nough,
of persons who successfully cultivate the Arts--of the remarkable manner
in which fitness for their vocation shows itself in early life, of
the obstacles which family prejudice places in their way, and of the
unremitting devotion which has led to the achievement of glorious
results.

But how many writers have noticed those other incomprehensible persons,
members of families innocent for generations past of practicing Art or
caring for Art, who have notwithstanding displayed from their earliest
years the irresistible desire to cultivate poetry, painting, or music;
who have surmounted obstacles, and endured disappointments, in the
single-hearted resolution to devote their lives to an intellectual
pursuit--being absolutely without the capacity which proves the
vocation, and justifies the sacrifice. Here is Nature, "unerring
Nature," presented in flat contradiction with herself. Here are men
bent on performing feats of running, without having legs; and women,
hopelessly barren, living in constant expectation of large families to
the end of their days. The musician is not to be found more completely
deprived than Mr. Wyvil of natural capacity for playing on an
instrument--and, for twenty years past, it had been the pride and
delight of his heart to let no day of his life go by without practicing
on the violin.

"I am sure I must be tiring you," he said politely--after having played
without mercy for an hour and more.

No: the insatiable amateur had his own purpose to gain, and was not
exhausted yet. Mr. Wyvil got up to look for some more music. In that
interval desultory conversation naturally took place. Mirabel contrived
to give it the necessary direction--the direction of Emily.

"The most delightful girl I have met with for many a long year past!"
Mr. Wyvil declared warmly. "I don't wonder at my daughter being so fond
of her. She leads a solitary life at home, poor thing; and I am honestly
glad to see her spirits reviving in my house."

"An only child?" Mirabel asked.

In the necessary explanation that followed, Emily's isolated position
in the world was revealed in few words. But one more discovery--the most
important of all--remained to be made. Had she used a figure of speech
in saying that she was as poor as Mirabel himself? or had she told him
the shocking truth? He put the question with perfect delicacy---but with
unerring directness as well.

Mr. Wyvil, quoting his daughter's authority, described E