delicate graver had scattered Spring: spiritual indeed were the small and graceful figures, whose minute outlines were yet perfect in their proportions; while the wreathe of flowers that encircled them seemed too fine to be the work of mortal hand. On the other side was placed a round table of Sevre china; a large medallion, representing the head of an angel—and an angel it surely was, if there be aught angelic in beauty—so pure, so placid was that lovely head! On it was set a basket of silver filigree, delicate as the threads of the morning gossamer: it must have been a skilful workman that wrought those fragile threads into their present intricate grace. Near it stood two small bronze figures of Voltaire and Rousseau. There was something singularly characteristic in the manner in which these philosophers grasped their canes: he of Ferney held his lightly, as if a touch could brush away any impediment from his path; but he of Geneva had his grasped with might and main, and driven into the earth, as if prepared to crush all that might rouse his fierce indignation. What a mistake rage is! anger should never go beyond a sneer, if it really desires revenge.
But a picture by Murillo fixed Charles's attention—one of those boys whose embrowned cheek glows with health, and whose dark eyes are filled with happiness—one of those pictures in which the Spanish artist concentrates so much of life's earlier existence—calling back that glad and buoyant
