A PASSAGE IN THE LIVES OF RUBENS AND REMBRANDT.

girl with my cloak, and lie down in this sheltered hollow. I will endeavour to keep animation in our Antonio's limbs."

On the evening of All Saints' Day, in the year 16- a little party of travellers were wending their weary way along the rugged highroad that leads from Liege through Juliers to the old city of Cologne. Of all nights of the year the superstitious feelings of the Flemish and the Walloons surround that of the 1st of Novemher with the greatest terrors. What the Walpurgisnacht is to the Germans, this horrible night is to the natives of Flanders, Brabant, and the banks of the Moselle. The "hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels," which the warlocks and witches were dancing in old Alloway Kirk before jolly Tam O'Shanter were as child's play when compared with the supernatural and eldritch performances on All Saints' night in the regions mentioned. The dead at midnight arise from their rank sepulchres, and, shrouded in their reeking grave-clothes, haunt the abodes of those whom, while living, they had injured, in the hope of obtaining from their lips a prayer for their future repose. Then the sorcerer is allowed most powerfully to use his abominable arts, and the witch her foulest incantations. Then, for the space of twelve hours, the angel Gabriel raises his foot, beneath which lies groaning the captive demon, who, rising with his accursed malice, straightway proceeds to scatter his deadly temptations among the weak sons of men. Then the air teems with hostile spirits, and the earth engenders all that is vile and filthy.

Not a creature was to be seen moving along the road to break the dreadful solitude surrounding the

small

The wife followed her husband's directions, and the party for some time lay down in silence and sadness. But the snow fell more thickly, the wind blew more sharply, and the cold became more and more intense. The husband arose and found his wife speechless, thoroughly benumbed, and heavy with sleep. Her death was certain, unless she could be aroused. He shook her and called her by every endearing name, but in vain. He raised her in his arms and tried to make her walk; but she reeled and fell down, and in her fall her infant daughter escaped from her arms, and received a wound on its forehead. He picked up the crying child and tried to stanch the blood.

party of travellers, which consisted of a man and his youthful wife, a little boy, and a girl so young that the father was obliged to carry her in his arms. thick on the ground and was falling The snow lay fast, so that it was with difficulty that they kept along their path.

"Margarita," at length said the husband, with feeble tones, and in Italian, "it is impossible to proceed farther, thy slender frame is exhausted. Cover thyself and the little

Antonio," said the unhappy man, in a tone of despair, "creep close to thy mother's side, and place over her this additional covering, while I carry thy sister with me and look about for assistance."

He dofled his coat and placed it, with the cloak, over his half-dead wife and his son. Presently the sound of a distant clock came slowly echoing through the lazy and infected air. The husband for a moment listened; he knew the sound was wafted from the church-towers of Cologne, which could not be far distant, and he darted forward, bearing his wounded infant in his arms.

He ran unceasingly, and reached lounging a number of Spanish solthe city gate, round which were diers, and rushing up to a small group, he eagerly asked the way to the house of Master Rembrandt. His request was couched in bad Flemish intermixed with Italian. This unintelligible jargon, added to his half-naked appearance and anxious looks, produced loud laughter from the soldiery, who bantered him in no measured terms. They had never heard of such an individual. "Master Rembrandt!" cried one; "he lives just by--at the other end of the town. Take every turning

you come to, and you are sure to be right."

"Master Rembrandt!" said a second. "Go straight ahead and follow your nose, and you cannot fail to get to the old curmudgeon's house."

"Master Rembrandt!" exclaimed a third. "Turn to the right, and after that to the left, and then go right forward round the corner and across the churchyard, and you will see a large house without door or windows; you must then drop down the chimney, and you will be sure to see your friend seated at his fire."

All this was followed by a round of laughter.

"For mercy's sake!" faltered forth the poor distracted traveller, "shew me the way to the house of my dying wife's uncle, Master Rembrandt."

Just at that moment up came a little, short, hump-backed individual, a tailor by trade, who held a lantern in his hand. The police regulations of Cologne directed that every inhabitant should carry a lantern after nightfall. The little man was an Italian himself, and had, from his broken accents, recognised a countryman in the stranger. The tailor's heart melted at the sight of the wretched father with the tender infant in his arms.

"Come along," said Master Nicholas Borruelo, the humpback, “I'll shew you the way to Master Rembrandt's, though he will never at this late hour open his door to any human being, especially on the night of All Saints. However, we'll try; so come along, friend."

"But my wife and my poor boy, what will become of them? They lie without the city, and are dying. If I lose much more time it will be too late," exclaimed the agonised

stranger.

"Verily, friend," answered the humpback, "if thou expectest aught of relief from the charity of Master Rembrandt, thou labourest under a woeful error, and their loss is but too certain. He would not give a doit to save his own brother from the jaws of death. It were, believe me, much better to entreat some of the soldiers to go with us to thy wife

and child and assist us to conduct them into the city. They can be carried to my lodging; though the room is but small, and though I am

myself poor, still, with the blessing of God, they shall not, on this cold and comfortless night, stand in need of assistance!"

The stranger readily assented, and the little tailor forthwith accosted some of the soldiers, and in a sorry Flemish patois explained to them his companion's miserable condition. A kind-hearted drummer caught the child from the stranger's arms and took it into the guard-house before a rousing fire, while four soldiers, with their sergeant's permission, lighted torches, and accompanied the husband and the tailor through the city gate. It was with difficulty that the party could keep pace with the cager stranger, who ran along shouting the names of Margarita and Antonio. But the snow was falling more thickly than ever, and the wind had arisen into much louder gusts. It was impossible that the sufferers could hear his calls. A sudden lull of the tempest, however, enabled them to hear a feeble cry, and then they discovered the ravipe, where the wife and boy were lying almost buried under a drift of snow. Had they tarried a few moments longer they would certainly have been too late. The tailor entreated the soldiers to bear along tenderly the speechless wife, while he took young Antonio under his own protection; and as they entered the city he desired the party to proceed to the narrow street which contained his abode. The soldiers the more readily complied since the distance was not very far from the guard-house. As they were going along, Nicholas Bor ruelo, by dint of hard questioning, discovered that the stranger's name was Francesco Netcelli; that he was a native of Venice; that he had made a runaway marriage with the daugh ter of Rembrandt's sister, who had, contrary to the wishes of her family, chosen a poor Italian gentleman; and that he himself was by profession a painter. This was at a period when a successful painter easily commanded, like a potentate, the ready homage of mankind, and painting, consequently, had many more enthu siastic, self-denying votaries than she reckons in the present dull, prossic. and degenerate days.

. The tailor introduced the poor travellers and two children into his

room, and, after having the wife and infant daughter laid upon his bed, he dismissed the soldiers with many thanks, and, blowing up the fire, placed seats for Netcelli and his boy Antonio. Netcelli sank into his seat, and gazed motionless and unmeaningly at the fire, like one in a trance. The boy appeared also in a stupor. Nicholas Borruelo bustled about, now trying to arouse the husband, now divesting the wife of her wet garments and covering her with the warmest clothing his poor lodging could afford, having previously warmed it before his fire.

The

his eyes, looked around him, then recognised his wife and children, and burst into a flood of tears.

former was stupified and dead to his calls and entreaties, the latter was so benumbed that she was motionless and rigid as marble. It might be the cold which had operated upon the young man's limbs, it might be despair at his desolate position which was wringing his heart and had made him speechless. Nicholas Borruelo rummaged in a cupboard, and drew forth from its extremity an oldfashioned bottle, carefully corked up, containing some rare and exquisite brandy. This was carefully kept as a bonne bouche for himself, but his generous heart made him lay aside all thoughts of his own comfort, although an audible sigh escaped him as he poured some of the precious liquor upon a piece of rag, with which he carefully rubbed the lips, face, and hands, of the senseless lady. For a long time he laboured in vain; but, at length, she gradually opened her eyes, and, stretching forth her arms, in a faint voice demanded her children.

"Here they are, signora," exclaim

"We are saved, dearest Margarita! we are saved!" at length exclaimed Francesco.

But Margarita looked first at the wounded infant, and then at the stupified Antonio. Francesco comprehended her meaning, and groaned with a look of despair.

"Messire Netcelli," said the humpback, "I am shocked at your ingratitude. Place your trust in the blessed Virgin and the holy saints. Your wife has been restored to you, why should not your children be

also saved? Arise and assist me to restore animation."

Netcelli arose with difficulty, and assisted the good tailor in his efforts. The children opened their eyes and smiled upon their mother.

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Now, then," said the Italian painter, "now is the time to go and demand aid at the hands of my uncle Rembrandt. I will tell him of our misfortunes and our miserable plight, and he cannot refuse us."

The tailor shrugged up his shoulders, and with a sneer replied,

"You may as well demand aid and consolation from a door-post; but, since you are bent upon going, I will accompany you to the quarter of the Jews, where the old gentleman resides. He is not only a painter, but an usurer, and Heaven have mercy upon his victims. May you be successful in your appeal, though I

much doubt it."

The humpback lighted his lantern, and was about to take his cloak from the bed; but, on second

ed little humpbacked Borruelo; "here thoughts, he left it as a covering for

they are, all warm and comfortable."

Then, going up to Netcelli, he slapped him on the back, and told him to be a man. But seeing him still gazing vacantly, like one demented, he seized his bottle with the precious contents, poured out a glass, and desired him to drink it off, for that it would create new life under the very ribs of death. Still the young man did not move.

the sick mother. He then beckoned to the stranger, and led the way to Rembrandt's abode, which was situated at the other extremity of the city.

The snow had ceased, and the howling wind was scattering the clouds in wild confusion, while the struggling moon was by fits casting around an unearthly light. The streets and the houses were covered with snow, not a soul met them on

which the tailor, somewhat losing their way, all was dead silence and

patience, put the glass to his lips, and, with a slight struggle, fairly forced the contents down his throat. The liquor operated like magic. In

solitude. It seemed a fit season for the carnival of evil spirits who are permitted to hold uncurbed dominion on the night of All Saints.

So

A very short time Francesco opened thought Nicholas Borruelo, as every

now and then he looked anxiously around and behind him, as though he expected to see a troop of ghosts and goblins in the full enjoyment of their unholy Sabbath. He hurried his companion along, and at last reached the quarter of the Jews, a district under the ban of all good Christian souls, and rendered yet more detestable by its being shut in on one side by an extensive and abandoned burying-groud. Borruelo pointed out to Netcelli a large white house, flanked on each side by a small tower. It stood within a large space of ground, surrounded by a high wall; its windows overlooked the cemetery. Altogether, the house had a gloomy, desolate, and abandoned appearance. The Italian painter approached a low, narrow door, which was, for security, thickly covered with iron plates, and rang the bell. The sound was instantly answered by the fierce barking of several dogs.

He paused, waited, listened attentively; but no footsteps were heard. He sounded the bell again and again, but to as little purpose, while the fury of the dogs was increased to a tenfold degree. Again he sounded, when suddenly the dogs ceased their barking. The tailor and his companion heard many a bolt and bar withdrawn, and an inner door opened, and the dull echo of a heavy footstep descending some steps into the courtyard. This was followed by the sound of an old man's dry, hollow cough. They waited for the opening of the outer gate until their patience was exhausted, and then Netcelli gave another pull at the bell, which rang as if it would split. They then learned why it was that the footsteps were heard in the court-yard, for in an instant the loosened dogs bounded in savage fury against the door. They

were convinced of the obstinate determination of the inmates of the house that they would not allow admittance to any one at that late hour of night.

"I knew how it would be," murmured the little tailor; "the old miser takes us for robbers or murderers, and is determined not to open. It is better to return to the fire in my little room than to be standing before this miserable house, and by that frightful churchyard. This night is

the festival of the dead, and every moment I expect to see some of them rise up in their fearful winding-sheets. Oh, Messire Netcelli! if you did but know what dreadful tales people tell of the diabolical goings on in that dismal churchyard. The spectres and imps of darkness sometimes pro ceed from the graves and charnelhouse to old Rembrandt's mansion, and there they enjoy themselves in a rare jubilec. The mansion stood empty for twenty long years; no one was bold enough to buy it; every body feared visits from the dead bodies in the buryingground. But old Rembrandt was not to be frightened; he bought the house dirt cheap, for a mere old song; for, to save a hundred florins, he would take up his abode at the very gates of the infernal regions. He need not be afraid of robbers, for, besides those dogs, they say he has made a bargain with an unearthly imp, who every night keeps guard by squatting upon his money-chest. Let us along let us along, and all the saints grant that we may reach home in a whole skin, and without mecting any spectres or witches!"

He seized the young painter by the arm, and almost dragged him along, for the noise of the crisp snow under their feet, and the low, plaint ive murmur of the wind, which was again rising, made him fancy that he heard the lamentation of some restless and despairing unsubstantial being. Dispirited, and with his heart aching with deep grief, and a thousand torturing anxieties, the young man allowed himself to be led along with silent submission. By the time he reached the tailor's abode, he was, moreover, thoroughly overcome with fatigue, while he was fearful to enter, because of apprehension of new ca lamity. He staggered against the door, faint and irresolute, and paused for a moment to gain sufficient strength to enter.

"Mother, mother," said the little Antonio, from within, "open your eyes and speak to me, for I am very cold and very hungry!"

But the poor mother answered not. Netcelli rushed desperately into the room; it was perfectly dark. He stumbled against a chair and table which had been overturned; the window had been burst in by