with the mysterious goldsmith, Leonhard, was somewhat different to that
in which Tussmann had done so.

Edmund was one day sketching a beautiful group of trees in a lonely
part of the Thiergarten, when Leonhard came up, and, without any
ceremony, looked over his shoulder at what he was doing. Edmund did not
disturb himself, but went on with his sketch, till the goldsmith
cried--

"That is a most extraordinary picture, young gentleman. Those will come
to be something else than trees before you have done with them."

"Do you see anything out of the way, sir?" Edmund said, with flashing
eyes.

"I mean," said the goldsmith, "that there are all sorts of forms
and shapes peeping out from amongst those high leaves there, in
ever-changing variety: geniuses, strange animals, maidens, and flowers.
Yet the whole thing ought only to amount to that group of trees before
us there, through which the rays of the evening sun are streaming so
charmingly."

"Sir!" Edmund answered, "either you have a very profound understanding,
and a most penetrating eye for matters of this kind, or I have been
unusually successful in portraying my inmost feelings. Don't you
perceive when, in looking at Nature, you abandon yourself to all your
feelings of longing, all kinds of wonderful shapes and forms come
looking at you through the trees with beautiful eyes? That was what I
was trying to represent to the senses in this sketch, and I see I have
succeeded."

"I understand," Leonhard said, rather coldly and dryly. "You wanted to
drop study, and give yourself a rest, to refresh and strengthen your
fancy."

"Not at all," Edmund answered. "I consider this way of working from
Nature is my best and most useful 'study.' Study of this sort enables
me to put the really poetic and imaginative element into my landscape.
Unless the landscape painter is every bit as much a poet as the
portrait painter, he will never be anything but a dauber."

"Heaven help us!" cried the goldsmith. "So you, dear Edmund Lehsen, are
going to----"

"You know me, then, sir, do you?" the painter cried.

"Why shouldn't I?" said Leonhard. "I first made your acquaintance on an
occasion which you, probably, don't remember much about; that is to
say, when you were born. Considering the small experience which you had
at that time, you had behaved very well--had given your mamma little
trouble--and as soon as you came into the world, gave a very pretty cry
of pleasure and delight