and they travelled together to Amsterdam, and Brauwer lived at his companion's expense, amusing him by narrating all the singular events of his youth; and they travelled back to Anvers together, where Brauwer once more began to seek his fortune.

away as useless.

Rubens having come to see the old man when he was ill, paused in the studio to look at the works of the two youths, David and Abraham. The latter coolly went on with his task, indifferent to the presence of the illustrious master; but David, moved to tears, let fall his brush. Rubens, observing the impression he had made on the youth, deigned to pick up the brush and add several touches to the work of the young scholar, explaining every stroke and shade as he added it. This was an excellent lesson for David, and every word uttered by Reubens relative to the art of colouring, the management of light and shade, and the harmony and arrangement of a picture, remained firmly engraved on the young lad's mind. Thus he said, later in life," My genius I derive from nature, my taste from my father, and my perfection from Rubens." He forgot Brauwer.

At the age of fifteen, David Teniers painted all the landscapes of his father's pictures. He was born a painter, and had all the instincts of one; he did not look on things for the pleasure of seeing them, but with a view to paint them.

"He was very useful to his father," observes a naïve biographer; "for he went with an ass to Brussels and Amsterdam, to sell the old man's pictures." While travelling thus, he one day encountered a great boy, of some eighteen years old, very shabbily accoutred, who inquired whither the ass was going. The way of all asses; the same as yours, so you'd better journey together," was David's reply. This boy was

Having quarrelled with his brother, David quitted him, and took a studio on his own account near the cathedral. Adrien Brauwer, whose only studio had been a public-house, came to paint at David's. Here was a new master for our young painter, and a most enthusiastic and original one; fortunately for himself, David only took lessons of him in painting, or he too might have drunk himself to death. It seems, however, from an anecdote related of him, that Teniers frequented taverns. He was at an inn at Oyssel, with his palette and brushes, doubtless returning from some sketching expedition; his pocket was very empty, and so was his stomach, and obeying the latter, he called for refreshment, and ate most heartily. While at his meal, a poor fellow came and stood at the door, playing the flute. Having satisfied his appetite, David asked the man to stand to him, and in two hours completed a picture of him. Lord Falston was there-for then as now there were English everywhere-and he offered the painter three ducats for his picture. The sum was accepted, the landlord had one, the model a second; and the third the painter kept himself. Many persist in regarded "the flute-player” as one of Teniers' happiest productions. It was stolen from the original purchaser, and found in Persia, in 1804, by Colonel Dickson.

Teniers struggled with adversity for several years, and was compelled again to travel the country, and visit Brussels and Amsterdam in order to sell his pictures. He was about twenty when the Archduke Leopold, having met him in the studio of Rubens, appointed him his painter in ordinary and first valet de chambre

S

some say gentleman of the bed-chamber. His fortune now took a turn, and matters went more smoothly.

About this time a gentleman of the Duke's court, being about to marry, commanded our painter to make him a picture of Hymen. As the gentleman was passionately in love, and enthusiastic in his ideas of the God of Nuptials, Teniers brought into play all the rescources of his art, and all the inspiration of his genius; he imitated the graces of Albane, the colouring of Rubens, and made Hymen more beautiful than Venus found Adonis. Nor did he forget the torch—it actually seemed to emit a radiance; while the smile on the lips of the god was an exquisite combination of all the raptures of love. On the day preceding the nuptials, Teniers summoned the gentleman to his studio.

"Ah! it is a failure," said the gentleman, looking at the picture superciliously; "I see that you have but a triste idea of Hymen. It wants soul, life, passion.”

"Perhaps you are right," observed Teniers, quickly making up his mind what to do; "the colours are hardly dry; in time they will become more mellow. Permit me to show it to you again in a few weeks. You will have the real Hymen to-morrow, and therefore can dispense, for a while, with his semblance. If, when I show it to you again, you still see these faults in it, I will consent to make you a present

of it."

The gentleman was satisfied with so fair an offer, and left the studio to fly to the feet of his fiancée. She was of mixed Flemish and Spanish extraction; a picture of beauty, but with a Flemish temperament and mind, adorable to look at, ennuyante as a companion. Teniers allowed the honey-moon to pass, and then a month, and then another, and thinking that by that time the gentleman would have become better acquainted with Hymen, he carried his picture to him again.

"Yes, you were certainly right, Teniers! Time has wonderfully improved this picture. I should have scarcely recognized it. Decidedly no one should venture to pass judgment on a newly finished painting. How brilliant are those colours! how glowing that torch! how rapturous the smile on the god's lips! Methinks you have bestowed too much soul, too much fire on your delineation; it is Love, not Hymen, you were thinking of while painting. A shade of thought would improve that face-matrimony is, after all, a serious thing."

"Ah, I knew how it would be!" exclaimed Teniers. "The husband sees with different eyes to those of the lover. Time has not altered my picture one iota; it is you are changed, not it. Formerly your ideal of Hymen was too highly coloured; now you deem mine so."

The gentleman was vexed, and would have defended his opinions; but what could he say? The sharp-witted painter had the best of the argument; so to get rid of the matter, he offered to pay for the picture. But Teniers had an idea, and so once more taking it home, he

worked at it for several days, and by means of a careful adjustment of the perspective, produced a Hymen which, when viewed from a little distance, appeared most attractive and enchanting, but which was by no means so fascinating when one came close up to it.

The Archduke heard the history of this painting, and desired that it might be his; he hung it at the end of his picture-gallery, and hundreds of people, both married and single, came to look at and admire it.

thus terminates his recital : This anecdote is related by Dufresny; and he "The Archduke had the picture placed at the end of a very pretty gallery; beneath it was a raised platform, which one ascended by means of a slippery inclinedplane; at the foot of this the picture looked exquisite enchanting; the spectator having but once attained to the platform, found its brightest charms were fled."

Cornelius Schut, who was an allegorical painter, a poet, and an engraver, was, we believe, the original narrator of this anecdote. What is most curious is that this picture of Hymen had a remarkable influence on the destiny of David Teniers. Cornelius Schut was one of the guardians of Anne Breughel, the daughter of Breughel de Velours, and she resided with his family; As she was both beautiful and amiable, he took pleasure in escorting her about, to the studios of first-rate artists, to the public prome nades and amusements, and to the court of the Archduke.

One day he was showing her the picture of Hymen; they were looking at it from the floor of the gallery, and the young maiden found it charming.

"Will you permit me to assist you in taking a closer view of matrimony?" said Teniers, who had joined them.

"With all my heart!" was her thoughtless reply.

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Accept my hand then!" he said, with a smile full of meaning.

The young girl blushed, and declined it with an embarrassed bow.

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Why not look at the picture from the higher point of view?" inquired Schut.

"That would be to destroy the enchantment distance flings on it," she said; "those who have approached Hymen most closely, seemed to admire him least."

"But that will not be the case with you and me," whispered David. "I'll promise that no endeavour of mine shall be wanting to make him even more enchanting, when near, than the most poetic imagination ever pictured him, if you will only permit me to lead you to him."

Others came up at this moment, to the vexation of the painter, and the relief of the young girl; and Teniers was shortly obliged to take his leave.

The following day he entered the studio of Cornelius, and after several desultory remarks, exclaimed, "Can you tell me, Master Cornelius, the readiest way to win a maiden's heart?”

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'Aye, madly in love. The Archduke deems I have lost my senses."

And who is the fair one for whom you sigh ?"

"Can you not guess?" exclaimed David. "Would I had your poetical genius, if thus she I love is to be won.'

"Anne Breughel is a woman of sense and spirit, who will not lightly be won; nor will she, I think, wed save of her own free will. Rubens and Van Balen are also her guardians." A few days afterwards, Teniers, happening to be in company with Rubens, inquired of him the best means of winning a woman's heart. "Paint a beautiful portrait of her," replied the great painter.

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Ah, why have I not your talent; that would have power to beautify even Anne Breughel," said the young man, vehemently.

"Anne Breughel is it you love? Go then to our grave friend, Van Balen; he is her chief guardian; he will give you a philosopher's advice, and doubtless his knowledge of the human heart will enable him to put you in the right way."

Teniers proceeded straight to the studio of the old artist, and found him painting a copy of his great picture, St. John preaching in the Wilderness," on copper. Teniers had frequently met him at the palace of the Archduke, so addressed him at once on the subject which engrossed his heart.

"Tell me, Van Balen, I beseech you, the readiest way to gain a maiden's heart?"

"To give her your own-love begets love," replied the old painter.

"You may be right, nevertheless I adore Anne Breughel, and she cannot be unaware of my attachment; yet, to all appearance, she regards it and me with perfect indifference."

The three guardians questioned their fair =ward, and discovered that maiden reserve, and not indifference, caused her to take so little notice of the gallantries of her young lover. They consulted together, and weighed the talent of David against the fortune of Anne, compared their equality in personal beauty, wit, and grace, and, after some few doubts and arguments, decided for the marriage. Rubens gave a supper; both the young persons were invited, and the three old painters mischievously amused themselves for a while with their embarrassment. They told Teniers that they had requested his presence to witness the arrangement of Anne's marriage contract, and assured Anne that they had selected a very steady, estimable husband for her. A notary shortly joined the party, and having unfolded his parchments, read aloud the articles of a marriage-contract between David Teniers and Anne Breughel; and the young painter, in his delight, heard little and understood less of the legal form, but would have signed the deeds with both hands had it been necessary.

This marriage-contract, which was preserved

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in the archives of Anvers, was solely in favour of the wife; all her property was settled upon herself, and the husband only enjoyed it through her, and in case of her decease, everything was to descend to the children resulting from their union-he could not touch even the interest. Anne Breughel's guardians, though artists, were careful men of business.

The marriage took place shortly afterwards. On the morning of the nuptial day, the Archduke presented Teniers with his miniature suspended from a chain of gold, with some joke about the other chains he was about to put on. But the fetters of matrimony proved flowery wreaths. Anne was a gentle, affectionate, and excellent wife. She bore him four lovely children; and the love of the wedded pair never seemed to grow older. Teniers' words became verified, and Anne found Hymen" more enchanting, when near, than the most poetic imagination ever pictured him." For imagination paints a romantic ideal, not the enduring pure joys resulting from the friendship, confidence, and affection of two loving hearts.

A REVERIE IN HAMPTON COURT
PALACE.

Hampton Palace !-Leave me now,
Let me smooth my laughing brow;
For I stand where Princes stood,
Men of high and noble blood,
Who are now within the grave
Where the sighing larches wave;
Crumbled into dust and gloom
In the portals of the tomb;
Lost their high and proud renown-
Bitter satire on a Crown.

Sounds and sights fill all the air,
Voices float from everywhere;
How shall I, whose humble lays
Scarcely win a word of praise,
Dare to lift my voice to tell
Half the power I feel so well,
As I stand upon this ground,
Wrapt in reverie profound,
With a soul full to the brim
Of saddened memories soft and dim?

O! in days of old, each vale
(When the hoar-frost, stern and pale,
Glittered on each tower and tree)
Showed a merrie company,
Who with eyes and hearts of flame
From this goodly Palace came.
Many a lady, proud and high,
Flew her hawk against the sky;
Laughing, talking, all the while,
Charming hearts with every smile.

O! in days of old, brave men
Sallied to the battle plain;
Many a knight brake many a lance
For some lovely lady's glance;
She that morn upon his breast
Wreathed her colours with the rest;
And perchance within this room,
Whose censors then swayed soft perfume,

Gave her parting kiss, and flew

As shooting stars through heaven's blue!

O! in days of old, these trees
Carolled blithely to the breeze;
And upwoke each music-bird
When the hunting-horn was heard;
Lightly every courser leapt,
Not one lazy varlet slept :
Every lip and heart in motion,
Leaping, bounding, like old ocean,
Langhed and kissed earth's smiling shore,
Asking-hoping for no more!

O, in days of old, the hours
Flew on paths of rosy flowers;
Softer seemed the heaven's blue
To the dreaming lover's view.
Here on this broad gravel-walk
Held they love's delicious talk;
Here, beneath the moonbeams bright,
Throned their souls in dizzy height,
With their glances raised above,
Smiled, and sighed, and wept for love!

In this Palace, nobly graced,
Wit and love were interlaced,
As the broad and mighty vine
Wreaths itself with eglantine:
Maidens-with their locks of gold;
Soldiers-spirits brave and bold;
Heroes, courtiers, statesmen, sages—
Lending light to future ages;
Princes, poets, painters, queens,
Gave a charm to all the scenes!

Music sounded at the ball,
Royal feasting in the hall;
Hunting, hawking, in the light,
Singing, dancing, through the night;
And, O spell beyond the rest!
Charming every feeling breast,
Here that bard of olden time,
Shakspere-deathless and sublime-
First was breathed by spirits stored
With his priceless, precious hoard.
Now the trees stand tall and straight
By the noble palace gate;
Now the sighing breezes fall
Round the old neglected hall;
Now the walks look cold and prim,
And the swans upon the brim
Of the rippling river's edge,
Bury them beneath the sedge:
Even theirs the bitter fate,
To be dull and desolate!

Silently the birds wing on

In their wild course towards the sun;
Not a sound within the doors
On the smooth and naked floors,
Save the quick annoying haste
Of common feet, that tread to waste
The dreams of old romance, which thrill
My reason and my passions still:
Them who tread these royal halls,
To outstare portraits on the walls!

As I muse, a long array
Flasheth on my weary way:
Wolsey-haughty, stern, and cold;
Henry-cruel, brutal, bold;

Percy's Anne, whose lustrous grace
Shone from out her lovely face;

And the fair young Queen, who died
In the flush of mother-pride,
Smiling as I see her now,
O'er her baby Edward's brow!

He who reigned in after years,
He who died 'mid England's tears,
He who loved the pure and brave,
He who filled an early grave;
And amid this misty rain,
Mary's gloomy spouse from Spain;
Then the cold coquette, whose breath
Sealed fates-Elizabeth,
Arch-deceiver, wilt thou dare
Meet thy victims in the air?

Ah! if spirit-eyes can see,
As our dull mortality,
Leicester, Essex, Mary, then
Shall but sear thy spirit-ken.

This the law throughout high heaven,
"Forgive as ye shall be forgiven."
Shelter once this place hath been

For Charles the murdered and his Queen;
He whose blood can overwhelm
All the glory of the realm.

Ah, old Palace! every nook
Speaks as some familiar book:
Here's the spot where merry Charles
Sported with the tennis-balls;

Here's the gorgeous crimson bed,
Where Mary laid her royal head;
Many a hope her bosom thrilled,
Many a care her bosom filled;
Surely sleep brought no repose,
Author of thy father's woes!

Ah, old Palace! thou can'st tell
Many a tale of warning well;
Now thy courts are all deserted,
Trod once by the gleesome-hearted;
Not a note of music swells
From thy monastery cells;
And thou say'st, "O thoughtless souls,
Over which Time's shadow rolls;
Do the good ye can to-day,
All things human pass away!"

CANZONET.

A. E. 8.