the mind of the artist was rendered more apt (because more calm) to comprehend and appreciate them. But, besides the attractions afforded by the quiet retirement of the villa, Verocchio had one yet greater in presence of his only child, his daughter Angela, who, since the age. of two years, when she lost her mother, had been confided to the care of a great-aunt, Donna Placida by name.

The Villa Verocchio, though situated in a retired spot, was yet not quite secluded, the village of F, with its little church, being but some few hundred yards off; and at the distance of half a mile was the residence of the protonotary, Pietro da Vinci, a man of easy fortune. but narrow mind, in which deficiency lay the true reason why he and his neighbour Verocchio had never become intimate. Still there existed a strong link between the houses. When the artist first took possession of his new property, the little Angela was about four years old, and already wore the serious thoughtful expression natural to all children who have no companion of their own age. Many weeks, however, had not elapsed, before a friendship arose between her and a ruddy dark-haired boy of six or

seven, who came and played with her at the bottom of the garden, where a large hole in the hedge favoured his ingress, for many days before his visits were discovered. This was Pietro da Vinci's son, a child of such noble bearing and generous countenance, that Verocchio suffered him as a visitor and companion to his daughter, not sorry that she should have a playfellow who would wile away her precocious gravity. Farther than this, however, Verocchio did not trouble himself concerning Angela; internally she was his idol, his treasure: but he seldom testified these feelings; he took too large a view of affection to be able to adapt it to the sympathies of a timid child; and attributing the evident shyness which she evinced towards him to the whims of infancy, the father looked forward impatiently to the time when his daughter could participate in his feelings, and enter fully into the lofty schemes which the artist's ambition depicted to him. Verocchio's character was strongly tinged with ambition; had he had less, it is probable he would have been a greater artist; but, as it was, his love of art, and even his love of Angela, were second to his ambition, and made subservient to it. Angela, therefore, regarded her father with

more fear than love; she had remembered seeing him once very angry, and the impression then made was lasting; even when he kissed her and smiled, she trembled under the caress. Her great-aunt Placida scolded and coaxed by turns; but she had no partiality for children, and usually sent Angela to play by herself upon all occasions when she could do so without giving further trouble. Thus Angela hardly knew what affection was, until, of a sudden, new life dawned upon the child by the appearance of young Da Vinci. Every thing tended towards the attachment of the two children; they were unconsciously very similarly situated, and both their hearts now found mutual sympathy for the first time. The young Da Vinci had lost his mother while yet an infant, and he had now a step-mother at home, whom he loved no better than Angela did Donna Placida. Pietro da Vinci took no pains to study his son's character, and continually complained that he could not understand the child; in the like ignorance he often blamed when he should have praised, and the boy dreaded his home so much, that whenever it was possible he wandered out for hours together, sometimes to great distances, without caring

whither he went. It was in one of these excursions that he met Angela.

Six years had elapsed since that happy day; Angela was in her eleventh year, her friend some two years older; and if the time we have mentioned had worked some change in both, it had certainly altered their affection to one another in no way. They both loved each other as beings who possessed no other friends they could love with the same ardour; they both felt lonely in the world; what wonder, then, that their happiness arose solely from their mutual affection? it was so innocent, so natural, so free from selfishness. It gave, however, no satisfaction to any one else, except, perhaps, to Donna Placida, who could daily take her siesta without any fears about Angela, while her companion was there to roam about with her. Verocchio, indeed, began to hint to his aunt the expediency of breaking off the intimacy with the boy Da Vinci, now that Angela was of an age to be the companion more or less of the Signora Placida; but this suggestion was not much relished, the dame rightly foreseeing it would cost her some trouble to enforce the companionship, and as her nephew came generally but once

a week to the villa, she did not pay much regard to his directions. Thus days and weeks rolled on, and the two children's hearts grew insensibly together, entwined round about with the strong bands of childish sympathy.

Among the shady bosquets most carefully preserved and tended in Verocchio's garden, was one which had ever been a favourite with the children. It was planted round with the lovely oleander, amongst whose branches the climbing honeysuckle, jessamine, and clematis each strove for place, loading the pure air with their sweet perfume. High above, rose a stately group of the dark stone-pine, forming a striking contrast to the soft yellow-green acacia and spreading lime. The foliage of these various trees was so amalgamated and entwined together, that it formed an almost impenetrable shield against the searching sun-beams, while yet a soft glow of warmth was felt beneath,-the influence of the sun without its oppressive heat. In the centre rose a tiny, sparkling stream, for which a marble basin, roughly shaped as a shell, had been constructed years before. In this spot were the first violets and primroses to be