“Behold some of my handicraft!” showing her a number of cards. “Ah, and so you did not give up the project? and you have succeeded so well! One could not distinguish between these and the old ones, save that these are newer and fresher.” “Nevertheless, this is but a step; it availeth me little till I can frame letters, and impress them on vellum in like manner. It remains that I try thy name, my Anna. I cannot fail to engrave that name on wood, which hath been so long traced on my heart!” And to his loving glance there beamed a happy light in her eyes, and her cheeks were aglow, as he betook him to writing her name on a small wooden tablet. Cutting away the wood, except the writing lines, he left the letters raised, or in relief, and thus formed a stamp of his wife’s name. Moistening it with ink, he placed a piece of paper over it, and, gently pressing it upon the letters, beheld, on lifting it, the word imprinted upon the paper. [Illustration: Anna] We of this age of books and papers cannot enter into his emotions. But Anna could, and so the good man did not miss our sympathy. “Famously done!” she exclaimed; “it is the likeness of writing.” Does this seem to us a curious commendation of printing, that it resembled writing? But the manuscript letter was the only one known as yet, and it was natural to judge the result of the new experiment by its agreement with that letter. “Aye, I think myself it is not a failure,” said Gutenberg; “and I fancy it would not be difficult for me to produce a copy of that picture of ‘St. Christopher,’ I mean by suitable patience and perseverance.” “But was not that done with a pen?” “Nay: it appears so, but on examination I find that it was made with an engraved block;” and taking the rude print from the wall, he showed upon the back of it the marks of the stylus, or burnisher by which it was rubbed upon the letters. “Rest assured from this that they were never produced by a pen, as in common writing.” “Well,” returned the good wife, “it would truly be a pious act to multiply the picture of ‘St. Christopher,’ since a blessing will follow him who looketh upon it. I would fain have one in our sleeping-room, that my eyes may light upon it when I awake.” Poor Anna! she had already forgotten Gutenberg’s sensible remark on a former occasion. Educated to attach a superstitious value to sacred pictures, she still relied on them. This perverted trust, however, shows that she felt her need of the protection and favor of a higher than human power.