reproof on the idle
student, but which _now_ would form precious gems in many a rich
museum--these were the early evidences of Poussin's genius. He was
treated severely by his father, who thought that every vigorous,
well-made boy ought of necessity to become a soldier--secretly
consoled and encouraged by his mother, who loved him with an almost
idolatrous affection, and who approved of his pursuits, not from any
abstract love of art, but because she thought the profession of
painting might be pursued by her darling without obliging him to leave
his home.

It happened that the painter, Quintin Varin, was an intimate
acquaintance of the elder Poussin. Somewhat reluctantly, the
ex-lieutenant gave his son permission to study the first principles of
painting under their friend. The boy's first attempts were
water-colour landscapes, his very straitened finances not allowing him
to use oils. His subjects were the beautiful scenes around Andelys;
and, despite of his inexperience, he knew so well how to transfer the
living poetry of the scenery to his canvas, that his master one day
said to him: 'Nicholas, why have you deceived me?--you must have
learned painting before.'

'I assure you I have not.'

'Then,' said Varin, 'I am not fit to be thy master. There is a
revelation of genius in thy lightest touch to which I have never
attained. I should but cloud thy destiny in seeking to instruct thee.
Go to Paris, dear boy; there thou wilt achieve both fame and fortune.'

The advice was followed, and with a light purse, and a still lighter
heart, Nicholas Poussin arrived in Paris. He bore a letter of
introduction from Varin to the Flemish painter Ferdinand Elle, who
consented to receive him as a pupil for the payment of three livres a
month.

There were already a dozen young people in the studio. When their new
companion joined them, they amused themselves by laughing at him, and
playing off practical jokes at his expense, which at first he bore
with good-humour. It happened, however, one morning, that on examining
his slender purse, he found that its contents had fallen to zero; and
this unpleasant circumstance caused him, no doubt, to feel in an
irritable state of mind. On reaching the studio, and just as he
entered the door, he was inundated by the contents of a bucket of
water, which one of his companions had suspended over the door, and
managed to overturn on the head of Nicholas. Furious at this
unexpected _douche_, he