nrefreshed; it was the fifth day he had lain there neglected.
His mouth was parched; he turned over, and feebly stretched out his hand
toward the earthen pitcher, from which, since the first day of his illness
he had quenched his thirst. Alas! it was empty! Samuel lay for a few
moments thinking what he should do. He knew he must die of want if he
remained there alone; but to whom could he apply for aid?

An idea seemed, at last, to strike him. He arose slowly, and with
difficulty, from the bed, went to the other side of the room, and took up
the picture he had painted last. He resolved to carry it to the shop of a
salesman, and hoped to obtain for it sufficient to furnish him with the
necessaries of life for a week longer. Despair lent him strength to walk,
and to carry his burden. On his way, he passed a house, about which there
was a crowd. He drew nigh, asked what was going on, and received for an
answer, that there was to be a sale of many specimens of art, collected by
an amateur in the course of thirty years. It has often happened that
collections made with infinite pains by the proprietor, have been sold
without mercy or discrimination after his death.

Something whispered to the weary Duhobret, that here would be the market
for his picture. It was a long way yet to the house of the picture dealer,
and he made up his mind at once. He worked his way through the crowd,
dragged himself up the steps, and, after many inquiries, found the
auctioneer. That personage was a busy man, with a handful of papers; he
was inclined to notice somewhat roughly the interruption of the lean,
sallow hunchback, imploring as were his gesture and language.

"What do you call your picture?" at length, said he, carefully looking at
it.

"It is a view of the Abbey of Newburg, with its village and the
surrounding landscape," replied the eager and trembling artist.

The auctioneer again scanned it contemptuously, and asked what it was
worth. "Oh, that is what you please; whatever it will bring," answered
Duhobret.

"Hem! it is too odd to please, I should think; I can promise you no more
than three thalers."

Poor Samuel sighed deeply. He had spent on that piece the nights of many
months. But he was starving now; and the pitiful sum offered would give
bread for a few days. He nodded his head to the auctioneer, and retiring
took his seat in a corner.

The sale began. After some paintings and engravings had been disposed of,
Samuel's w