and love; but he repressed his passion, and answered calmly, "Is that your sole reason?"

"It is," answered Mandyn, his wrath a little lulled, and surprised at Quintin's firmness and command of temper. "I have nothing to complain of in your position, your prospects, your character; but you are, in fact, only a blacksmith-an ironworker; and my Lisa, my beautiful Lisa, is an artist's daughter -worthy to be an artist's wife, and such she shall be."

A pang shot through young Matsys' heart at the idea, and then his features relaxed into a less troubled expression. "She is so young still," he said, "you will not marry her to any one against her will? If I have no hope, do not make Lisa miserable by such a union."

"I will not," answered the father. "I love her too well: she shall have free choice. I am sorry for you," he continued, and his softened feelings made him take the young man's hand kindly. "I like you-I always did; but you are not a painter, and my child shall never marry any but an artist.”

Quintin wrung his hand and went out. As he threaded the passages of the house with lingering steps, his eyes glanced round in search of his beloved. He was not disappointed: a door opened suddenly, and Lisa appeared. She looked anxiously and blushingly up to him, but Quintin could not speak. He held fast the hand she laid on his, and turned his face away. They stood thus for some minutes, until Lisa said, "I knew it! My father is angry: we have no hope!"

"Do not say so, Lisa-my own Lisa! If we are certain of one another's love, we can never be hopeless."

Lisa shook her head. Poor girl! she knew her father better than Quintin did.

"You do not know how strong love is," passionately urged the young man. "Love can bear anything-can do anything! Oh, Lisa, Lisa! only say you will not give me up, and then you will see we are not without hope!"

"I will not give you up, Quintin; you know I love you,” said the simple-hearted girl, her truthful soul beaming in her eyes "but I will never disobey my father, who has always been kind

to me until now."

"I do not ask you: I would not! There is no happiness for such unions. Only say you will not marry another-not yetand I am content."

Quintin's hopeful courage communicated itself to his companion. Her confidence rose she knew not why; and the lovers parted, not in despair, but in patient expectation of better things. "I dare not see you often," said Lisa as she bade him farewell "but you know I shall not change."

"I know it," answered Quintin, "and I do not fear. Lisa, dear, you will-you shall be mine yet! Patience and hope. There is nothing impossible to love like ours."

XI.

THE STRONG HEART TRIUMPHS.

Quintin had spoken truly. This last and sorest disappointment had roused in him a firm determination, which few would have undertaken, but which was not surprising in a character like his. He would not relinquish his beloved Lisa, the friend of his childish days, the sister of his early affections, the object of his manhood's strong and ardent love. They clung together as those do who are left alone in the world without near ties, and parting was not to be thought of by them. Still, there was but one chance for their union, and this Quintin determined, come what would, to accomplish.

Johann Mandyn had said that his daughter should wed an artist, and an artist Quintin resolved to be. His mother, for whom alone he had sought the comforts of riches, stood in need of them no longer, and they were valueless in gaining Lisa for his bride. Quintin determined to relinquish everything for Lisa; his home, his profitable trade, his comforts; and to qualify himself, by patient and arduous study, to be a rival to Johann Mandyn himself. He sold his shop, his house, his furnitureeverything that he could convert into money, to maintain himself during his studies; left Antwerp, and went to Haarlem, keeping his destination and intention secret from every one but Lisa. The old painter heard of his departure; wondered, pitied him, almost relented; but then his eye fell on the pictures with which his room was hung, and he doubted no longer.

"It is a glorious thing to be an artist!" cried the enthusiastic old man. "None but a painter is worthy of my Lisa!"

Meanwhile Quintin established himself at Haarlem as pupil to an artist there, and diligently began his studies. His progress was rapid; for love lightened his task, and, though he knew it not then, he was following the bent of his own mind. His soul was that of a painter: this predilection had shone forth throughout his whole life, when, through a sense of duty, he worked at a trade which he did not like. His genius only wanted some strong motive or happy incident to call it forth in fortunate exercise, and his disappointed love effected this. Still, the early path towards art is toilsome and difficult, and Quintin was often discouraged; but love, like faith, can remove mountains, and there are no obstacles invincible to a strong and loving heart.

As he advanced in his studies, the young man's whole soul became absorbed in his art; not that he loved or thought of Lisa less, but the awakened powers of his own mind, and his new-kindled perceptions of the beautiful, gave him intense pleasure. He was like a man who had found a treasure in what he thought was a desert to be passed through. He now loved

art for its own sake as well as for Lisa's, and almost forgave her harsh father for his unconquerable will.

It was with a delicious sensation of conscious power, and patient conquest over difficulties, that Quintin Matsys viewed his first picture. Many talk of the vanity of genius, self-sufficient, thinking itself above everything. But it is not so. Without a certain consciousness of innate talent, a man would be unequal to any great attempt; his very soul would sink within him, thinking of his weakness and inferiority. As well might a lovely woman look daily in her mirror, yet not be aware of her beauty, as a great soul be unconscious of the powers with which Heaven has gifted him; not so much for himself, as to enlighten others a messenger from God himself, with a high and holy mission to perform. Wo unto him who abuses that mission!

Quintin Matsys was not vain, but he felt a noble satisfaction in himself and his work. His whole life had been a lofty struggle against difficulties. The_last_and_greatest he was now surmounting; but he had yet to wait. He was too proud to come before Johann Mandyn's eye anything but a superior artist; so, during a long season of unwearied perseverance did Quintin toil. Now and then he secretly visited Antwerp, and received the sweet assurances of Lisa's affection and encouragement. Her woman's heart swelled with delicious pride in him who possessed its deepest feelings, and every new triumph of his was sweeter to her than, perchance, even to Quintin himself.

At last the young man had become a painter, and a great one. He returned to Antwerp, and went openly and boldly to Mandyn's house with his last and best picture in his hand. The artist was out; but Lisa came, surprised and doubtfully, to meet the stranger, and was greeted by her lover, who, with his countenance full of joy and hope, showed her his work. It was a household group; simple, life-like, and painted with that minute fidelity to nature and magic light and shadow for which Matsys' pictures are remarkable.

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Lisa looked at it long and fixedly, and then turned her bright face, radiant with happy pride, to her lover. Quintin, my dear Quintin, you are indeed a painter!" was all she said; but it was the sweetest praise to him.

And now they thought of the discovery to her father, how it should be effected. Their happiness was almost like that of children, and in the exuberance of their mirth they imagined a playful trick. The old painter had left on the easel his darling picture of the fallen angels, the same which had struck Quintin's excited imagination in the last momentous interview which had influenced so strongly his whole life. The young artist now took a brush, and painted on the outstretched limb of his former imaged tormentor a bee, with such skill and fidelity, that Lisa's joyous laughter, as she stood by Quintin's side, was irrepressible.

"He will surely be deceived," said she as they both departed from the studio, leaving Quintin's picture there, out of sight. Mandyn came, and Lisa was right.

"How came the insect on my picture?" cried he, trying to brush it away; then discovering the clever delusion, he hastily called his daughter. "Who has done this?" said the old man.

A bright colour rose on the girl's cheek, and a happy smile flitted about her mouth, as she answered, "It was an artist, father, who has brought that picture for you."

Mandyn looked at it, and could not conceal his unfeigned admiration. "It is a noble picture-a beautiful picture!" he cried. "Where is the artist ?-what is his name?"

"Quintin Matsys!" answered the young man himself, entering at the door, and standing modestly before the father of Lisa. "You-you!" exclaimed Johann Mandyn; "have you become a painter? Where have you studied? Is this your work?" "It is indeed; I painted it at Haarlem."

The old man's piercing eyes searched his countenance; but there was no room for doubt in the young man's ingenuous though self-possessed look. He gazed at Quintin, then at his daughter; and then went up to the former, and seized both his hands. With eyes full of tears, and in a broken voice, the old painter cried, "Quintin Matsys, you are indeed a great artistgreater than I. You are worthy to marry my Lisa: take her, and God bless you!"

And Johann Mandyn went out of the studio without saying another word.

XII.

WEDDED LIFE.

Quintin and Lisa were married, though not immediately; for the young painter loved his betrothed too well to suffer her to share the necessary difficulties of the struggle which must always be endured before fame and prosperity crown the toils of the seeker after such. But this struggle was not of long duration with Quintin Matsys. His evident talent, his unwearied perseverance, and, it might be, the little romance mingled with his story, soon won for him friends and patrons. As soon as Quintin felt that he need not dread the future, and that the present was free from difficulty, he wedded his beloved Lisa, and brought her to a cheerful home, not luxurious indeed, but far removed from poverty. And Lisa's gentle spirit needed no more to constitute her happiness. To be the patient, devoted wife, looking up to her husband as the model of all that was high and noble; keeping his household in order, that nothing might trouble him; surrounding him and all about him with a mantle of perfect love, which hid from every other eye, almost from her own, any slight failing which might obscure his character

or hastiness produced by his intercourse with a world not always smooth-this was Lisa's daily life.

It is needless to say theirs was a blessed home; not perfect, for what on earth is perfect? but still as near to Heaven, and as complete in happiness, as an earthly home can be. Perhaps, too, the sorrows of Quintin's youth made him feel more deeply the quiet happiness of his mature age. To one who has been long travelling through a desert region, how sweet is every little flower that he finds on his path! Quintin and Lisa had not married in the first bloom of youth and hope, expecting to find earth a paradise, and wedded love a thornless rose. Their hearts were matured even beyond their years, and therefore they grew old together, daily loving one another the more, with a deep, earnest, household love, far stronger than in their earlier youth they could have conceived or pictured. Children sprang up around them; and Johann, their eldest son, his grandfather's darling, bade fair to be a worthy follower in the art which both his immediate progenitors had delighted in.

The life of Quintin Matsys as a painter is well known. He was one of the most extraordinary men of his time, when art was in its infancy, and when the stars of Michael Angelo and Raphael had yet scarcely risen. Matsys' style was peculiarly his own-he followed no school, imitated no master. Nature and his own mind were his sole guides. In general, he did not follow the higher style of art, but contented himself with depicting simple nature as she showed herself to his loving eye. Quintin never left his native city, nor visited Rome, nor studied the antique. Had he done this, several judges have declared that he would have become the noblest painter that his country ever produced, so great were his natural powers. His pictures are little known in England, with the exception of one at Windsor, "The Misers," which is universally esteemed and lauded. In his latter days Quintin painted an altar-piece for the noble cathedral of Antwerp, which still remains there as a testimony of the powers of his genius. Our own Reynolds visited it, and was struck beyond measure with this work of the blacksmith of Antwerp. The cold, cautious Sir Joshua, who seldom gave way to admiration or enthusiasm for any but his grand idol, Michael Angelo, was heard to declare that this "Descent from the Cross," by Quintin Matsys, was a wonderful picture at that early age of art, and that some of the heads were executed in a manner worthy of Raphael himself. Higher praise could scarcely have been given by any one.

Quintin and Lisa descended the vale of life together, slowly and peacefully. Johann Mandyn died, having gained his wish in seeing his Lisa an artist's wife, as she had been an artist's daughter, though this wish had been accomplished in a manner contrary to all his expectations. Quintin's origin cast no shade over his good name in the world's eye, or in that of his father-in

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