uld work at it at home. At length Raymond suffered him to
depart.

The next day he returned. The design had been re-drawn; but many defects
still remained, and several of the instructions given had been
misunderstood. "Come," said Raymond, "I yielded to you yesterday, now
comply with my request--take the pencil."

The Greek took it, but he handled it in no artist-like way; at length he
said: "I must confess to you, my Lord, that I did not make this drawing. It
is impossible for you to see the real designer; your instructions must pass
through me. Condescend therefore to have patience with my ignorance, and to
explain your wishes to me; in time I am certain that you will be
satisfied."

Raymond questioned vainly; the mysterious Greek would say no more. Would an
architect be permitted to see the artist? This also was refused. Raymond
repeated his instructions, and the visitor retired. Our friend resolved
however not to be foiled in his wish. He suspected, that unaccustomed
poverty was the cause of the mystery, and that the artist was unwilling to
be seen in the garb and abode of want. Raymond was only the more excited by
this consideration to discover him; impelled by the interest he took in
obscure talent, he therefore ordered a person skilled in such matters, to
follow the Greek the next time he came, and observe the house in which he
should enter. His emissary obeyed, and brought the desired intelligence. He
had traced the man to one of the most penurious streets in the metropolis.
Raymond did not wonder, that, thus situated, the artist had shrunk from
notice, but he did not for this alter his resolve.

On the same evening, he went alone to the house named to him. Poverty,
dirt, and squalid misery characterized its appearance. Alas! thought
Raymond, I have much to do before England becomes a Paradise. He knocked;
the door was opened by a string from above--the broken, wretched
staircase was immediately before him, but no person appeared; he knocked
again, vainly--and then, impatient of further delay, he ascended the
dark, creaking stairs. His main wish, more particularly now that he
witnessed the abject dwelling of the artist, was to relieve one, possessed
of talent, but depressed by want. He pictured to himself a youth, whose
eyes sparkled with genius, whose person was attenuated by famine. He half
feared to displease him; but he trusted that his generous kindness would be
administered so delicately, as not to exci