Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: CHAPTER X. " My mother's form in dim outline Is floating near me now, I feel her fond arms round me twine, Her breath upon my brow." Mart Matheb. Several weeks had already elapsed since Paul had taken up his residence in the house of Nathaniel Munson. One evening, as the twilight was gathering fast, he and Edith sat together at the casement of the little parlor, that looked out upon the street. He had been making a sketch of her, as she sat reading. The liquid blue eyes cast down beneath their long flaxen fringes, the delicate oval face, from which the hair was gathered simply back, the small dimpled hand laid upon the white page, and added to all this the plain Quaker attire, formed a subject worthy of a more skilful pencil than that which now attempted to transcribe it. This, Paul was sensible of, and he no sooner finished the drawing, than he destroyed it. " Edith," said he, " think you I shall ever be an artist ? " " Certainly I do, Paul, otherwise I would advise you to abandon all thoughts of art, and go immediately to hard labor." " To hard labor, indeed ! think you that the artist lives the life of luxury and ease! Oh, no, Edith. To pursue art, is to pursue early toil andlate watching, and too often obscurity, poverty and want. The artist must grow pale over his pencil, he must gird himself well for the long ordeal, if he would be a great artist. But then how ennobling the ambition, to pursue a great object through years of perpetual darkness, to grapple even with the lean hounds of poverty, and come out at last bright, though worn down with the conflict! The thing is achieved! and what is the sacrifice of this poor mortality when compared with immortality ! What though Raffael's body fell away in early life, in his works he still lives, and must li...