st, with uncertain and variable hues, such as she could see
any day when she looked out at her window.

"It made the young man unhappy to hear all this fault found with his
proceedings, but it never made him leave off using the fairy's palette,
though about this time he himself began to doubt whether he should ever
be a painter. One evening he sat at his easel, trying in vain to give
the expression he wished to an angel's face, which seemed to get less
and less like the face in his heart with every touch he gave it. On a
sudden he threw down his brush, and with a feeling of bitter
disappointment upbraided himself for what he now thought his folly in
listening to the fairy, and accepting her delusive gift. What had he got
by it hitherto? Nothing but his mother's regrets and the ridicule of his
companions. He threw himself on his bed. It grew dark; he could no
longer be vexed with the sight of his unfinished angel; and presently he
fell asleep and forgot his sorrow.

"In the middle of the night he suddenly awoke. His chamber was full of
moonlight. The lid of the casket where he kept the lily had sprung open,
and his fairy friend stood near it.

"'American painter,' she said, in a reproachful voice, 'since you think
I have been rather a foe than a friend to you, I am ready to take back
my gift.'

"But sleep had now cooled the young painter's mind, and softened his
feelings of vexation, so that he did not find himself at all willing to
part with the palette. While he hesitated how to excuse himself, she
further said, 'But if you still wish to try what it can do for you, take
this ring which _my sister_ sends you; wear it, and it will greatly
assist the charm.'

"The youth held out his hand and took the ring. As he cast his eyes upon
it, the fairy vanished. He turned it to the moonlight, and saw that it
was set with a stone of a transparent blue color. It had the property of
reflecting everything bright that came near it; and there was a word
engraven upon it. He thought--he could not be sure--but he thought the
word was 'Hope.'

"After this, and during a long time, I can tell you no more about him:
whether he finished the angel's face, and whether it pleased him at
last, I do not know. I only know that, in process of time, his mother
died--that he came to Europe--and that he was quite unknown and very
poor.

"The next thing recorded of him is this, that on a sudden he became
famous. The world began to admire his wo