e same time
he discontinued his visits at the house.

Mr. Greville, somewhat offended, called on Montfort for an
explanation. He found his daughter's picture covered by a curtain.

"My dear sir," said he, "how does it happen that you can't go on with
that picture? My wife is very anxious about it."

"I can never finish it," said the artist sadly.

"How so, my young friend?"

"Mr. Greville, I will be frank with you. I love your daughter; I, a
poor artist, have dared to lift my eyes to the child of the opulent
merchant. I have never in look or word, though, led her to divine my
feelings--the secret is in my own keeping. But I cannot see her day
after day--I cannot scan her beautiful and innocent features, or
listen to the brilliant flow of her conversation, without agony. This
has compelled me, sir, to suspend my work."

"Mr. Julian Montfort," said the merchant, "you seem bent--excuse
me--on making yourself miserable. You are no longer a poor artist; you
have a fortune in your pencil. Your profession is now a surer thing
than mine. There is no gentleman in the city who ought not to be proud
of your alliance; and if you can make yourself acceptable to my
daughter, why, take her and be happy."

How Julian sped in his wooing may be inferred from the fact that, at a
certain wedding ceremony in Grace Church, he performed the important
part of bridegroom to the bride of Miss Caroline Greville; and after
the usual quantity of hand shakings, and tears, and kisses, and all
the usual efforts to make a wedding resemble a funeral as much as
possible, Mr. and Mrs. Montfort took passage in one of the Havre
steamers for an extensive tour upon the European continent.

When they returned, Mr. Montfort's reputation rose higher than ever,
of course, and he made money with marvellous rapidity. He is now as
well known in Wall Street as in his studio, has a town and country
house, is a strong conservative in politics, and talks very learnedly
about the moneyed interest. He has made some efforts to transplant
his good old father and mother to New York; but they prefer residing
at his villa, and taking care of his Durham cattle and Suffolk pigs,
and seeing that his "Cochin Chinas" and "Brahma Pootras" do not
trample down the children when they go out to feed the poultry of a
summer morning.

SOUVENIRS OF A RETIRED OYSTERMAN IN ILL HEALTH.

Samivel, my boy, always stick to the shop; and if ever you become a
_millionhair_, lik