neighbourhood you should preserve such freshness and vigour of mind. How have you prevented your colloquial powers from rusting?"

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Nay, sir, you compliment-it is likely enough that they have a little rust: a country parson has too many allurements to slovenly indolence to be always proof against temptation; yet strange to say, though self-indulgence generally grows upon us, I am far less insensible to the claims and pleasures of society than I was some years ago. When I first came, here, I had a morbid delight in solitude; it was the greatest of luxuries to me to shut myself up with my books, and to brood over them and my own melancholy speculations. Death had recently broken up the beloved circle which in old times had gathered round my father's hearth. However, I convinced myself at length that this yielding to regret was not only weak but inexcusable; I looked abroad among my flock, and found many members of it more companionable than I had at first supposed. Few of them are very refined, I grant-but when we take to study human nature as a science, all varieties of it have something interesting or entertaining."

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"As have all varieties of the human countenance," said Huntley. 'I never saw a face yet, however vulgar or ordinary, the study of which might not benefit a painter.'

Pray, Mr. Huntley, do you make landscape or figures your study?"

"Oh, I belong to the historico-picturesque school. That may be termed, you know, the melo-drama of painting. Nothing comes amiss to me-houses, men, women, children, animals, old ruins, shattered trees, gipsy tents, antique furniture, all turn to account in some way or other."

"You speak very enthusiastically of your profession." "Is it not a profession to demand enthusiasm? Only think of the stores of mind and memory that must be brought to it, if we would pursue it with a hope of success; only think of the manner in which it clarifies the vision to every thing that is grand and beautiful! A painter must have all the knowledge of history and anatomy that books and professors can teach, together with an originality of combination, (for invention is nothing more,) that never can be taught; he must understand moral as well as physical anatomy-I mean the different forms in which passions express themselves, so as to be able to represent human beings under their influence. What laborious thought and practice this supposes! And when

labour has won the victory, there remains the business of hiding the traces of that labour-the raking over the ploughed clods, to make all look finished and even. What says Tasso?

'L'arte che tutto fa, nulla si scopre.'

Is not enthusiasm necessary to carry a man through all this? Talking of the anatomy of the mind, what incomparable opportunities, sir, must your Roman Catholic brethren have of attaining a knowledge of it through the medium of confession! What must it be to see man's heart laid bare to the view to hear all the impulses and suggestions that led to crime described with the eloquence of remorse!-Pretty young penitents, on the other hand, showing their purity of mind by their contrition for some venial fault-some harmless piece of coquetry, or trick played on the old duenna!-Truly, it would be amusing enough to have a week's play at father confessor?"

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Taking his own fasts and penances into consideration?" Why yes, I think so.-He quits his hard pallet before daybreak, with less reluctance, of course, than if it were of eider-down, joins a procession of his brethren, which, if he have the smallest taste for the picturesque, must be very gratifying to his imagination, accompanies them to a splendid chapel, hears a mass of the most divine music, adores some master-piece of Raffaelle or Correggio, then retires again to his cell to whip himself with a small knotty cord, which is the least agreeable part of the business, I grant, though it must be remembered that the degree of severity with which he inflicts the stripes is entirely optional; and some we may guess, wield the scourge with considerable gentleness. Then comes his breakfast! A glorious one, nine times out of ten, it is, and even if it be a fast day, one may have something worse than fish. After breakfast, he and a brother monk take a walk; and if we may judge from Pinelli's etchings, they do not object to stop before a puppet-show, a saltarello, or whatever amusement may be going on. They say "benedicite" to every pretty contadina, come home to a second mass, carry the host, perhaps, to some dying sinner, in a marble palace, dine, and sing mass again. Then for his afternoon amusement, our monk steps into his confessional, where a second Schedoni possibly comes to afford him ten times the excitement of Mrs. Radcliffe's best novel, or without being a second

Theodosius, his vanity is gratified by the confessions of a Constantia."

"Still, Mr. Huntley, custom

Oh, sir, your servant!-I only said for a week."

A pause now ensued, such as the most clever and talkative cannot always prevent; which was broken by Mr. Russell's asking Huntley whether he were acquainted with a young painter, a kinsman of his, by name Frank Russell.

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Do I know honest Frank?" cried Huntley gaily" Frank Russell, the most industrious of punsters, the idlest of students, the prince of good fellows? Not to know him would argue myself unknown. He is to be found, manufacturing mirth in every studio."

"Your description of him is likely enough to be exact," said Mr. Russell, "and accounts, I am afraid, for his not making any very rapid advance in the arts.

He

"I will tell you the secret of Frank's slow progress, sir. He does not want talent, but he is in too easy circumstances. He wants poverty, to make him a good painter. Nothing like a little starvation, or the dread of it, to spur genius. So long as he does not depend on the sale of his pictures for his daily bread, he will not care that no one offers to buy them. only puts his hands in his pockets and laughs. Tell him that he has committed some egregious fault in drawing, and he replies that it does not signify. He copies well. He makes a fine show at the British Gallery, where he generally choses some picture that has plenty of background. Background is his forte-a Rembrandt with only a nose and a triangular piece of cheek standing out from a mass of black, suits him exactly. He once set about an original historical composition on a large scale. So sanguine was he of success that before the group was half painted in, he bought an expensive frame for it. Afterwards, he became dissatisfied with his work, thought it too diffused, painted out the subordinate figures, and contracted the principal mass till nothing but a little island of light remained. On this his vast ocean of back-ground gradually encroached till the little island was finally swallowed up, and nothing but a large mass of blackness was left. Meanwhile, Frank had invited some professional friends to sup with him. so nothing else would suit the whimsical fellow than to mount this total eclipse without sun or moon into his magnificent frame. Every one, of course, no sooner saw it than they were convulsed with laughter; and their mirth was increased by his gravely telling them that it was an allegorical

piece, representing the moral darkness of the Gentile world. He placed it in the same class with Correggio's 'Notte.' Poor Frank! notwithstanding his weakness for backgrounds, he is a very talented, as well as gentlemanly fellow-every body likes him; and there is more beneath the surface than many suppose. Though the waves are frothy, the ocean is deep."

Before Mr. Russell and his new acquaintance parted for the night, an arrangement was made for their visiting the remains of an old monastery at a few miles' distance on the following day. The appointment was kept; the weather, the scenery, and the associations connected with monastic ruins conspired to kindle Huntley's enthusiasm and render him a more agreeable companion than before. They again met in the evening, and drank their coffee at the large lattice window of Mr. Russell's study, through the open casement of which came the mingled perfume of sweet-briar and mignionette.

"I like the air of this old vicarage exceedingly," said Mr. Huntley. "Though not positively picturesque in itself, it becomes so from the scenery in which it is embowered, and the graceful mantle of trailing plants flung over it."

"The vicarage owes the latter attraction," said Mr. Russell, "to those who were prevented from reaping the reward of its beauty. Mrs. and Miss Wellford planted the clematis and sweetbriar just before I came to enjoy the improvements which resulted from their taste."

"Miss Wellford?" repeated Huntley. "That was the young lady we met to-day in the lane."

"No, her elder sister. When I first came here and saw so many minute evidences of care and orderly arrangement on every side, I could hardly help considering myself a supplanter; and felt something like remorse when I beheld an orphan family thrust into a cottage scarcely superior to that of a common labourer, that I, a single man, might sit down surrounded by superfluity of room."

"That must have been a painful feeling to a generous mind. But are the family you speak of reconciled to the change in their situation?"

Completely, I believe, so far as pecuniary circumstances are concerned. Their tastes, refined and yet simple, are fully satisfied; and the universal rush and struggle for wealth and luxury is never more surprising to me than when I have just been witnessing how much happiness is compatible with an income as limited as theirs. Mrs. Wellford has always pre

VOL. I.-D.

served the respect that was originally her due as the vicar's wife; and, from my being unmarried, has never had occasion to relinquish the duties of that station. She is a very charming woman.'

"Tastes refined and yet simple?" repeated Mr. Huntley, after musing on the vicar's description. "How seldom they are to be found! I should be curious to see union of refinement and simplicity."

"Come," said Mr. Russell with more than usual alertness, "what say you a visit to the White Cottage? I should like to show you that the union does not exist merely in my own fancy. You robbed the Miss Wellfords of their guest last night, so it but fair that this evening they should have two." "With all my heart," said Huntley, quitting his seat with alacrity. They accordingly left the vicarage together.

CHAPTER VII.

AN A. R. A.

ROSINA, in her morning walk, had encountered Mr. Russell and Mr. Huntley. The former, without offering to introduce his companion, had merely smiled and said, "good morning, Rosina" leaving her to marvel exceedingly as she proceeded down the lane, who the intelligent looking young man could be by whom he was accompanied. She had heard of a Mr. Frank Russell, and of a younger brother of Dr. Black's. But there was as much dissimilarity between Mr. Russell's old crony and this young unknown as between black and white. She was sorry she had on her old bonnet, and on her return home related to her mother and sister what she persisted in calling "the adventure."

"Really, Rosina," said Hannah, much amused, "I cannot call your passing Mr. Russell and probably some cousin or college friend of his, much of an adventure.'

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"You may laugh," said Rosina, "but seldom as we see a new face in Summerfield, it is a kind of adventure nevertheless."

In the evening as she was reading beneath her favourite walnut-tree, Rosina heard animated voices in the lane, and