ady intent on planning occupation for Frank, and laying out for him
a course of success and honor, through the stimulus which would be
imparted by the execution of a commission of her bestowal. Another
feeling I was delighted to see exhibited. She felt that she was now
about to render him some equivalent for his disappointment. Already was
he become to her less Frank the lover than Frank the artist, whose
fortunes she was to assist. I will make you yet his lady-patroness,
thought I. I foresaw that some of my rival's productions would grace my
apartments, in a year or two. But, better his imagination than his
heart, said I to myself,--better the works of his chisel, which I and
all the throng of the public can eulogize, than the secret, doating
passion confined to the intense idolatry of one breast.

After a few premonitory nods I retired.

I did not trouble myself about the manner in which the commission was
conveyed to Frank. Thither, however, it went, as I learned in after
time.

I well understood that to attempt rivaling Frank in matters cognate with
his own department of talent, would render me only as ridiculous as an
old beau who seeks to gain favor with the girls by imitating with his
rouge, hair dyes, and laced waistcoats, the freshness and symmetry of
youth. But I must endeavor to establish some common ground on which I
and the magnificent creature at my side could meet and hold converse. I
must find it in literature. In a garret over my store I had a safe and
some papers conveyed, ostensibly for attention to private business. I
kept my room securely locked. Thither, from time to time, I secretly
carried a library of English classics, and all works of the day which
received public intention. I revived all my early recollections of
literature, and made myself acquainted with the lighter contemporaneous
works, which are the most prolific topics of conversation in society.
Under pretense of business I devoted every moment I could to my solitary
chamber. Never did college student, cramming himself for examination,
labor more intently than I. I stored my mind not only with words, but
ideas. I committed to memory innumerable fine passages. Personally, I
was well repaid for my toil. Literature is always solacing, elevating,
and ennobling. The Bedouin of the desert is less of a robber and
murderer while singing the songs of his national poets.

My acquisitions, however, were carefully hidden. They were for future
u