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THE MAGIC CRYSTAL; OR,

mind, though in some instances wholly inexplicable to the eye.They are principally scenes from life, though apparently of themind’s inner existence, and are rare works of art, many ofthem bearing features transcendently lovely : yet their beautybrings no pleasure generally, and in some produces an almostuncomfortable sensation. There is a doubtful, clouded expressionfrequently, and completely at variance with the attitude. This,however, is absent altogether from the portrait upon the easel.

It is the face of Iva Greville, pure, unflattered, natural—justas she speaks and looks. The beautiful lips unclosed, the faintblush upon the downy cheek; yet even here we notice a down-cast tenderness in the gaze, which was not there when last wesaw her at the Opera a little month ago. Is the expressionprophetic, or does her face now actually wear it ? Is it that theslumbering beauty has awakened to life beneath the magic touchof love ? Perhaps so.

Wrapped in contemplation before it stands young Walde-grave, himself a fitting subject for a sketch. His gracefulfigure gains additional beauty of outline from the lines of flowingvelvet in which it is draped; the collar thrown back, as if for air,gives freedom to the throat and neck, the complexion of which,fair as a woman’s, is relieved from effeminacy by the darker-tintedface, mellowed by a warmer climate. One hand rests uponhis side, the other sustains the palette. Around his waist hewears a Turkish shawl, twisted after the Oriental fashion—a fancyof De Grey’s. He contemplates with a pleased smile his copy ofthe picture. Yes ! he is right; it is equal to the original!

“My friend,” exclaimed De Grey, “you will soon surpassyour master; the art, which came to me a gift, I have improvedby practice and experience. You have it also, and my lessonsas well. It is a pity we neither of us require the profits of aprofession we both have embraced so warmly.”

“ Nay, I cannot wish myself dispossessed of the advantages