often expressed to practice her powers as a painter, and he
said if that desire still continued, he could offer her a home in his
household, and promise her success. His own professional attainments
were great and popular, but his health was failing; and he declared it
would be a pleasure and pride to him to direct her talents if she
still wished to brave the perplexities of an artist's life. He dwelt
on the subject with the fervor of a mind whose best faculties had been
spent in the service of his art; but while he extolled its attractions
and rewards, he concealed nothing of its cares and penalties. He
concluded thus: "For me, the exercise of my glorious profession has
been in all respects singularly fortunate; and in addition to the
inexpressible gratifications attending its pursuit, it has won for me
both popularity and wealth. But I would not mislead you, Theresa, nor
conceal the difficulties which must inevitably, in such an attempt,
harass a young and an enthusiastic woman. It is an unusual thing for
womanhood to worship art; you will have ignorance and prejudice
against you, and I need not remind you that these are the most
perplexing of obstacles. But still there are rewards they cannot
touch, pleasures beyond their influence--and these I proffer you. The
artist bears within his own soul the recompense for many sorrows; and
if you can summon the moral fortitude to wait in patience, and toil in
hope, I candidly believe that, with your endowments, success will be a
certainty. You will be to us as a daughter; and our childless old age
will be gladdened by the presence in our home of your bright young
face." Theresa had scanned my countenance eagerly while I perused this
letter, as if to gather my impressions of the scheme; and she looked
not a little disappointed when I gravely and silently refolded and
returned the paper.

"I can divine your opinion," she said at last; "you disapprove of my
plan."

"I do," was my reply. "I can discern no reason for your forsaking a
tranquil home to brave so many certain annoyances."

"But, my friend," she answered, "you forget now the lesson you have
often taught me, that we have no right to bury our talents, nor to
shrink from the exercise of powers which were doubtless bestowed to be
improved and employed. You will, perhaps, deem that my duty to my
mother demands my presence here; but she has grown accustomed to my
absence, and depends on me for none of her social comforts.