niece of cheese, and on tho other a %A herring ; n jug of beer completed the hTvmn£'know," said Rembrandt, as , <«ted himself at the table, " that I SUSd* thousand florins* to complete Tm lw of this house." *?,ffhWe? I thought it was paid for," interrupted 10' ;lS "110 oUbrcd tho another j it's all the same," nlied Rembrandt carelessly; "I wanted S thonwnd florins ; now hear what I did : T sont I'aul to Amsterdam, having first S«.-=rtl him in mourning ; that to bo sure !Smo something, but the result has well Valid me : then 1 made him announce tho Xoi mv Pictures after my death." t » After your death, Rembrandt? they -ill remain a long time unsold, then, 1 hone- why you arc not yet fifty, you will no die of old age just yet." " They are sold, dame Catherine, and in stead of six thousand florins, tho sale.has LuL'ht mo thirty-live thousand, damo StblriM-tliirty-fiv(J thousand; I have them here," said the overjoyed painter, Minting to the ample pocket ot Ins largo Sublet; "we must nwko merry over such good news, wife ; spare nothing fetch that plate of nuts, then untie Jaconly, that ho also may enjoy himself : wo will all be happy to-night, our monkey as well as ourselves.'1 , . . Catherine, however, appeared to be m no hnst'o'to obey ilieso directions ; shaking her head incredulously, sho gravely observed : "Either I do not hear right, or I do not understand : how can tho sale announced after your death have already taken place, since you are not dead ?" " You are stupid, wife : they spread a report of my death, as I directed." ■'Of your death V" repeated the horrified woman; "and you practised such an im position on All Saints' Day ! some evil will surely befal you, tire Rembrandt, for such R sacrilege. May tho Holy Virgin and all the saints protect us, lest some misfortune overtake us this very night I" " You are always foreboding evil, re plied Rembrandt, in a tone of displeasure, "and see bad omens in everything ; but in stead of plaguingme with suck nonsense you would do better to fetch Jacouly, as I told you-rho will not like my being at supper without him; go, go I say, old woman." This order being given m a tone which admitted of no further reply, dame Rem brandt took a small lamp and advanced to wards the door. It was evident, however, that she obeyed unwillingly, and her countenance betrayed the fear sho dared not express. Her hand trembled as she touched the latch, which she slowly raised, and pushing open the door of the apart ment, sho hesitated ere sho advanced into the long and dark passage beyond. At that moment the wind camo with a- loud gust, and as it moaned and howled in the distance, and threatened moreover to extinguish the light sho held, the terrified woman quickly retraced her steps, and sinking breathless on a chair, she let fall the lamp, which her hands seemed no longer to have the power to hold. "Beat me, kill me, if you will," ex claimed she,' in a voice trembling with apprehension; "but I cannot, I dare not stir another step." Then, as if forgetting this last assertion, she started tip, and rushing towards her husband, she seized his arm: "Do you hoar? do you hear?' said she.

Whether it was the terrified accents of his wife, or whether he distinguished amidst the tumult of the elements some sound which had no connection with the storm, certain it is that Rembrandt paused to listen.

"Strange," said he, turning pale as he spoke: "itsounded like someone calling me."

"It is just midnight—it is a voice from the dead !"

"Peace, old fool, it i 3 but just ten!" replied the painter, endeavouring to assume a carelessness he did not feel.

Both were now silent, and presently, in spite of the fearful uproar caused by the hurricane, which seemed to shake the house, they distinctly heard these words— " Paul Rembrandt!"

Pale and motionless with affright, Rem brandt fixed his eyes on the door, as if pre- Eared to meet whatever may appear, whilst is wife, on her knees, crossed herself re peatedly, and her lips moved, though no sound came from them.

"Who spoke? whose voice was it?' murmured Rembrandt.

"Your niece's," replied Catherine, shak ing from head to foot; " your niece Margarita's, who married Netecher; she is probably dead, and her spirit claims our prayers; it is All Saints' Xight," added the pious but superstitious woman. "It was her voice, I believe," returned the painter, somewhat relieved ; "but I do not believe she is dead ; she doubtless wants my help, worthless as she is !"

" Peace to the dead!" interrupted Catherine; "if she is dead she has died of misery—and you have killed her !"

" Killed her, woman I" exclaimed Rem brandt, who, in spite of himself, somewhat shared the superstitious fears of his wife ; " killed her ? how, dame Catherine : with steel, fire, or poison ? speak, I say." " Paul, Margarita wrote to you to say she had just been confined of her second child—that she, her husband, and children would die of hunger if you did not help them ; did you do so, Paul ? did you send them a single farthing ?" " No, Catherine, and I never will; she chose to marry in spite of me. I will not now support her or her children." "Oh! Paul, Paul, do not talk so, but rather kneel here with me, and pray for her, and for yourself." As she Bpoke, the door of the apartment slowly opened, and two figures appeared, one being thnt of a child ; botli were en veloped in a wrapper or cloak of coarse white cloth, which, together with their wasted forms, gave them more tho appearance of spectres than human beings. Catherine uttered a piercing shriek, and fell fainting on the floor, whilst Rembrandt gazed on his vititors half in anger, half in fear. It was scarcely surprising that Catherine, whose mind had for some hours been haunted with imaginary terrors, and who was besides strongly imbued with the many superstitions of her country, should at the first glance have supposed that the figures were apparitions from another world, for one was that of a young woman, so pale, so thin, so ghastly, that it was not easy to believe she belonged to this world, whilst her companion, a boy of about ten years of age, locked even more lifeless than h-is mother.

"What do you want?" asked Rembrandt, as soon as he recovered from his surprise. " Bread I" replied the young woman in a scarcely audible voice. " You have a husband ; ask him for some."

" Uncle," resumed his niece, as she looked imploringly at him, " misery and despair have deprived my husband of his senses ; my poor babe died soon after its birth—l shall soon follow it. 1 have come all the way from Liege on foot—to find 2°- v' t, ,asH nothing for myself, only for this child—for my little Gaspard ;be his

* A florin is worth Is 8d of English money. t It is well known that the avarice oil this celebrated, painter made him descend to the -meanest tricks to increase his hoard.

protector—-his father; lie has some turn for painting—teach him your art, uncle ; he will will not disgrace you, nor be un grateful."

Tho boy spoke not, but his eyes, which "i i£? vo *he appearance of life to his deathliko countenance, were fixed atten tively on the paintings around, and on the artist whoso genius had produced them I have a son," returned Rembrandt • 1 am not rich, I have no more than I want; but I work, and ask charity of no one."

-'Lotusgo," interrupted the child, as He took his mother's hand, as if to draw her from tho inhospitable abode. "Wait, wait, my child," wiid tho poor mother ; "my strength is going, let me but secure a home for you ; I shall die happy if your undo will protect you." Iho boy turned eagerly round. "You are then my undo Rembrandt ! they say you nro a great painter; oh ! teach me to paint."

"Canyon afford to pay me?" was tho cold reply.

The child was for a moment silent. '' Pay you !" said ho at last; "give you money ! you sec we hnve none, we should not other wise be cold and hungry—can you not teach mo without ? I will ask for nothinc elso." °

"Nothing else?" said Rembrandt, ironically.

" You think that too much,'' replied the boy; "thonlet u.s go, mother ;" and he again took her hand to lead her from the room. Child as ho was, his spirit rose at the unfeeling coldness of lii.s uncle's manner. "<4o ! where?" said the poor woman. " You have often told me that (!od can take care of us ; why then are you afraid ? Come way."

The painter had meanwhile drawn some money from his well-tilled pocket, though with evident reluctance.

" Hero is n llorin for you ;" said he, " two if you like, but never let mo see you again. You did not ask my consent when you married ; you need not now expect my help in your distress ; go and may God guide you." This injunction, and the gesture which accompanied it, left no ray of hope ; Margarita took the offered money, and then turned with faltering steps to depart. "And may Cod pardon you, uncle," said she, as she left tho room accompanied by her child.

Rembrandt now turned to his wife, who was still insensible on tho floor ; he soon, however, succeeded in restoring her, and wo will now leavo them and follow Margarita and her son.

THE HUNCHBACK AND HIS LANTERN.

Onlcaviiigßombrandt'sinhospitableubode tho unhappy mother and her child wandered for awhile in the dark and now silent .streets of Cologne, vainly seeking an asylum where they might pass tho night and obtain shelter from tho piercing cold. Tho cutting wind drove tho snow into tho faces of the poor wanderers, numbed their limbs, and (retarded their steps. The boy strove bravely against it, but tho poor woman, recently recovered from illness, seemed in danger of sinking from fatigue and exhaustion. She had strength to reach ono of the city gates, where a large party of Spanish soldiers were on guard. " Mother," exclaimed the frightened Gnspard, " why do you stop ? aro you tired V speak, mother ; oh ! speak to your little Gaspard," lie added, as he clasped his little arms round the fainting woman. "My child, my poor child !" was all she could utter.

" Mother, mother, I see a light close by, oh ! try to reach it; there arc men, too— they will help us."

Obtaining! no answer, and finding that Ills mother's hand lay motionless in his own, the boy without a moment's hesitation Hew towards the soldiers, and endeavoured to inako them understand his need of help ; but although their attention was arrested by his voice and manner, they were evi dently unable to comprehend his appeal. One presently advanced who spoke Flemish. "Who are you?" ho inquired, ■while Gaspard's countenance brightened on finding himself understood.

" I am culled Gaspare!, my father's name is Ivetschor, and my mother's is Margarita. We left my father ill at Liege, whilst we came to find my uncle Rembrandt, but ho will not help us ; we have no one here to go to, and my mother has not strength to go on ; she lias fallen down, and I am not strong enough to help her ; will you help me '!"

The officer to whom he addressed his tale of distress was natnrally kiudhearted, and was moved by the boy's statement and ap peal ; he called two of the soldiers, and, taking a lantern—for at that period the streets ef Cologne were, like all other towns, but partially lit—he desired Gaspard to conduct him to the spot where ho had left his mother. On reaching the place the boy uttered a loud cry ; his mother was no longer there.

"Are you sure you left her here?" in quired the officer.

" Quite sure," replied Gaspard, bursting into tears ; " she eat on this stone, and leant her head just here; and look, here are the two florins which undo Rembrandt gave her."

The soldier picked up the money, saying, as he gave it to Gaspard, "You said your mother was ill ; she cannot therefore have gone far; we will go a little further." It was not easy, however, to persuade the anxious boy to leave the spot; he clung to it, belioving his mother would return, and feared to miss her, and it was with re luctant steps that he followed those whose help he had sought. On reaching the corner of the street, they perceived at a little distance a dim light, and two persons who seemed to move with it. They hastened their steps, and on coming closer they perceived a man half carrying, half supporting the object of their search. " Master Koster," exclaimed the officer, " where are you going at this late hour, and with such a burden ?"

The man addressed was humpbacked, and evidently himself not free from the pressure of poverty. "Ifound this poor woman- insensible, from cold I suppose; I was going to carry her to my lodging and try to restore her ; it is not far off, she will be welcome to what I hare."

"My good man, the woman is not alone ; if you.taKe her, you will also be burdened with this child.

"■Willingly, with the help of God, captain," replied the kindhearted man, as he laid the still insensible woman in the arms of the two soldiers who had followed the officer; " since He has put them in my way, He will doubtless help me to take care of them."

" You are a kind creature, blaster Koster, and if you will let me, I will assist as far as I can."

The little party had now reached the door of Kostor's house, and, taking a key from his pocket, he soon gave them admit tance.

"Come in, my friends, this way," said Koster to the soldiers who carried Margarita; "in this room, on this bed, there ; now help me to light a fire that we may restore animation to this poor creature, who appears almost frozen to death." In arrinstant all the warm things that the poor man possessed were spread before the blazing hearth, and then laid on the numbed and inanimate form of the unhappy

woman. The warmth seemed to restore some degree of animation, as her limbs moved ; but her eyes remained closed, and her cars deaf to Gaspard's cries and entreaties. Koster now got on a chair in order to reach a shelf over an old chest, from which lie took a bottle, which con tained some brandy, apparently carefully kept for special occasions. Precious as it was, he hastened to pour some of the cordial into a glass, and with it he moistened Margarita's*pale lips, and rubbed with it her temples and hands. For a time his efforts appeared fruitless, and it was there fore with unmiugled satisfaction- that lie at last beheld Margarita open her eyes, say ing at the same time in a faint voice "My child!"

"Here I am, mother," said the boy, in a voieo scarcely les.s weak than his mother's, and those who stood around now perceived that .ho stood in nearly as much need of help as she who had hitherto been tho nolo object of their care. The poor child had passed a day, a long day of fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, and his strength was about ex hausted ; a few drops of the cordial, how ever, soon restored him, and their kind host then placed before the hungry child his own little stock of food. Margarita was now gradually recovering, and the soldiers prepared to return to their post. "I will send you a mattress and some blankets," said the captain; "you have two rooms, I think ; and if you and this boy can occupy one, you will be able to spare your bod for this poor woman. X will bo here again to-morrow, and see how I can assist you inyourkiml intentions ; and now good night, niy friend." To the mattress and blankets, tho cap tain added a good supper, and a bottle of brandy to replace tho somewhat diminished ono. The poor mother and her child were now restored ; and having enjoyed the so much-nceded warmth and food, they, with their kind host, prepared for repose, and All Saints' Night dosed pleasantly and peacefully on tlie inmates of Mastes Nicholas Koster's usually solitary abode.

On awaking tho followingniorning, Master Koster observed with some dismay tho dis order of his usually neat apartment ; things had been moved from their respective places, and tho floor still boro the marks of mud and dirt left by tho soldier's foot. Having no housekeeper, Koster was in the daily habit of cleaning and arranging his own house, and was about to commence his usual work, when Margarita awoke from the profound slumber which had sueeeedud the fatigues of the previous day : slit; arose quickly from the couch on which .she had been placed, and taking tho broom from tho handsofhorkindhost, entreated to bonllowed to repair the disorder her arrival had oo casionud. When her self-imposed task was completed, and the humble apartment restored to its usual order, the little party began to talk of tho future. Murgnrita re lated all that had occurred since she left, her husband at Liege, her reception by her uncle, and his refusal to assist in any way one who had so offended him.

"Ah!" replied Koster, "Rembrandt's avarice is well known, and his conduct in no way surprises mo ; but why not make another attempt—you say ho loved you 1"

"But I displeased him by marrying against bis wishes ; ho has never forgiven me, and has always refused to see me ; perhaps I deserve this. I disobeyed and displeased him ; but (laspard, why punish him for my fault ? Ah ! if he would only teach him to paint '!"

" But Muster Roster can paint too," said the boy, as ho pointed to some beau tiful specimens of painted glass, cliieily birds and (lowers, which were exquisitely finished, and which he had been atten tively examining during the above con versation. "Ah! if lie would only give me some lessons, I shsuld perhaps be able to paint like this, and I might then earn money enough to support us, without ask ing charity of Uncle llembrandt," added he, proudly. "You are a bravo boy," said Ivoster, laying his hand on < iaspard's shoulder. " I am fond of children ; 1 am not rich, but I have not many wants, and my work is enough to supply those I have. I will gladly keep you and teach you what I know myself. Do you agree to this, dame Mar garita?"

" Alas 1" said she, deeply touched by the poor man's kindness. " 1 shall never be able to repay you."

" But your child may. I love children : I .shall soon love him, and it lie will love me in return, I shall be more than repaid." " May God bless you, Master Ivoster, and bestow on you a share of the comfort you have afforded me," replied Margarita, as she turned to her boy and tenderly em braced him, whilst her tears fell fast on his forehead.

" But will you let me remain a day or two with my child, before I return to his father V"

"Not one clay, nor two, but twenty thirty, as many as you like, dame Mar garita. My solitary home will be all the Brighter and happier if you and your child will share it with me."

SIX YEARS AFTER.

In Master Rembrandt's studio all re mained as we have described at the com mencement of our tale: six years had passed away, and had left their traces no less on tho painter and his wife than on the furniture; audit is certain that time had improved neither the one nor the other. Rembrandt himself was perhaps the one with whom it had dealt most roughly: what was it that had wrinkled his brow, dimmed the lustre of his eye, and imprinted a settled gloom on his countenance? was it sorrow, anger, or remorse ? That he was a prey to some hidden suffering none could doubt who had ever marked the heavy cloud which at times rested on his features. He now stood before an easel, absorbed in the work he was engaged in ; in front of him and immediately under the light which fell from the skylight was a man enveloped in grave-clothes ; he was in the attitude of one coming out of a tomb.

It was " The Resurrection of Lazarus." The sublime and touching figure of tho Saviour, with the hand stretched forth in the act of pronouncing the life-giving worde, "Lazarus, come forth," was com pleted, and now " Lazarus arose ;" and the artist's brush was occupied in delineating the miraculous incident.

Behind the painter stood four <f his favourite pupils, Gerard Dow,* Flinck, and Eeckhoutz; the fourth was known only by the name of Antonio ; ho hnd become a pupil of Rembrandt's but a year before; he had declared he could pay whatever the great artist chose to ask, and without further inquiry he had been received by the avaricious but celebrated master of the Dutch school. The young painter worked indefatigably, no word ever betrayed his name or past history ; beloved by his companions, he was almost feared by his master, whose keen eye at times seemed to sink imder the bright glance of his pupil.

"What day is this?" asked Rembrandt suddenly, but without raising his eyes from his painting. ■ " A day that you may well remember, Paul," replied an old woman who was ap parently busily employed, before a large stove. "All Saints' Day I"

The paint-brush trembled in the painter's hands.

* An eminent Dutch painter, and a pupil oJ Rembrandt's; he was born at Leyden in 11)13.

The old woman resumed, "If I was to livoa hundred years, Paul, I should never forget this night six years ago." Rem brandt impatiently interrupted her. " Are you going to begin that story over again, Catliciiue 'r" " Oh, Paul, night i.s. approaching, leave your work and pray for the dead!" .said Catherine, looking earnestly at her husband, " Leave my work," exclaimed the painter, ■'just at the best hour for painting? see, gentlemen," added he, turning tohis pupils, " how the shades of evening soften every object, and give lights and shadows not easily met with ill the full light of day ; observe the gleam of light which falls full on the divine figure of the Saviour, casting as it were a holy radiance around Him; then observe the other figures, plunged as it wore in a dark shadow, awaiting in awo and silenco the fulfilment of Our Lord's com mand. Ah! this picture will bring mo a thousand florins ! it is already promised all has gone well to-day." "Then, Paul, tremble, and remember the night of the- Ist of November, UU!I |"

" Bird of ill-omen, silence!" said Rem brandt, as a shade passed over his coun tenance which lie vainly endeavoured to conceal, whilst his hand trembled as if in obedience to his wife's injunction, and hi.s interest in his work for the moment seemed suspended.

"What happened that night, dame Rem brandt—do tell us?" exclaimed the young men, who had listened with evident curiosity to the conversation between Catherine and her husband : the former desired nothing butter than an opportunity of relating what she believed the super natural events of the night in question. Rembrandt was silent, probably unwilling that his pupils should imagine that he was in any way affected by what appeared to have made a strong impression on his wife, who devoutly crossed herself ere she be gan.

" It was just such a day as this," and sho oast a glance at the easement which rattled as the wind and hail beat against it ; " four o'clock had struck ;" at this moment tho first stroke of tho same hour sounded from the old clock, anil made dame Catherine start; after a moment's pause she resumed; "night was fast approaching, Rembrandt was late, and as the darkness increased the storm raged with greater violence, but through it all could DO plainly heard groans and sighs, as of someone in distress ; at last my husband returned ; he was in high spirits, having just learnt I lie conclusion of a good bar gain ; ho had spread a report of his death, and sold Ids paintings for an incredible num."

" Yes, yes, we have heard of that trick," exclaimed Olio or two of the pupils, "so go on, dame Catherine."

"Well, gentlemen, midnight approached, and when that solemn hour struck wo heard, from a deep and hollow voice, these words, I'itiil Hcmbrundt ! we remained motionless with terror; the next moment a clap of thunder shook the house, the door Hew open, two figures appeared, and 1 fell fainting on tho ground."

"And what happened to Rembrandt?" said Atitonio,smiling somewhat maliciously.

"That 1 ("1111101; (ell yon," replied Catherine, "and howl came to myself I know not; he never Mould tell me what happened; but it must have been something terrible, for," added she, ' lowering her voice, "since that day—now six yearn ago —I have rarely seen him smilo ; ho is always grave, silent—as you Bee him nov ; one would suppose ho had something on his conscience ; he often sighs deeply, and I have even caut'ht him shedding tears."

"And you do not know why, damo Catherine';" interrupted Gerard Dow.

Rembrandt, without appearing to listen, had overheard the greater part of what had been said ; ho now in an angry voice inter rupted the conversation.

"Enough," said he, "enough of this nonsense ; if I am grave, it may be that I am getting old ; I may, too, have causes for sorrow ab-.ut which you know nothing : nor is it to bo wondered at if lam sad. I have a rival, Catherine, one who may equal, if not surpass mo ; I shall never rest till I have discovered who this rival is. I muij know this very evening ; Master Tirch has promised to help me, and oxpects me to night, when I shall learn the result of his inquiries ; 1 will go at once. Antonio, give me my cloak and a light; it is getting late ; you shall accompany me. I shall be back in an hour, Catherino ; gentlemen, good night."

"Areyon going to leavemeall nightalone, as you did six years ago ?"

" Baruello will stay with you till I re turn," said Rembrandt,' pointing to the man who was busily engaged in divesting himself of the funeral garments in which ho had been enveloped whilst representing Lazarus rising from the grave.

Catherine, however, appeared by no means satisfied with this arrangement ; and, catching hold of her husband's cloak, she endeavoured to detain him. "Paul, why go this evening ?" said sho ; " wait till to-morrow."

" Not a day, not an hour," he replied, as he disengaged himself from her hold, and in another moment he had disappeared in the obscurity of the corridor.

REMBRANDT'S RIVAL.

On leaving the house, regardless of the snow which drifted full in their faces, and which threatened moreover to extinguish the light which Antonio carried, the master and pupil directed their steps to wards the square in which stood the cathedral, that magnificent specimen of church architecture, which is now, under the auspices of the King of Prussia, being completed according to tho original plan of tho architect, whoso name, strange to say, is utterly unknown, but whoso plans, most fortunately, have been preserved ; and the building, when comj l;ted, will, beyond coinparision, bo tho finest and most perfect specimen of Gothic architecture in existence. Tho subscription having been obtained alike from Koman Catholics and Protestants, tho sacred edifice is devoted equally to tho religious services of both, and tho prayers and praises of each are daily heard within its sacred precincts. At the period of which wo speak, shops were erected be tween the buttresses and beneath the arches ef the massive pile, as is still the case with the cathedrals at Aix la Chapelle and at Ulm ; before one of these Rembrandt stopped ; it was that of a picture-dealer, who himself answered the painter's summons.

"Well, Master Tirch," said he, as ho entered, "have you discovered the author of that painting of the Fortune-Teller? Antonio, go and look at it whilst I speak to Master Tirch, go.1'

No one was present to observe the smile which passed over the expressive features of Rembrandt's pupil as ho stood before the painting which had apparently so dis turbed his master.

" I have, and I have not," said Master Tirch, as soon as lie was sure of not being overheard, and with the air and manner of ono conscious of possessing information eagerly coveted by one so distinguished as his present visitor ; " but I only returned, as you know, this morning. It is now about three months since I wentto Antwerp to purchase a Kubens; soon after my departure a young woman came to the shop, and desired in my absence to speak with

my wife ; she had with her the fellow picture to that : you remember it, T think '!"

"Yes, ye.-, perfectly," said his ira patient visitor.

" Tlio ludy who broiiyht it was a widow, and appeared as if tihe had rjcon better days; she did not wish her name to be known, but entreated my wife to purchase the picture ; that, however, iras iinpo.i-iilile ; we only take those by well - known aili.-is, which wo are wire will not remain on our hands, iMy wile, however, at last consented (yon know women are easily persuaded) to let tho picture roinain in our shop (which, to be sure, could do no harm). Not many Jays after, as the IMncesa Eugenia left the Cathedral after service, she stopped before our window to look at this very picture, and finally desired to have it ; my wife told her all that had passed- the Princess offered thirty eacalins.* Well, the offer was joy ffully accepted ; and then my wife desired the stranger to paint, another, and there it is.''

" And it is done by a woman !" exclaimed the astonished l'.embrrmut, an he turned to examine it more closely ; " by a woman,'1 re peated he, in a tone half of envy, hall of admiration ; " what do you think of it, Antonio '.'"

" Why- it is not bad," replied tho pupil.

" Not bad ? Why, look well at it, boy ; observe tho reflection of tho li^rht on these satin folds; the exquisite beauty of these velvet draperies ! Master Tireh, whoever did this will one day be the master of the art—man or woman; I must know the author. True, there are some faults ; but t here is talent —great talent ; I cannot rest (ill [have neon the painter of this picture; where shall I lind her'/"

"Not far from this, sire Rembrandt," replied tho picture-dealer. " In the next street, at Master Nicholas Raster's, tho humpback, whoso paintings on glass are well-known."

"I know, I know," interrupted Rem brandt ; "come, Antonio. Well! what are you waiting for':" added ho, looking with some surprise at his pupil, who seemed in no hurry to follow his master : "one would say tho fcight of this picture had taken from you all life and energy, whilst it lifts roused and quickened mine ; but come now, 1 inn impatient, and want the lantern in front and not behind me ;" so saying, the old painter (ook Antonio's arm, and drew him from the shop. "Are you not curious to see one who er.n paint Hiich a picture as that1;"

Obtaining no answer to tin; question, Rembrandt added, with a decpsigh, " For six years that I have MifTored, this in per haps (lie lirst moment; in which J have been able (o forget my grief." "And what has made you Buffer?" in quired his companion, with more interest; than he hail hitherto betrayed. "Not [lain of bofly, Antonio, but, what is far worse, griof of mind, regret, rjmorse ; and may (Jod spare you from ever suflering the liko !"

A silence ensued, and they pursued their way, each occupied with his own thoughts, (ill they stopped boforo .Master Fvostor'a well-known abode. The humpback himself niiHwored tho summons. " Sire Rem brandt! lien: at this hour?" then, .'is lio caught sight of his companion, he was about to utter an exclamation, which was, however, immediately checked at a sign made by Antonio to enjoin silence, and which appeared to be readily understood by Koster, who therefore only inquired what had procured him the honour of tho painter's visit '! "We will go in, Master Koster, and 1 will then tell you," replied Rembrandt, as he followed his host into his small kitchen, in which was a table laid for supper for three people. " You have a lady lodging here, I am told ':"

"It is true," replied the humpback, as ho looked round, "she was here a minute or two ago, when you arrived," and then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, ho added, in an under tone, "Ah ! 1 under stand, T understand."

At this moment a door at the opposite side of tho apartment opened, and a lady entered, who, though past tho freshness of youth, might still be called young ; she was dressed in black, and a profusion of fair hair drawn back from the face and fore head, according to tho fashion of her country, displayed to advantage the clear blue eye and regular features, which derived additional interest from a slight shade of sadness, which seemed their habitual expression.

Tho first glance was sufficient—Rem brandt recognised his niece: "Margarita, Margarita! my poor nicco!" ho exclaimed, as he held out his arms to receive tho lonj; ---lost one, whilst two largo tears made their way down his wrinkled face.

" You have come at last to seeh me, uncle ?" said she, as she threw herself on his bosom. " No, no !" said Rembrandt, " I nevor expected to find such happiness. Oh ! Margarita, could you hut know what I hnvo fruflbrcd since I last saw you ! but tell me —tell mo all '! You hare become an artist?"

Margaritalooked surprised, as she replied, " I an artist; uncle V'

" I have just, seen the picture you sole? to Master Tirch ; and lam envious; I \>ish I linddom; it."

A look of proud satisfaction animated his niece's countenance, and tears glistened in her eyes, as she replied, "I did not do it, but it was painted by one dearer to me than myself : one who lias helped me to bear ray misfortunes ; who has saved mo from beggary : my j;on ! my Gaspard !" "Call him, Margarita, eal! him ; yoi.- i m is my nephew !" " JIo is al.so your pupil," said a wull known voice, close to the painter's car.

" You, Antonio V exclaimed Rembrandt

"Not Antonio, but Gaspard," interrupted his happy mother. "When we left you that sad night,"— Rembrandt groanod aloud—" this good and worthy man re ceived and sheltered us ; my husband.died, and we l'einained hero; my boy had his first lessons in painting from our kind benefactor. Ho continued his studies with Terburg ; but this did not content him— Kembrandt's nephew would bo also his pupil. Master Kostor suggested sending him under a feigned name, undertaking himself to defray tho expense—" "For my nephew?" interrupted the astonished Rembrandt. "Oh, Master Koster, how deeply 1 am indebted to you ! Margarita, forgive me: and you too, Gaspard," added he, as the tears chased each other down hia cheek* ; " you wished forjipe as a master ; ii-ill you receive me as an uncle, and let my homo be your home? Pardon, Koster,'1 continued lie, as he ob served an expression of pain on the coun tenance of the kind-hearted man whoso humblo dwelling had so long sheltered them, "pardon; it^ is my niece—my nephew."

Antonio, or more properly speaking, Gaspard, throw himself .into his bene factor's arm?, as ho said with deep fooling, " You nro indeed my uncle ; but Master Kostor has been as a father to mo ; he has tho first claim on my affection, my grati tude."

"Thanks, thanks, my child," said his pleased benefactor.

* Escalin: an old Dutch silver coin,

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT. DECEMBER 1, ISB3.

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