stamped with her curse! Dwarf-like and distorted, mean in stature and
in lineament, thou wert, indeed, a glorious being to perpetuate grace
and beauty, the majesties and dreams of art! Fame for thee, indeed--
ha-ha! Glory--ha-ha! a place with Titian, Correggio, Raphael--ha--ha
--ha! O, thrice modest, thrice-reasonable fool! But this vile daub;
this disfigurement of canvas; this loathed and wretched monument of
disgrace; this notable candidate for--ha--ha--immortality! this I
have, at least, in my power." And seizing the picture, he dashed it
to the ground, and trampled it with his feet upon the dusty boards,
till the moist colours presented nothing but one confused and dingy
stain.

This sight seemed to recall him for a moment. He paused, lifted up
the picture once more, and placed it on the table. "But," he
muttered, "might not this critic be envious? am I sure that he judged
rightly--fairly? The greatest masters have looked askant and jealous
at their pupils' works. And then, how slow, how cold, how damned
cold, how indifferently he spoke; why, the very art should have warmed
him more. Could he have--No, no, no: it was true, it was! I felt the
conviction thrill through me like a searing iron. Burn it--did he
say--ay--burn it: it shall be done this instant."

And, hastening to the door, he undid the bolt. He staggered back as
he beheld his old and nearest surviving relative, the mother of his
father, seated upon the ground beside the door, terrified by the
exclamations she did not dare to interrupt. She rose slowly, and with
difficulty as she saw him; and, throwing around him the withered arms
which had nursed his infancy, exclaimed, "My child!--my poor--poor
child! what has come to you of late? you, who were so gentle, so mild,
so quiet,--you are no longer the same,--and oh, my son, how ill you