months, he had still been obliged to borrow money, not only to supply food for his family, but also to enable him to continue his work. His creditors had been held in check by the hope that his present success would bring him some three or four hundred francs; and, therefore, it was not as uninterested spectators that they crowded round him on the eventful morning on which he was to draw forth his first batch.

Nor were Palissy's calculations in fault; his furnace, his drugs, the heat employed, were all right. And yet, when he came to draw forth his work, his sorrows and distresses were so abundantly augmented that he lost all countenance!' There they were— the graceful evidences of his skill as an artistperfect in design and form-and yet they were not successful!

An accident had occurred, which it was perfectly impossible Palissy could have foreseen, and which was simply the result of his want of experience. The mortar prepared by himself, for which his bleeding hands had drawn the water with so much pain, had been full of small flints.

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The heat employed to melt the enamels had caused the mortar to burst in several places. Then,' says poor Bernard, because the splinters of the flint. struck against my work, the enamel, which was already liquefied and converted into a glutinous matter, retained the said flints, and held them attached on all sides of my vessels and medallions, which, except for that, would have been beautiful! I received,' he continues, nothing but shame and confusion; because my pieces were all bestrewn with

little morsels of flint, that were attached so firmly to each vessel that, when one passed the hand over it, the said flint cut like razors.'

Still, it was impossible not to admire the beautiful results of Bernard's fancy, assisted as he had been by models from nature herself; and there were many of his neighbours and creditors present, who would still have bought his work and paid him some eight or nine francs for it. But, starving and in debt as he was-harassed by his wife, and taunted by his fellowmen-he was too wise to risk his artist's reputation by sending anything imperfect into the world. He looked at his beautiful vessels-he knew they were not the best he could do- he was not to blame; yet still, defective work from him should not go forth with his name.

Rising from the ground, on which he had sunk for one instant overcome by disappointment and vexation, with one fell stroke, the whole batch of Fayence is shivered into a thousand pieces! Vain were the shrieks of his astonished and angry wife, the reproaches of his neighbours, and the wondering looks of his little children. Bernard, in one moment, had undone the labour of months; and, unable to look on the wreck of all his hopes, he slunk into his room, and threw himself almost heart-broken on his bed.

Where was the gentle hand that should have raised him, the loving words of comfort that should have soothed him at this sad moment? Alas! in his own home he was more pitilessly dealt with than elsewhere. Be patient still, poor Bernard! The worst is past for you. Your reward will come at last!

And so he felt himself; and, with manly but

touching words, thus describes his state:-When I had remained upon the bed some time, and had considered within myself that, if a man should fall into a pit, his duty should be to get out again, I, being in like case, set myself to make some paintings, and in various ways I took pains to recover some little money.'

There was no useless looking back for Bernard Palissy; if he had erred, he must hasten to remedy the evil, and retrieve the past. So, with quiet heroism, he abandons for a time his loved experiments, and once more proceeds to profit by the gift God had given him' of drawing.

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He was a clever artist, and soon obtained employment, and in a year had so sufficiently retrieved his fortunes as to enable him again to resume his labours as a potter.

Palissy was now about forty years of age; the last eight years had been almost entirely engrossed in making the discovery of white enamel. He had now to learn all that appertained to the vocation of a potter, in order to work out his own designs and bring his art to perfection. Various and frequent, indeed, were the accidents and lapses he at first encountered. Sometimes his batch of earthen vessels would come out covered by ashes, blown against the liquid enamel by the vehemence of the fire, and obliging him to put his own models into earthen lanterns, in order to protect them in his ill-constructed furnace. Again, he could not always regulate the heat, and thus occasionally his ware was only partially baked. Then again his ignorance as to the various natures of clay' would lead him into trouble; for