heart. In short, he was as much in love
as a Dutchman could be. He was not
long in making his passion known to the
pretty maiden herself, and his declaration
was followed by a corresponding confession
upon her part.

Schalken, however, was a poor man,
and he possessed no counterbalancing
advantages of birth or position to induce
the old man to consent to a union which
must involve his niece and ward in the
strugglings and difficulties of a young and
nearly friendless artist. He was, therefore,
to wait until time had furnished him with
opportunity, and accident with success; and
then, if his labours were found sufficiently
lucrative, it was to be hoped that his
proposals might at least be listened to by her
jealous guardian. Months passed away,
and, cheered by the smiles of the little
Rose, Schalken's labours were redoubled,
and with such effect and improvement as
reasonably to promise the realisation of his
hopes, and no contemptible eminence in
his art, before many years should have
elapsed.

The even course of this cheering
prosperity was, however, destined to