to your happiness. Antwerp shall be my future residence. I have
acquired a taste for horticulture; our little garden shall be enlarged
and cultivated, and our home will be a paradise."

What are human anticipations and projects! the day before he was to
quit Rome he received a letter informing him that his mother was very
ill, and begging him to return with all speed. With breathless haste
he hurried back, without sleep or rest. When he reached the city he
dared not make any inquiries. At length he stood before the paternal
mansion; he saw the gloomy tiles and half-closed window-shutters. It
was the fall of the trees. He observed people going in and out at the
door; to speak was impossible. At length he rushed in and heard the
appalling sentence, "Too late," a sentence that often strikes
desolation to the human heart. His mother had expired that morning.

While he was struggling with the bitterness of sorrow, he met with
Elizabeth Brants. There was something in the tone of her voice which
infused tranquillity into his mind, and affection came in a new form
to assuage his loss. She was the "ladye of his love," and afterward
his wife. He built a magnificent house at Antwerp, with a saloon in
form of a rotunda, which he ornamented and enriched with antique
statues, busts, vases, and pictures by the most celebrated painters.
Thus surrounded by the gems of art, he devoted himself to the
execution of works which were the pride of his native country, and
caused honors and wealth to be heaped upon him.

There were those found who could not endure the splendor of his
success; these calumniated. There were others who tried to draw him
into visionary speculations. A chemist offered him a share of his
laboratory, to join in his search for the philosopher's stone. He
carried the visionary to his painting-room, and said, "The offer comes
too late. You see I have found out the art of making gold by my
palette and pencils."

Rubens was now at the height of prosperity and happiness, a dangerous
eminence, and one on which few are permitted to rest. A second time
his heart was pierced with sorrow: he lost his young wife, Elizabeth,
a few years after their union. Deep as was his sorrow, he had yet
resolution enough to feel the necessity of exertion. He left the place
which constantly reminded him of domestic enjoyment, the memory of
which contrasted so sadly with the present silence and solitude, and
travelled for some time in Holland