to address to him, were taken up and re-echoed by a wider circle. He was allowed to be a man of promise, and it was quite apparent to all but to himself that the public only wanted a fair excuse to admit him into the ranks of those whom it delighted to honour and to reward. Nor was an opportunity long wanting. It was the period when those admirable societies, which were the first successful attempt to render the public the patrons of art, as they already were of literature, came into existence. Those societies, which, compensating for the want of individual patronage, as well as that instinctive appreciation of merit in works of art, which is so general among the people of the South of Europe, while rescuing many a deserving artist from obscurity, have been the means of communicating a healthier taste and a more correct knowledge to the public, thus imparting needful encouragement to one class, as well as necessary instruction to the other. They were at this time in the hey-day of their success. Their approval had been conferred with such discrimination and impartiality, as in itself to establish the pre-eminence of any one who was fortunate enough to be the object of it-while the immense funds at their disposal enabled them to offer, at least in their highest prizes, such pecuniary rewards as could scarcely be expected at the present time from the most munificent individuals. It was as a candidate for one of those prizes that the young artist had been principally occupied for several months before the day on which we have presented him to the reader. Indeed he had attempted nothing else except the picture of the Virgin that lay before him, and which it was his intention to present to the church where he had so often seen Enna, and where he had so fervently asked for Heaven's blessing on her and on himself. His great work, however, the success or failure of which was to decide his fate, had now passed more than a week from his easel, and was undergoing that ordeal and awaiting that judgment on which life, and love, and hope, and fame depended. He had put forth all his strength in this effort-every resource of which he was capable had been exhausted-every thing that the minutest care and the severest self-criticism could effect had been done, and

then, after all, when he compared the result with the ideal which he had in his mind-so poor, so cold, so tame in comparison-his spirit sunk within him, and he already almost felt upon his heart the deadly stroke of disappointment, which he had neither the power nor the inclination to resist. He dreaded to meet his friends, lest the expression of their faces might betray to him the terrible secret of his failure; he trembled at the sight of a newspaper, lest it might contain the dreadful sentence of his fate. Alone in his apartment, and only occupied with his intended offering, he worked with an incessant but unnatural activity, anxious to complete this last effort of his genius, his piety, and his love, ere the dreadful blow which he felt would terminate his labours and his life would fall upon him. What wonder, then, considering his incessant toil, his months and months of unceasing application, the hope that was dying out of his heart, his depression and his despair, if sometimes, stricken down by physical and mental exhaustion, he almost repined against his fate, and murmured at the dispensation that compelled him to make such desperate and laborious exertions? It was on one of those occasions, and with a feeling of this kind rankling almost unconsciously in his heart, that he fell into that deep though troubled slumber, in which the reader has found him at the commencement of this story.

Scarcely had the young man's eyes closed in sleep when a beautiful light illuminated the apartment-a light, milder yet intenser than that of noon, which, beaming from a beloved object, outshines that of the day, and is, in truth and in fact, the only sunshine of the heart. Dazzled for a moment by its splendour, the room seemed to him "dark from excess of light;" but as his vision became accustomed to the new atmosphere that surrounded him, he saw, to his inexpressible wonder and delight, the figure of an angelic being by his side, radiant with indescribable beauty, and regarding him with eyes of the tenderest commiseration and the most divine affection. In her hand she bore a small crystal flask, filled with the ethereal essence of some omnipotent nepenthe, from which she poured one many-coloured, sparkling drop-like unto a liquid diamond

upon the pallid lips of the sleeping youth. Her face was the idealism, the perfection of that beautiful, candid, spiritual face that shone in the portrait of the Virgin, on the easel, and that gleamed with varying expression, and under so many different circumstances, from all the other pictures in the room-it was the face of Enna.

Hast

"Poor, weak doubter," cried the Spirit, "and art thou, too, ignorant of the destiny and the happiness of man? Wilt thou, too, say unto thy Creator, Thou art a blunderer !-this beauteous world which thou hast made is but a glorious error-this wonderful life which thou hast given me is but a terrible mistake? Wilt thou, too, say unto the earth, I will not pierce thy bosom, my mother, even one inch, that the streams of life may flow; I will not use thy winds for wings to waft me over the sea, nor thy waters to bear me unto the islands afar off? thou yet to learn that labour is the inevitable necessity of existence-that in the sweat of thy brow thou must eat bread—and that it is in thy power, as it is in the power of all men, to turn this primal curse of humanity into its divinest blessing? But come with me from the solitude of this lonely apartment, where thou hast only allowed thyself to survey the petty round of thy own exertions, and where thou hast been assisted beyond thy deserts, oh, thou ungrateful one! and behold the many-pictured spectacle of human life. Soon shalt thou see that all men work, some with bended backs and upraised arms, others with rapid fingers, and with thoughts, wrought into a thousand shapes like hammered metal; but in this great universal workshop of humanity there are two classes those to whom this necessity is a curse, and those to whom it is a blessing. Thou shalt see both-thou shalt behold the results, and learn the cause."

The Spirit touched the hand of the young man, and, in the thrill of ineffable delight which flashed like an electric shock through his entire system, he seemed to awaken from his slumber, and to pass with his angelic guide out of the apartment. They were by the shores of the sea, the wind blew off the coast, and the tide was at its height. There were many vessels sailing, or about to sail, some with swelling canvas and bending masts, others with loud-roaring steam-funnels and black

revolving paddles. In an instant, as it were by volition, they were on board one of the latter. Thrice was the brazen bell at the prow struck-two or three hoarse words were spoken from the paddle-box-two or three planks withdrawn two or three farewell greetings given-and the loud, shrieking, hissing sound of the steam ceased, the ponderous wheels struck round and round in the affrighted water, and the mighty mass, quivering with the sudden consciousness of gigantic strength and irresistible power. - a floating Frankenstein-rushed from the shore and faced the open sea. All was calm, and smooth, and serene before the advancing vessel-all was rough, and angry, and turbid in its wake. The setting sun, the ascending moon, the beauty and tranquillity of heaven shone mirrored in the former, while the rage, the fury, the chafing anger of hell might be descried through the cloven, and broken, and smoke-o'ershadowed billows of the latter. The one resembling the peaceful happiness of private life, which precedes the advent of some mighty but remorseless conqueror; the other, the desolation and the ruin that succeed. But it was not on the surrounding sea that the youth and angel looked-it was on the still more wonderful spectacle that the crowded deck of the vessel presented. There were huddled together some two or three hundred human beings, principally men, some by the low bulwarks over which the cold wind and the wet spray rushed without any impediment-some beneath the shelter of the loftier paddle-boxes, while a few sat cowering close to the partially-heated funnel, in an atmosphere of ashes, smoke, and mist, and rancid oil. The men were generally beneath the middle size; their faces were wretchedly thin and haggard, and in many instances dis figured by those coarse, degraded features, which hereditary poverty and misery ever entail; but in the eyes of all of them might be discovered a gentle, calm expression of goodness and affection, and a spirit of endurance which, to a lesser extent than theirs, would have been a virtue.

"Nothing can be more deplorable," said the angel, "than this spectacle; and nothing in reality can be more wretched than the condition of those men. They may be considered the

model-class of human misery, the recollection of whose condition reconciles the wretched and the oppressed of other countries to their comparative happiness. And yet it would be difficult to find, over the whole world, a number of men collected together, so many of whom practise the silent heroism of suffering, the unselfishness, the affection, and the industry of these men. You know their condition, and on what a pilgrimage of labour they are bound. You know that they are going to a rich, proud, and to them, contemptuous country, amid a hostile and a jealous class, to ask the privilege of doing double the work, and receiving half the reward, of their rivals, in order that they may be able to bring back something that will, even for one day, cheer the desolation that almost eternally hangs round the little miserable cabin on the bare mountain side at home. Ah! it is the thought of the inmates of those wretched cabins, that imparts the unconscious heroism to the hearts of those poor pilgrims, and not alone the thought, but almost the very presence, as it is now thy privilege to

behold."

The Angel breathed on the eyes of the young man, and as he looked again along the deck upon the groups, from whom he had turned but a moment before, in the deepest dejection and sorrow, he started with a mingled feeling of surprise and pleasure. The crowd now seemed to be doubled or trebled in number, and yet the vessel swam as lightly, and the sailors moved to and fro among the people with the same facility as before. The new-comers were all either women or children. Some of the former were young, with the light of life dancing in their modest eyes and their merry lips, just ready to part, either with a laugh, or with a song the others were anxiouslooking, motherly women, or venerable white-haired dames, with their thin, intelligent faces half-hid in the grey hoods of their cloaks. They were the sisters, the sweethearts, the wives, the children, or the mothers of these otherwise desolate men. They were the objects for whom they toiled-for whom they endured privations-for whom they were sailing away from their native land to a strange country. They were the invisible angels who, standing or reclining by their sides,

upon this sea-and-wind swept deck, as they would be, by-and-bye, beneath the overpowering Autumn sun, amid the golden corn-fields, strengthen and refresh their souls, and prevent their hearts at least from sinking under the weight of what would otherwise be intolerable and unendurable calamity. Here they were all now, in various positions-the young girl singing sweet snatches of

"some old Irish song,

Brimful of love, and life, and truth,"

or whispering words of hope and encouragement to the listening ears of her lover. Here was the kind-hearted, kind-eyed wife, dandling her youngest child before the proud eyes of its father and here was, perhaps, the most interesting picture of the entire, some affectionate sister, or venerable mother, holding up the sick head of her young brother, or son, who is making his first pilgrimage of labour, and to whose wants they minister unseen. These are the Angels of Toil-these are the kind, invisible spirits of labour-that stand by the side of every happy worker, lightening his burden,strengthening his arm, and refreshing his heart

the companions, the assistants, and the rewards of all his exertions.

The Angel and the youth passed away from this affectingspectacle this lowest picture of the depth of human misery— this highest proof of the sublimity of human affection; and as the ever-revolving panorama of life circled beneath them, they behold the same scene re-enacted under the ever-varying circumstances of human life. Wherever they went, whether to the loud, resounding workshop, to the mighty factory, thundering with the noise of hammers, or the multitudinous hum of never-ceasing wheels; to the counting-house of the merchant, or the cabinet of the minister; to the bustling court-house with the lawyer, or to the sick-bed of the sufferer with the physician; to the writer's desk, or the painter's easel; through the fields, or through the streets the sight was still the same. They found the same ministering angels standing by the side of the happy and successful workers. They found the same hopefulness, the same light-heartedness, the same radiant expression of content, on the faces of those who had the advantage of this invisible assist

ance. And they found, too, the same gloom, the same wretchedness, the same weariness, hopelessness, and agony, in the hearts and in the faces of that equally numerous class, whom vice, or selfishness, or a perverse nature deprived of the inestimable auxiliary of Love. Ah! it was fearful to contemplate the depths of the degradation into which this love-abandoned class fell. It was a dreadful spectacle to behold, as the Angels of Toil vanished from their side, how a thousand demons usurped their place-demons of inebriety, of vice, of ungovernable passion, of revenge, and murder; and who, with fiendish malice, added additional weight to every burden, sapped strength out of the arm, and hope out of the heart, and showed no pity, except in sometimes flinging their victims, poor, broken, wretched, shattered machines, into the dark sanctuary of some loathsome and premature grave.

"Thou hast reason," said the Angel, "to be saddened and to be overwhelmed at this spectacle. Thou wouldst be unworthy of the assistance thou hast received, and of the consolation that has been poured into thy

heart, if thou didst not deeply deplore the misery of thy more unfortunate brothers. For, thinkest thou that no kind spirit has stood beside thy chair, these many toilsome weary months, guiding thy pencil, and supporting thy hand, whispering to thee words of consolation and of hope, as she now comes to bear unto thee the still more gladsome tidings of success? Yes," she continued, the trial is over, the or deal is passed; that for which thou hast so bravely worked, and so sincerely sighed, is given to thee. The Angel of Toil ceases her visionary existence and becomes a reality. Awake!"

"Ah! Henry," said a sweet voice at his side, as the young man opened his eyes, "how fatigued you must have been. Here I have been standing by your side for the last half hour; and though I had good news to tell you, you looked so serene and happy in your sleep, that I could not bear to disturb you. Your picture is pronounced the first in the exhibition, and I believe I may promise you," said she, smiling, and placing her hand in his, "that the prize is thine."

ENTERTAINMENT AND

THE houses of the principal Chinese inhabitants in cities stand within walled enclosures; in the country they occupy the centre of their gardens, which are arranged in a very grotesque manner. Bridges are apparently erected for the mere sake of ascending on one side in order to descend on the other; artificial rocks are surmounted with summer-houses, overgrown with creepers. Contiguous to these are large reservoirs for gold and silver fish, which multiply incredibly. Jetsd'eau, of which they are very fond, issue from the mouths, &c., of imaginary monsters. Diminutive grottoes offer cool retreats for porcelain mandarins, gorged with the presumed excesses of the table, their clothing loosened, and their pendant bellies presenting the complete picture of masculine Chinese beauty.

Being very fond of birds, aviaries of lattice-work are always attached to their dwellings, with sloping, ornamented roofs, having bells hanging from the cornices. Artificial trees, for the use of the feathered captives, are planted within. Close to the dwelling an artificial sheet of watera lake in miniature-offers moorage for a small boat, and luxurious dabbling for aquatic birds. A covered gallery sweeps round it, from one angle of the house to another, and separates it from the garden. Distributed about it in pots and beds are a variety of oaks, bamboos, and fruit-trees, all dwarfed. The flower-beds are SO formed, and the flowers are so disposed, as to produce the most grotesque patterns. These vegetable pictures are very pleasing, from the brilliancy and variety of the colours. Amongst these beds, porcelain monsters ludicrously divert the attention. Subterranean apartments are devoted to the opium-pipe, and convenient chambers are appropriated to gambling.

The rooms in their dwellings, which, according to our notions, are very

small, communicate with each other. The style of some of the furniture reminds us of the Elizabethan agehigh-backed chairs, richly carved, and couches like settees. Arm-chairs are placed in rows against the walls, with small tables between each on which tea-cups and sam-shoo vessels may rest conveniently. On the couches are placed small tables, about one foot high, and eighteen inches wide, by two feet long. These are usually made of ebony or lacquer-ware, highly ornamented, and are used for tea and cards. From the ceiling are hung lanterns, gaily decorated, amongst which may occasionally be seen an English lamp or chandelier of ancient date. walls are hung with various coloured inscriptions, selections from the vir tuous and moral maxims of Confucius and other sages. The following translations may serve as examples :

The

"Let a respectful memory of your ancestors be constantly present, whereby you will preserve peace and unanimity in your family.'

"Let your rule of conduct be frugality, temperance, modesty, and economy."

"Let each person confine himself to his particular calling, and its duties, which will ensure their being wellperformed."

In strange contrast with these precepts, the most immodest and filthy representations are suspended beside them.

Square tables, of various sizes, of stone, wood, and lacquer-ware, are scattered through the rooms, on which antiques and curiosities of all descriptions repose. Antique Chinese bronzes, white china, and jade-stone ornaments, are prized more highly than any others. Very beautiful ornaments and vases are made of this mineral, which is brittle, hard, and opaque, and varies from a dirty stone-colour to a bright emerald green. The prices given for the dark are enormous. Bracelets, and rings of jade, are worn by the