as not for him. But he had
good taste, a correct eye, and a skilful hand, and his productions
were pleasing and popular. A few months before his introduction to the
reader's notice, he had formed a connection with a publisher of prints
and engravings, who had thrown considerable work in his way.

"Have you any new commission this morning?" inquired the young artist,
on the day before Ida's discovery that she had been employed to pass off
spurious coins.

"Yes," said the publisher, "I have thought of something which I think
may prove attractive. Just at present, the public seem fond of pictures
of children in different characters. I should like to have you supply
me with a sketch of a flower-girl, with, say, a basket of flowers in her
hand. The attitude and incidentals I will leave to your taste. The face
must, of course, be as beautiful and expressive as you can make it,
where regularity of features is not sufficient. Do you comprehend my
idea?"

"I believe I do," said the young man, "and hope to be able to satisfy
you."

The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he
had undertaken. He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but found
himself mistaken. Whether because his fancy was not sufficiently lively,
or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to produce the effect he
desired. The faces which he successively outlined were all stiff, and
though perhaps sufficiently regular in feature, lacked the great charm
of being expressive and life-like.

"What is the matter with me?" he exclaimed, impatiently, throwing
down his pencil. "Is it impossible for me to succeed? Well, I will be
patient, and make one trial more."

He made another trial, that proved as unsatisfactory as those preceding.

"It is clear," he decided, "that I am not in the vein. I will go out and
take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the street something will strike
me."

He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and, descending, emerged into
the great thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng. It was
only natural that, as he walked, with his task still in his thoughts, he
should scrutinize carefully the faces of such young girls as he met.

"Perhaps," it occurred to him, "I may get a hint from some face I may
see. That will be better than to depend upon my fancy. Nothing, after
all, is equal to the masterpieces of Nature."

But the young artist was fastidious. "It is strange," he thought, "how
few there are,