“‘I came not seeking assistance, sir,’ replied Paul; ‘my friend Mr. Barry thought you might perhaps wish to add another picture to your collection, and, as I purpose going abroad, assured me that you would cheerfully give a few lines of introduction to your young countryman.’ “‘Well, well, we will see, we will see, but all you young men have taken it into your heads that you must travel, and this makes so many applicants.’ “‘Applicants!’ the word stung Paul to the quick, and again bowing to Mr. C., he left the apartment. Once in the free air of heaven, he gave vent to his suppressed feelings, and vowed that should be his first and last visit to a patron. “Barry was indignant when he heard the non-success of his young friend. ‘Why, Talbot, that man’s name is bruited abroad as a most liberal patron of Art, a fosterer of early genius, an encourager of native talent—how I have been deceived!’ “‘Never mind, my dear friend, you will sell the picture to some one else, and I will conquer yet.’ “And Paul Talbot did conquer. When another year had gone by, he stood with the hand of his friend Barry clasped in his own, returning the warm ‘God bless you,’ fervently uttered by the old man in that hour of parting. “In a wild tumult of feeling, half joy half sorrow, he stood upon the deck of the vessel, and watched the shores of his native land as they faded in the distance. ‘The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home.’ And now he is on the ocean—the waves are dashing against the ship and bearing him onward—whither? To the land of his hopes. To the land of his dreams. Why each moment does he grow sadder and sadder? Why, as the crescent moon rises serenely in the heavens, does he press his eyelids down to shut her beauty from his sight? “‘Oh that my mother were here! Great God! yon moon is shining on my mother’s grave!’ CHAPTER IV. Wilt thou take measure of such minds as those, Or sound, with plummet-line, the Artist-Heart? MRS. NORTON. Its holy flame forever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth; Too oft on Earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest, It here is tried and purified, Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest! It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest time of Love is there. SOUTHEY.