His imagination, like a sea put in motion by the wind, appeared to
be in perpetual agitation. He was restless and uneasy when any other
occupation kept him away from his picture. As his health was good, and
his frame vigorous though susceptible, this state of excitement was at
first rather pleasing than otherwise. He indulged himself, therefore,
with those agitating visions, as they may be called, which the
contemplation or recollection of his Lucifer called up before his mind.
At length, however, the idea of the mighty fallen angel, whose form he
had delighted to clothe with terror and sublimity, began to present
itself under a new character to his mind; and instead of being a subject
to be fondled, as it were, and caressed by the imagination, seemed as
it approached maturity to manifest certain mysterious qualities, which,
engendered terror and apprehension rather than delight.

Spinello's _studio_ now began to be a place of torture to him, and
he turned his eyes towards the amusements of the world, which he had
hitherto shunned and scorned. He frequented the society of other young
artists, with whom he often strolled into the woods, or rather groves,
for which this portion of Etruria was always remarkable, sometimes
traversing or descending the Val d'Arno, at others roaming about the
ruins, or visiting the site of Pliny's Tuscan Villa. On returning in
high spirits from one of these excursions, he learned by the letter of a
friend that the object of his first love had proved unfaithful, and been
united in marriage to another. This event, though it had no connexion
whatever with his former cause of uneasiness, threw a new gloom over his
imagination, in the midst of which the figure of Lucifer, dilating, like
an image in the mists of the desert, to superhuman dimensions, stood up
to scare and torment him afresh.

The unhappy young man, wounded in his feelings, and haunted by the