it, you may be sure. It was thought _so_ romantic, that he, a
fisherman,--the young ladies sunk the shoemaker, I believe,--should be
_so_ devoted to Art. How splendidly it spoke for our civilization, when
even sailors left their vessels, and, abjuring codfish, took to canvas
and brushes! What admirable courage in him, to come here and endeavor
to work his way up from the very bottom! What praiseworthy
self-denial,--"No!! is it _really_ so?" cried Miss Jennie,--when he had
left behind him a fair young bride!

It was as though it had been written, "Blessed is he who forsaketh
father, mother, and wife to paint pictures." But it is not so written.

It was as if the true aim and glory of every man in a civilized
community should be to paint pictures. Which has this grain of truth in
it, that, in the highest form of human development, I believe every man
will be at heart an artist. But then we shall be past picture-painting
and exhibitions. Don't you see, that, if the fruit be thoroughly ripe,
it needs no violent plucking? or that, if a man is really a painter, he
_will_ paint,--ay, though he were ten times a shoe-maker, and could
never, never hope to hang;--his pictures on the Academy walls, to win
cheap wonder from boarding-school misses, or just regard from
judicious critics?

Elkanah Brewster came to New York to make his career,--to win nothing
less than fame and fortune. When he had struggled through five years of
Art-study, and was now just beginning to earn a little money, he began
also to think that he had somehow counted his chickens before they were
hatched,--perhaps, indeed, before the eggs were laid. "Good and quickly
come seldom together," said old Uncle Shubael. But then a man who has
courage commonly has also endurance; and Elkanah, ardently pursuing