelius."