pleasing manners, old Cornelius Schut took a pleasure in walking abroad with her. Sometimes they visited the studios of Rubens and Van Baelen, who were also her guardians; sometimes the court of the archduke; at other times, they spent the day in the country, or in making an excursion by water. One day, as they were walking in the archduke's gallery, and her guardian was pointing out to her the famous picture of Hymen, Teniers happened to come in. After some remarks upon the weather, poetry, and painting, Teniers said to the young maiden: "Would mademoiselle like to pass the step?" who will have a husband of her own choosing, and no other," Teniers, meeting Rubens soon after, asked him in like manner, "What was the best thing to be done to please a young maiden ?" "Make her a flattering portrait," replied the great painter. "O that I had your genius!" exclaimed Teniers; "I would make my portrait even more beautiful than Anne Breughel." "If it is Anne Breughel you are thinking of," replied Rubens, "go to our grave friend Van Baelen: he will tell you, like an old philosopher who has subdued the passions of man's nature, what is best to be done in such a case." Teniers went "Yes," she replied, perhaps without directly to the house of the old painter: reflecting. "I take you at your word," said Teniers, offering her his hand. Anne Breughel blushed, and refused to pass. Cornelius Schut treated the matter rather as a poet than a guardian. he found him painting, upon copper, a copy of his great work, "St. John preaching in the Desert." Teniers had seen the original often in the palace of the archduke. He came at once to the object of his visit. "What is the best thing to be "Why should you object?" said he, done to please a young maiden?" smiling. "What would be the advantage," she replied, somewhat emboldened, "since once on the other side the picture changes in color and effect?" "For you and me, never!" exclaimed the young painter gallantly. "Or, rather, I promise you to recross the fatal step immediately." At that critical moment, some strangers happened to come in. Teniers saluted his friends respectfully, and withdrew, already in love with the young girl. The next day, after some hesitation, he entered the studio of Cornelius Schut, who was painting some camellias in a garland of flowers. "Master Cornelius," said Teniers, "will you tell me what is the best thing to be done to please a young maiden?" "Write her some verses," said the poet. "So you are in love, eh?" "Love her sincerely," replied Von Baelen. "You are perhaps right; and yet I adore Anne Breughel, who, I imagine, is not in the least affected by my passion." The three guardians interrogated their ward in turn. She had not forgotten David Teniers. It turned out that Van Baelen had spoken more wisely than his colleagues. The three took counsel together: they weighed in the balance the talent of Teniers and the fortune of Anne Breughel the mind of the one, and the beauty of the other. After some debate, they decided for the marriage. The young pair were brought together at a supper at the house of Rubens, who, as well as his guests, amused himself with observing their mutual embarrassment. At the dessert, they told Teniers that they had invited him as a witness to the marriage contract of Anne Breughel, in his character of a disciple of her grandfather, old Peter Breughel. Soon afterward, "To desperation-to the point, in fact, that the archduke says I have lost my senses." "And with whom, Master David Ten- the notary presented himself very gravely: iers!" "Do you not guess ?" replied the cunning young artist. "Ah, if I could write verses like yours!" “I am not master of the hand of Anne Breughel," said Schut, divining the object of his passion. "She has two other guardians-Rubens and Van Baelen. Besides, I take her for a woman of spirit, a space was cleared for him at the end of the table. He unrolled the parchment, mended his pen, and prepared to read the marriage-contract of the future partners. Young David no longer doubted his happiness. This marriage-contract, still preserved in the archives of the city of Antwerp, is prepared rather in favor of the wife than reflex of actual life, can never be unworthy artist. the husband. It stipulates, that in case of the decease of Anne Breughel, their children shall receive, not only the property which she brought him as her marriage-portion, but also all interest in the joint property settled by the contract. We shall see presently that the clause was strictly fulfilled. The three guardians, artists as they were, had made all their arrangements like sober lawyers. The marriage took place a few days afterward. On the morning of the wedding, the archduke presented Teniers with a miniature portrait of himself, and a gold chain. Anne Breughel was of a sweet disposition and pleasing manners. She brought her husband four children, and loved him to the last as on the first day of her marriage; while he, in his turn, loved her with all the tenderness of his passionate nature. In short, they never saw Hymen except | Flemish painters, purchased it, resolved on the favorable side of the step. In the first years of his wedded life, | Teniers continued to reside in the palace of Leopold, working almost exclusively for the king of Spain, who was so delighted with his works that he had a gallery built expressly for them. At first the artist did scarcely anything more than copy the great masters of the Flemish and Italian schools. After a little while, growing weary of following others, stroke by stroke, he contented himself with merely imitating them. His imitations enjoyed a singular reputation, some persons even going so far as to prefer them to the models. He was particularly successful in his imitations of Rubens, which many mistook for the works of that master. But Teniers at length determined to be in his turn an original painter. In his leisure hours, remembering the counsels of his aged father, he sketched by a few strokes of his pencil a scene taken near by, of pure and simple nature. Suddenly he abandoned his grand subjects. Eminently Flemish, he limited his field to a Flemish horizon. He was wearied of gazing upon saints in ecstasy, and penitent Magdalens he had never met with such things in his simple way of life. Was it not time that the human form should be painted under some other phase, and in a character more true to nature? If painting should be a mirror of nature, why not set that mirror beside the public way, as well as in the unfrequented by-roads? A picture of happiness, fresh and naïf, a Adrien Brauwer and Van Craesbeck had already taken sketches among the mariners and other frequenters of the cabarets of Antwerp, of all the original physiognomies to be found there. There was not an interior of a public-house, not a droll or characteristic face, which they had not copied a dozen times. Teniers saw that he must seek for a new world; but he had not to look far for that. In the little village of Perck, between Malines and Antwerp, there happened to be a château to be sold, called the Château of the Three Towers; an ancient Gothic edifice, worthy of lodging a prince. Teniers, who was, indeed, a prince among to pass the remainder of his life there in the study of nature, and in the enjoyment of his good fortune. The place was well chosen- a church with pointed spire, meadow, lake, picturesque enclosure, boors, cabarets-everything he wanted was to be found in Perck and its environs. He lived here in good style, keeping lackeys and equipages; and his château became a celebrated rendezvous for the chase. The Archduke Leopold, the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Marlborough, and many other illustrious persons, visited him there. Twice his extravagant way of life brought him to the verge of ruin; the first time, he set to work to repair his fortunes by painting day and night. He did not dispense with a single horse or servant, nor did he even receive fewer of those illustrious visitors from all countries, who in the Château des Trois Tours, fancied themselves in a royal palace. His industry restored his finances. It is said that at this time he even produced as many as three hundred and fifty paintings in a single year; but this extraordinary fecundity disheartened his purchasers, and his works fell in value. There is a tradition-but an improbable one-that he then adopted the singular expedient of spreading abroad a report of his own death, and that his wife even went into mourning, to induce a belief in the story, and thus enhance the value of his works. Teniers was in the midst of his career when his wife died. His affliction was beyond measure; his château, so cheerful before, became sombre and comfortless; Nature, his ordinary teacher, spoke to him now of nothing but Anne Breughel. His marriage-contract compelling him to give up everything on the death of his wife, the painter found himself, by this calamity, suddenly reduced to poverty. His children would not have allowed the clauses of the contract to be executed in their favor; but Teniers, in spite of the entreaties of his friends, resolved to strip himself of everything in the very year of her death; saying that "he would never consent to live upon the property of orphans." The château changed owners, and he retired to Brussels. Here he lived a solitary life, turning his thoughts unceasingly to the remembrance of his dear Anne, and devoting himself to the practices of religion, and to watching over the progress of his children at college. Though living now in the most humble style, he had been compelled to retain one of his horses-all his pictures being the result of short journeys into the country. | On these excursions, he had several times revisited Perck, wandering in the neighborhood of the château, and lingering over its associations of love and fame. One evening he noticed, through the railing of the grounds of the château, a young lady walking in the garden, whose face bore several points of resemblance to that of Anne Breughel. In his surprise, he let fall the reins upon the neck of his horse, which began to bite at the hanging branches of a willow. His eyes followed involuntarily the apparition, which seemed to him to be a dream of the past. In a moment, the young lady disappeared by a retired pathway leading to the château. Teniers continued musing, looking now toward the lake, and now toward the spot where she had vanished. "My poor Anne, you are dead to me," he exclaimed. "No, you are not dead. I see you everywhere-under these trees, at yonder window, beside that lake where we have walked so often." While musing thus, the poor painter did not perceive that his horse, which had also his reminiscences, had begun to take the road to the stables. Upon the bridge, he drew up the reins again, and said, sighing: "No, no, my trusty friend; we have no longer any right to be here." That day, Teniers returned to his solitary home more sad than usual. "Why did I sell the château ?" said he with bitterness. "There I should have been, in some sort, nearer to my dear Anne, In those old favorite haunts I might still, in imagination, have seen and heard her." The next day he could not refrain from returning to Perck. The château was then in the possession of a wealthy retired counsellor, named De Fresne. The latter, meeting Teniers in the neighborhood, and recognizing him, begged him to accompany him to his old home, and consider himself still its master. The counsellor presented him to his daughter, Isabelle de Fresne. She was young and fair, and had the same tender and simple look as Anne Breughel. Teniers was delighted with her. She painted a little; Teniers offered to give her a lesson. A shower of rain began to fall, and the advocate gladly took advantage of the circumstance to detain his guest. The poor painter almost believed himself living again in his ancient splendor. The sweet face of Anne Breughel was missing; but Isabelle de Fresne was not wanting in charms. "What a pity," said his host, over the dessert," that you should have taken into your head to leave the château! It was to increase the patrimony of your children, I am aware; but that appears to me to be carrying paternal affection too far. Such a genius as yours should have a palace for an abode." "Nature is my palace," replied the artist, casting at the same time a wistful look at the gilded panels of the Château des Trois Tours. "My greatest pleasure, Monsieur Teniers," said the counsellor, "would be to see you here all the fine season." "Ah," said Teniers, "I should be too happy to live in such good and fair society, but my fête-days are past. Once I was not only a painter, but a fine gentleman; now I am only a painter. All my pleasures now are associated with my pallet. I shall continue to depict scenes of happiness, but it will be the happiness of others." So saying, Teniers regarded Isabelle tenderly. The young lady blushed, and turned the conversation into another channel. The next morning, Teniers rose at daybreak to return to Brussels. While his horse was feeding, he took a stroll through one of his favorite haunts upon the borders of the lake. It was a clear, fresh morn wife was abroad in the garden, or in the walks in the neighborhood. The woman ing; a light wind was slowly moving the mists along the fields of Vilvorde; the country, refreshed with the rain of the by force of habit, no doubt-dressed her night before, filled the air with sweet new mistress exactly like her previous odors; and the sun, just risen, touched the one there was the same arrangement of glittering tree-tops and the towers of the the hair, the same cap, the same lace, the château. Arnold Houbraken relates this identical colors. Teniers, meeting this story. Teniers was leaning against the living reminiscence sometimes upon the trunk of a tree, surveying the lake and the stairs, or in the dusky passages of the old château, lost in thought, when suddenly château, would imagine himself in a dream. raising his eyes toward the window where More than once, on kissing the hand of he had often seen Anne Breughel looking | Isabelle de Fresne, the old time seemed to out on fine evenings, her image appeared him to have come back again. Every day there as if by enchantment. "It is she, he discovered some new point of resemwith her light hair falling in curls," he blance. Last night, it was her hand; toexclaimed. "It is the same sweet face, day, it is her foot; to-morrow, she will so full of beauty and innocence." But in sing, and her voice will be the very counanother moment he recognized Isabelle de terpart of Anne Breughel's. Never was Fresne. "Alas!" he exclaimed, "it is illusion more perfect at all points. not she; and yet" He returned to the château, mounted his horse, and rode away slowly. All that week he did nothing well. He attempted to paint from memory a portrait of Isabelle de Fresne, and failed; and yet, when it was but half-finished, the face had seemed to remind him at the same time both of Anne Breughel and Isabelle de Fresne. These two delightful images were forever present to his mind; he sought to divert his thoughts from them, afraid of falling in love again. He made a journey into France, and even set out for Italy; but he had scarcely arrived at Lyons, when his new passion compelled him to retrace his steps. On his return, he found a letter from the counsellor, complaining of his neglect. "What ails you, my friend?" asked his host one day, surprised at his absent and anxious look. "Does not our way of life please you?" 66 "Yes," said Teniers; "it is nothinga passing recollection-a momentary regret. It is gone now." One evening, after sunset, he was sitting again upon the ground beside the little lake, idly brushing the tall water-grasses with his feet. Isabelle and her servant passed him in the pleasure-boat. The light vail of evening falling upon land and water confirmed the painter's misty reverie; he was no longer master of himself, as in the broad daylight. The head of the skiff grazed lightly on the bank, and he rushed forward. "Anne! Anne!" he exclaimed, when "Come, my dear Teniers," he wrote; they found themselves alone. "Pardon "the very peasants are anxious to see me-Isabelle, I meant," continued he, falltheir old master again; and my daughtering at her feet, in the chivalrous fashion Isabelle finds that, even from such a skill- of the times. ful master as you, a single lesson in painting is not enough." Teniers started immediately for Perck. The counsellor pressed him to pass the remainder of the season at the château. The painter accepted his invitation, and boldly installed himself there, hardly sure that it was not more dangerous to fly from the presence of Isabelle, than to see her continually. It happened-accidentally, no doubtthat the young lady had for an attendant one of the femmes-de-chambre of Anne Breughel. This was another illusion for the painter, who, when he met her, found himself often about to ask her whether his "Well," said she, carried away by his manner," Anne Breughel, if you will." It may be easily imagined that the young Isabelle, perhaps a little romantic, had secretly loved Teniers; that, touched by his sorrow for Anne Breughel, she had undertaken the task of consoling him, coming by degrees, by means of these illusions, to take the place of his adored wife. Three weeks afterward, Teniers married the daughter of the counsellor. He returned to the château, and took again to his old way of life. Isabelle de Fresne, charmed by the simplicity of his genius, and his noble manners, remained devoted eyes. "Do you see that doleful dance ?all their mirth is gone now. Old Nicholas Söest is nothing but a skeleton. Look how he whirls, and whirls, and whirls in the dusk-all hastening to the churchyard. They are gone! Farewell, farewell, my friends. Call my servant-it is time to go!" to him till the time of her death. She to foot, and passed his hands over his knew that her greatest charm for him was, that she reminded him of his first wife. Far from complaining, or feeling vexed on that account, she took pains to acquire the habits of Anne Breughel, with the generous intention of pleasing her husband. Teniers, in his turn, delighted with having found so sweet a companion, loved her for her own, and for Anne Breughel's sake. The painter survived his second wife, and died at the age of upward of eighty. After her death, he returned to Brussels again, and lived in strict retirement, devoted to his art. One of his sons, a Franciscan monk at Malines, held him in his arms as he breathed his last. For the convent at Malines, he painted his “Nineteen Martyrs of Gorcum." The son has left a biography of his father, interspersed with orisons and litanies; the only interesting portion is the end, in which he describes the death of the great painter. Already in a state of unconsciousness, David Teniers only spoke at long intervals. In the middle of the night, after a painful sigh, he took the hand of his son with agitation: "See you, yonder ?-yonder!" he exclaimed. He saw, no doubt, passing in his mind, all the curious creations of his pencil. The Franciscan looked in the direction which he indicated. "I see nothing, father." "Do you see," continued the painter, without heeding his reply," the alchemist in that laboratory, meditating? He turns toward me to bid me farewell. Farewell, then! What did I say? It is a drinkerthere are two-three-four-the odor of their ale rises to my head. O the deep politicians! these are the men who transport our Flanders into Spain. The drunkards! it is merely that they may drink from glasses overflowing with Malaga. My son, stop that boor from smoking, who has nothing to say apropos. I hear his pipe snap. No; it is the violin of poor old Nicholas Söest. There is a fair, then, in Perck to-day. Open the window, and let me hear their cries better. Take care, Margaret! Look at that sly chemist. The old dotard! It is a good thing, indeed, to have gray hairs. I like your violin, Master Söest; but what are you playing there? O my son-my son! look there! this is fearful indeed!" These were, as nearly as possible, the last words of the laborious painter of nature. In obedience to his wish, the son had his remains deposited in the choir of the church of Perck, under that tower which, in his pictures, stands forth against so many horizons. HUMANITY. FROM THE GERMAN OF KINKEL. UPON the hoary earth already Again the pious will hereafter To God still fairer altars build, And with new joys the heart be fill'd. I know that ne'er a day hath broken Which gladden'd not one single breast; That ne'er a spring hath follow'd winter But with a song the world it bless'd. I know that from the goblet's torrent I know that in a woman's kisses I know that everywhere the heavens Beholds the starry host by night. Thus 't is the same, the same forever, A link of that great chain which bindeth I snatch from out the struggling surges CHANGE of time, like change of place, introduces men to new associates, and gives many persons an opportunity to become respected by outliving those who knew them when they were not respect The dying painter shuddered from headable. |