Painting and music were the only things I worked at industriously and
faithfully.

My sister taught me painting; I do not, however, remember when I
commenced it, but it must have been very early in my life; it seems to
me that there was never a time when I was not able, with my pencil or my
brush, to express in some measure the odd fancies of my imaginations.




CHAPTER XXIX.



In my grandmother's room, at the bottom of the cupboard where she kept
"The History of the Bible," with the terrible pictures illustrating the
visions of Revelation, she had also several other precious relics. In
particular there was an old silver-clasped psalm book. It was extremely
tiny, like a toy-book, and in its day it must have been a marvel of the
printer's skill. It had been made in miniature thus they told me, so
that it could be easily hidden; at the time of the persecutions our
ancestors had often carried it about with them, concealed in their
clothing. There was also, in a paste-board box, a bundle of letters
written on parchment and marked Leyden or Amsterdam. Those written
between the years 1702 and 1710 were secured by a large wax seal stamped
with a count's coronet.

They were letters of our Huguenot ancestors, who, at the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes, had quitted their country, their home and their