to be suspended, were fixed upon the window. The stranger appeared, but this time he only threw a glance at the window and passed on. The heart of Adrian sunk within him, and all the remainder of the day he was in such grief that he could scarcely eat anything; and it was with difficulty that his mother at length forced him to leave his seat and go to bed.

The following day he dressed with equal care, and having finished a new picture he placed it in the window, and sat down in his usual place, with his pencil in his hand, and his paper before him; but in his fine blue eyes there was less hope, less happiness; the disappointment of the previous day made him feel less confident.

The stranger again appeared; and when Adrian ventured to raise his eyes, he saw him standing before his drawing, and smiling at it with peculiar satisfaction.

And now stimulated to exertion, Adrian daily endeavoured to do better, and was never tired of inventing new patterns, in the hope that the stranger would not tire of coming to look at them. It was a singular struggle—this child never ceasing to work, in order to induce his unknown friend to return, and this friend daily returning, as if to stimulate the child to work. As to Adrian, he had become so accustomed to this man, that he looked upon him as an acquaintance-I should rather say as a friend, whose presence was daily expected, and whose absence would have alone occasioned surprise; thus, once that he did not arrive quite as early as usual, Adrian said, “I would lay a wager that my friend is sick, I must go and inquire for him-fool that I am! as if I knew even where he lives."

"What do you say, Adrian?" asked his mother, who had not heard him distinctly.

"Oh, nothing, mamma," replied the young artist-a kind of innate modesty making him feel unwilling to reveal his thoughts even to his mother; "but there is one thing I must beg you to do for me, as you are taller than I, which is that you will rub the upper panes of the window a little better; do you not think they want brightening?"

At that moment the handle of the door turned, and Adrian was delighted to see his unknown friend enter the shop.

"I beg pardon, madame," said the stranger, addressing himself to Madame Brauwer, "will you be kind enough to tell me by whom all those little drawings are done, which I see daily renewed in your window?"

"They are by my son, sir," replied Madame Brauwer.

"And who is his master?" "Alas, sir! he has none." "What age is your son?" "Ten years old, sir."

"And do you say, madame, that no person has given him any lessons in drawing; that what he does is by inspiration?"

"Oh yes, sir; I cannot afford to procure masters for my son."

The stranger remained silent for a time, and seemed to be intently surveying, first the mother, who could not divine the aim of all these questions, then the son, whose eyes sparkled with delight at the notice taken of him, and then the drawings which lay upon the table; suddenly he resumed, "What do you intend to make of this boy?" "Whatever God pleases," replied the pious mother.

"I wish it may please God to make me a painter," said Adrian, who till then had listened in silence.

"And if it should please God, and you too, you may become one, my child," said the stranger; "for I am a painter myself; there is not a sovereign in Europe who would not purchase my pictures at any price; my name is Francis Hals. Have you never heard of me, my good woman?" said he to Madame Brauwer, rather surprised at the little emotion with which she received so celebrated a name.

"Excuse me, sir; living in seclusion as I do, and working for my bread, it is not surprising-"

"I understand-I understand, my good woman; and as you are poor, perhaps you will also understand me: if you will give me this child, he shall be my pupil, and I will answer for it we shall make something of him."

As Madame Brauwer, surprised by so sudden a proposal, hesitated how to reply, Adrian cried out, quickly, "Oh, how delighted I

should be!"

66

What, my little fellow," said the artist, "can you so quickly decide on leaving your mother, to follow a man that you do not know?"

"That I do not know!" replied Adrian, taking the painter's hand with respectful affection; oh yes, I do know you!"

"By reputation ?" said Francis Hals.

"Better than that, sir," said Adrian, with simplicity; "for the last fortnight have you not passed by this door every day? Do you not stop and look at my work? Do you not look pleased or displeased? Oh! I can read in your eyes, sir, which seem to say this is well, or this is bad; and then, as soon as you

are gone, I take down my drawing and correct it; and then when I see a smile of satisfaction on your face, I say to myself, it is better now, the gentleman is satisfied. For the last fortnight you have been my guide, my director, my master. Thanks to your visiting our window, I have improved, and my mother is no longer obliged to say, 'Work, my son, you grieve me by not working.' You see then that I do know you, sir."

"And are you quite willing to follow me to Haerlem, and become my pupil?”

I would take it as the greatest favour,

"And will you be good, industrious, and docile?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And you will give up all your time to me?"

"By night and by day, sir."

"And will you love me?" said the painter, smiling at the simplicity of his last reply.

Adrian answered with warmth, "Since my father's death, you are the only man that has spoken to me, or has shown me the least kindness; how then could I help loving you, sir?" “Adrian, Adrian, you forget your mother!" said the embroiderer, sorrowfully.

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It is because I do not forget you, mamma, that I wish to follow this good gentleman; it is because I think of you that I wish to become a painter, that I may make you rich when you are old, in return for all your kindness to me when I was little. Oh! do give your consent, my dear mamma; Haerlem is not very far from Oudenard; and I will come and see you sometimes, and every time I come I will bring a new drawing that shall be better than the last. You know how I have

longed to have a master, mamma; you always said you were too poor to pay one for me, and now here is a master who offers himself for nothing he asks only my time, mammanothing but my time; oh, tell me that you consent!"

"He only asks your time, and you think that is nothing, my child," said his mother, as she stooped to embrace him; "but since you wish it, go-be happy; but know that the most valuable possession a man has, is his time."

Twelve pupils of different ages were at work one morning in the painting-room of Mr. Francis Hals, at Haerlem. The youngest (who was also the best looking among them) had just finished speaking, without however having lost or neglected a single stroke of the pencil.

"That was the way then in which you became acquainted with Mr. Hals, Adrian?" said his right-hand neighbour.

"Just so, Hems," replied Adrian.

"And he thought he saw indications of future genius in your little drawings?" added his neighbour to the left.

"Thought he saw!" cried Adrian, "say rather that he did see."

"Oh! oh! gentlemen," exclaimed one of them, who was a wit, "put on your spectacles, that you may see that also."

“At all events, my mother was not obliged to pay any fee for me," said Adrian, growing angry.

"And she had good reasons for not paying any," replied a young lad, who was remarkable for being always well dressed and wearing particularly fine linen.

"She had but one, but that was a sufficient one," said another.

"Well, gentlemen, I glory in it," said Adrian, proudly.

"Is poverty a cause for pride?" resumed the little fop.

"I proud!" cried Adrian, "I proud! Have I ever been heard to boast? Which of you ever heard me say that I was the best of Mr. Hals' pupils?—and yet it is true."

"Ah! you are caught there, Adrian,” cried several voices at once. "What do you call your yet it is true?' If that be not real, pure boasting, we don't know what is."

"Is it boasting to know and to acknowledge a thing that is evident ?" said Adrian, growing still more angry.

"Why," said Hems, "do you not say at once that you are better than your master ?"

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Van Ostade, one of the eldest pupils in the painting-room, "I beg you will not torment Brauwer; on the one hand he is in the wrong to be vain, but on the other he has reason to be so; for he has more talent than all the rest of us put together."

"I know why Van Ostade takes little Brauwer's part," said Hems, ironically.

"And why?" asked Van Ostade.
"First, because he is your namesake, Adrian."
"What folly."

"And next, because he cleans your pallet and washes your brushes.”

"You are a blockhead, Hems."

"And besides, the little boy is put under your protection, and that flatters your selflove; for you are a man among us, Van Ostade, as a one-eyed man is king among the blind." "You have discovered fine reasons, truly,

for my defending Adrian, Hems; but I defend him only because he is right."

"And you do right to defend me, Monsieur Van Ostade," said Brauwer, "for you are just and good; besides, I did not say that I was better than my master, but that I might become so, and that I would become so, because I wish it; and any one may see by what I have done to-day that I am fast improving. Look at Monsieur Hals' picture, gentlemen, and look at my copy-examine, compare, and judge."

"Well, you must allow, Hems, that this is not badly done for a little boy of eleven years old; for Brauwer is only eleven, the master says so," said Bournesen.

One would think it was a master's pencil!" "I will lay a wager that in two years Brauwer will become a Hals, so as to be mistaken for him," said Rolben.

"I hope to become a Brauwer, and not a Hals," replied the little artist, delighted at the praises of those who a few moments before were laughing at him.

66

Bravo! Adrian Brauwer," said Van Ostade, shaking hands with him.

But the admiration of the one party and the pride of the other were speedily put to an end by the appearance of Monsieur Hals; and it was evident, by the manner in which he commenced scrutinising Adrian's picture, that he had overheard the conversation of his pupils. "Whose daub is this, gentlemen ?" said he. A short silence ensued, occasioned by the confusion of the pupils.

"Whose daub is this, I say, gentlemen?" reiterated the master; and as poor Adrian hung down his head, Monsieur Hals exclaimed, "It is yours then, Monsieur Brauwer-it is wretched! You may go back to your mother, sir, to Oudenard, and draw patterns for the countrywomen's caps; you are good for nothing else-go!"

What, sir, will you send me home!" said Adrian, when the first moment of surprise had passed.

"What can I make of you, sir ?" said the master, coldly.

"A painter, Monsieur Hals," cried Adrian, melting into tears, "a great painter; you promised me you would; you promised it to my poor mother, when she wept and did not wish me to leave her. Oh! do not go back from your word, master; do not break your promise!"

"I was a fool to promise any such thing; for I ought first to have been assured of your being industrious, modest, and good, and having some talent."

"But I will have it, master; I have some already, I feel that I have. Oh! for pity's sake, do not send me back to my mother; it would kill her and me too!"

"You shall return to-morrow to Oudenard, sir," said Francis Hals, turning to leave the room, without appearing to be the least moved by the tears of little Brauwer.

Adrian ran and threw himself on his knees, between him and the door.

"Monsieur Hals," said he, joining his little hands, and with his voice broken by sobs, "do not send me back, for pity's sake, do not send me back; consider that I am only eleven years old, and that I have time before me, and, above all, good will. If you think me incapable of painting, keep me to grind your colours, or those of your pupils; if you do not think I can grind the colours, keep me only to clean the brushes, but do not send me back, it would kill my poor mother. If you will not have me for a pupil, keep me as a servant. Oh, I beg of you to keep me!"

After having looked in silence at the poor child, who in his despair had clung to his knees, Monsieur Hals turned aside and left the room. Adrian fell with his face on the floor, but he instantly rose and rushed out wildly after his master.

One winter's day, in the year 1623, as a tall, handsome-looking young man was about to rap at the door of Monsieur Hals' house, at Hacrlem, a woman, who, though still young, appeared to be much worn by grief, touched him by his cloak.

"Pardon me, sir," said she, "and excuse a poor mother who for three years has had no account of her son. I see that you do not recollect me, but I remember having seen you in the painting-room of Monsieur Francis Hals, the only time that I was permitted to come here and see my child, Adrian Brauwer.”

"But Adrian Brauwer quitted the paintingroom the day before I left it myself,” replied the young man; "it is three years since, as you say; and unless Monsieur Hals has taken him back, which is very probable—”

"Alas! sir, I did not know that," said the poor woman; "but being uneasy at my son's silence, who I thought was still here-but I beg pardon, sir, you are perhaps in haste." "Go on, madame."

"I thought my son was still with Monsieur Hals, sir, and I have been stinting myself in everything that I might make a journey here to visit my poor child; but Monsieur Hals shut the door on me, saying that my son was

not here. If he is not with him, where can he be?" added the poor woman, weeping. "Oh! my God, what is become of my child, where did he go when he left this! That wicked man would not answer me that question."

"Perhaps he does not know himself, madame," replied the young man; "but if you will return here in an hour, we will consider of some means for recovering your son, my comrade Adrian, whom I sincerely loved, and who had, as his master said, the happiest dispositions. Will you do that, madame?"

"May God bless you, sir!" replied Madame Brauwer, seating herself upon a stone.

The young man took a friendly leave of her, and entered the house.

"Is the master at home ?" said he to an old attendant of the painting-room, who uttered a cry of joy at hearing his voice.

Very well, my good Frederick, very well. I came to Haerlem yesterday on business, and I would not leave the town without coming to pay my respects to my old master-where is he ?"

"In the kitchen, sir; and if you take my advice, you will visit him there, for it is the only part of the house where there is a fire: he is growing more economical every day, I might almost say miserly, and yet by some extraordinary miracle he never made so much money. This way, Monsieur Van Ostade, follow me."

"It requires no great miracle to make money, when a man works hard and has genius, Frederick; but you are leading me into the bowels of the earth, my old friend."

"It is only to the end of this corridor, sir. Yes, when a man works hard, Monsieur Adrian; but when a man does not work-I know very well what I say. Here, Monsieur Van Ostade, walk in here-b-r-r-r, how cold it is!" And the old servant, pushing open,the door, announced the visitor's name with a hoarse voice.

"What brings you to visit me, Monsieur Van Ostade?" said Francis Hals, extending his hand towards his former pupil, without, however, moving from, his place. standing with his back to a large chimney, on the hearth of which lay a few nearly extinguished faggots. Beside him sat an old woman

He was

spinning, and occasionally eyeing a herring which was served on the table, and which, with a coarse brown loaf and a jug of beer, appeared to form the dinner of the old couple; she seemed to be much annoyed by the intruder, with whom she feared being obliged to share the more than frugal repast.

"I wished to see my master," said Van Ostade, bowing politely to Madame Hals, while he shook hands warmly with her husband.

"You have become one yourself since you left this, Monsieur Van Ostade."

"Which, I flatter myself, reflects no small honour on you, Monsieur Hals; and besides, if my reputation has increased, yours has not diminished; on the contrary, it never was so high as at present."

"Yes, I work hard," replied Hals, with an air of constraint, "I work hard."

"The connoisseurs tell me that my old master has recovered all the fire of his youth-that in his late compositions there is a warmth of colouring, a freshness of imagination, which is daily increasing."

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Ah, you flatter me," said Francis Hals, with rather a dissatisfied air.

"I saw two of your pictures yesterdayThe Five Senses' and The Twelve Months,' and I could perceive why you were in greater estimation than ever; I congratulate you most sincerely."

"Thank you, thank you," said Hals, rather impatiently.

"You must have got a great price for them, sir."

"No," said he, looking up with more confidence, "only six hundred florins each; it was literally making a present of them. It was lucky for that rogue of a mayor that I wanted cash, only for that "

But that was a good price, sir; and you have, no doubt, as many pupils as ever." "Twice as many, Van Ostade; and I am refusing them every day."

"A propos of pupils, what has become of little Adrian Brauwer, who was, I think, very promising ?"

"But who did not turn out as he promised," replied Hals; "with all his good dispositions, he never would have been anything but an indifferent painter; so, tired of seeing how little progress he made, I sent him back to his mother."

"Are you quite sure that he went back to her, sir ?"

"Why do you ask that question, Van Ostade ?"

"Because I have just seen the poor woman at your door, and she has never seen her son since he left you."

"And what would you have me do about it, Van Ostade?" said Francis Hals, raising his voice more and more as he spoke. "Is it my fault if the boy did not return home? Ought I to have taken him by the hand and led him back myself? Truly these mothers are queer people! I sent him back because it suited me to do so, and I am not accountable to any person. Do you understand, Monsieur Van Ostade? I-am-not-accountable-to -any-person. That is clear, I believe."

"My dear master, I see no reason for your getting into such a passion."

"I in a passion! I in a passion!" replied the master;" and who told you that I was in a passion, Monsieur Van Ostade? When did you see me in a passion? I was never more cool in my life: besides, why should I be in a passion, I ask you?"

"Take care, my dear, you are tearing your doublet," said his wife; then addressing herself to her visitor, in whose countenance she could read no intention of departing, she added, "My husband is a little hasty, sir, and he can never bear to hear that little rogue, Brauwer, spoken of without becoming agitated; he had conceived great hopes of him, but he was disappointed; you understand, Monsieur Van Ostade. You may also suppose, that having been at work since seven o'clock this morning, my husband would require some rest, some refreshment-"

At the latter word Van Ostade rose quickly. And his dinner hour has passed," continued the old woman, glancing at the dried herring upon the table.

"I am sorry to have intruded on you so long, madame," said Van Ostade. "Adieu, monsieur; do not come a step further, I know the way; do not stir, I beg of you."

On leaving the kitchen Van Ostade drew the door after him, and found himself in complete darkness, but that gave him little concern; he thought Frederick had brought him from the right, and he therefore turned in that direction. After having wandered for some minutes through a labyrinth of corridors, from which he almost despaired of extricating himself, he came to the foot of a winding staircase, and taking hold of the rope which served for a balustrade, he ascended to the first landing: not being able to perceive any outlet, he ascended still higher, when a plaintive sound reached his ear, and directing his steps towards the place whence it proceeded,

he found himself on the top of the staircase. On a small landing, about three feet square there were two doors; one, which was open, led to a small terrace, the other was firmly secured by two strong padlocks. Sighs and groans proceeded from this locked-up chamber; Van Ostade stooped down and looked through the keyhole, when the sight which presented itself made him recoil with horror.

On the floor of a large garret sat a pale, thin, and emaciated child, shivering under the miserable rags which scarcely covered him; an easel was before him, on which a picture had apparently been finished; a palette, with colours on it, was lying on the ground, as if it had just fallen from the icy fingers which held it; and a few pieces of canvas, slightly sketched, were scattered here and there.

....

"My God!" said the child, raising his hollow eyes towards heaven, "hast thou forsaken me like every one in this world? I am cold-I am hungry! and no one comes near me. . . . Oh, how much I suffer that I may become a painter and then to be told that I never can be one-that I have no talents-that I do everything badly! My master says so, and it must be true; and then my poor mothermy poor mother, what is she now doing? But she thinks me happy, and neglects me. Oh, if she knew what I am suffering!-but it is for her I suffer-to relieve her hereafter, and prevent her working in her old age! Oh, my God! how cold and hungry I am! shall I be able to live this way till summer? Oh, support my courage, and preserve me for the sake of my poor mother!"

The voice, although weak and faint, seemed not altogether unknown to Van Ostade; but he tried in vain to recognise the features upon the shrivelled and emaciated countenance.

"The voice of suffering has always the same tone," thought he, "and I certainly do not know that child; but no matter, I will try to find out who he is, and save him if possible. I should never know a moment's peace-the image of this unfortunate little fellow would pursue me even in my dreams, were I to leave him here without making an effort to assist him."

On looking a second time through the keyhole, Van Ostade saw him lying upon a wretched bed of straw, covered up to the ears in an old horsecloth, endeavouring, he supposed, by sleep to escape the pangs of cold and hunger. Being unable to render immediate assistance, he felt unwilling to disturb the unfortunate child, and as he knew that if he left the house he should not again be