r than the impress of her
features upon my heart, to guide my trembling hand, yet I have got a
soul upon that canvas! Sometimes I have fancied that some good angel had
not forgotten me, and had breathed _her_ soul into those pure eyes!"

"And the child?" asked Natalie, in a suppressed breath, scarcely above a
whisper.

"Her child was but a tiny babe; her features were not sufficiently
developed to leave its memory on my mind; yet they told me the little
creature was like her mother. This, the Madonna's child, is from life.
In my wanderings I visited the island of Nantucket. I spent some little
time there, as I found the great hearts of those people more congenial
to my weary spirits, than the chilling air of avarice, which, in a
measure, marks this western world. One morning, as I strolled along the
shore, looking out upon the sea, depressed in spirits, I observed a
pretty sight not far from me; an old negro sat upon the beach, and by
his side an infant, some eighteen months old, with her arms clasped
about the neck of a large Newfoundland dog, while her eyes, which were
of the blue of heaven, were fixed upon the waves which rolled and broke
in harmless ripples at her feet. She was a beauteous child. I have never
seen another upon whom I could look, as the little angel that had gone.
I traced her beautiful features, as I was so fortunate as to have pencil
and paper by me, and was about to pass on, when I observed the brother
of the child approaching; he was a noble little fellow, with the air of
a young prince, and I never shall forget his proud answer, when I asked
him of his sister,--'We call her Sea-flower, sir, for she came to us
from God, and he smiles upon each little flower, as it lifts up its
head, all trembling with dew.' I breathed a blessing upon them both, for
they had drawn a tear from my heart of stone."

"Sir," said Natalie, as he paused, "Nantucket is my home; often have I
listened to my dear brother, as he has told me the pretty story of the
sad gentleman whom he met, when I was but an infant, and how he spoke to
me so tenderly, and sighed for his own Natalie. I had no other name
then but Sea-flower, and I have been called by that name ever since; yet
after that day, my Christian name was Natalie."

The artist gazed upon her, and pointing to the Madonna,
exclaimed,--"Thou art the child! you are like the Madonna! Can it be
that I have unconsciously restored to the mother her child? None other
than he