The angel seemed to have awakened a new world within him; not that he thought of the legend of the Archangel Michael, which he had heard long ago, and forgotten; but of the first idea of the artist who designed that particular angel: what must have been his thoughts! what image must he have had before him as he made that form grow from the marble block into living beauty! Whence could such an idea have come? It must surely have been a visitation from God--a spark of his own creative power. And how must the artist have felt as, day by day and hour by hour, he saw his work developing and perfecting before him, until at last it stood up, a sight to make men wonder and almost worship--an embodiment of all that was pure, lofty, and holy. Then came the contrast of his own sordid work, so low, so slave-like, so brute-like. What human idea could be put into hod-carrying, mortar-spreading, and stone-cutting? Could not an animal or a machine do as much? For the first time, perhaps, in his life, Johan felt that he had a soul not to be bounded by the limits of his work or the daily necessities of existence; and in his rough way he asked himself: How can the higher aspirations of that soul be reflected in man's every-day life? and whether a human mind should be bounded by the narrow routine of plodding toil, for the supplying of common wants? And all these thoughts, vague, unformed, a dim and undefined sense of something, passed through Johan's brain as he sate cutting away at the stone, and trying to form the angel in his little garret, in the little town of ----, on the Rhine. Patiently he labored at it after his day's work was over; patiently he bore all his failures, when he saw in the indistinct outline that the angel's arm was too short, its right leg crooked, its wings shapeless, and its head, instead of bending gracefully, stuck upon its breast like an excrescence; patiently he bore the scoldings of his wife for his dullness and abstraction, and the tricks of his children to arouse him; patiently he listened to the remonstrances of Karl and Caspar, for his bad companionship at the "Gold Apfel;" and patiently he bore the still more serious remonstrances of his master, at the careless and negligent manner in which he often performed his work, when a vision of the angel chanced to flit with more than usual vividness before him. Time wore on; and if Johan did not progress rapidly with his angel, Gertrude was far more active and diligent in presenting him with images in another material, and urging loudly at the same time the necessity of working hard for an increasing family. Poor Gertrude: she was a good woman, and loved her husband without understanding him; but she had a quick temper, and was what is commonly called a shrew. She thought Johan wanted rousing; and to rouse him she rated him: he bore it all patiently, and thought of the angel--it was strange how that angel soothed and consoled