Century of Danish Proverbs, 58, 81. Charts, Explanations of Wind and Current, 64. Chauncy Manor, Three Junes at, 342. Chronicles of Wolfert's Roost, 317. Cogitations of Mrs. Clarinda Singlehart, 12, 65, College-Education and Self-Education, 62. Hand-Gallop amongst the Epigrammatists, 299, Harry Coverdale's Courtship, 31, 88, 166, 241, History and Poetry of Finger Rings, 311. Irish Brigade, History of the, 190. Irving, Edward, a Biography, 126. Isvoshtshik of St. Petersburg, 303. Jane Eyre, A few Words about, 339. Things as they are in America, 62. College-Education and Self-Education, 62. Bopp's Comparative Grammar, 62. Bees, their Habits, Management, &c., 62. Clinton's Literary Remains, 63. Monumental History of Egypt, 63. Rhine, The, Monumental and Picturesque, 125. Edward Irving, a Biography, 126. Thoughts and Apophthegms, 126. Boy's Adventure in Australia, 127. History of City of Dublin, 128. Month in Camp before Sebastopol, 189. Narrative of Searching Expeditions for Sir Lives of the Princesses of England from the Our Heroes on the Crimea, 377. An Inquiry into the Truth of the Accusations made against the Marquis of Clanricarde, 377. Memoirs of the Court and Cabinets of George the Third, from Original and Family Docu- Out-doors of Idlewild; or, The Shaping of a Home on the Banks of the Hudson, 378. Tales and Sketches of New England Life, 378. The Society of Antiquaries, its Present Condition The Illustrated Book of French Songs, from the Sixteenth to the Nineteenth Century, 379. Introduction to the Study of Jurisprudence, 379. The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern, 380. A Tar of the Last War; being the Services and Anecdotes of Sir C. Richardson, K.C.B., 380. Missions in South India, 317. Month before Sebastopol, 189. Mount Arguiel Castle and William Prynne, 160. Mountains and Molehills, 317. More than I deserved, 257. My Courtship and its Consequences, 317. My First Love, 139. My Street, 372. Old Plague Pits of London, 73. Ostyacks, a Wandering Tribe of Siberia, 261. Palace, Park, and Boulevards of Brussels, 293. Proverbs, Century of Danish, 58, 81. Remains, Clinton's Literary, 63. Rhine, Monumental and Picturesque, 125. Rings, History and Poetry of Finger, 311. Road across the Plains of Waterloo, 109. St. Petersburg, Isvoshtshik of, 303. Singlehart, Cogitations of Mrs. Clarinda, 12, 65, Sketches, Legal and Political, 191. Smithy, A Tale from the, 174, 205. Street, My, 372. Tale, A, and a Confession, 257. Tale from the Smithy, 174, 205. Talk about Newspapers, 110. Three Junes at Chauncy Manor, 342. Traditions, Jewish, 10. William III., Gleanings of Frederick, 54. Words, A few, about "Jane Eyre," 339. SHARPE'S LONDON MAGAZINE. MEMOIR OF ADRIAN BRAUWER. In a small shop in the town of Oudenard, near Ghent, sat a young woman, busily employed at embroidery, while a little boy, about ten years old, was placing some painted patterns in the window. Two country women entered, one of whom, addressing herself to the embroiderer, said, "Good morning, Madame Brauwer; I have brought my cousin Cretlé, who is going to be married, and she wants you to work her a wedding cap in your newest and prettiest pattern." "Adrian," said the young woman, your last bunch of pinks." "show "Here it is, mamma," said the child, presenting a sheet of paper, on which was drawn a very beautiful bunch of pinks, exactly resembling a variegated plant of the same flower which grew in a flower-pot on the table. "Oh, how well that is done!" exclaimed the two women, looking alternately at the model and the copy; "how very well it is done! Yes, Madame Brauwer, we like this pattern; work it as soon as you can; here is the muslin, and when you send this one home we will order another." The two women then took leave of Madame Brauwer and her little boy, and left the shop. "This will enable me to pay my rent," said the embroiderer, as she basted the muslin on the pattern. "Come, Adrian, cheer up my boy! invent some other pattern for this good woman's second cap." "It is easy to say invent, mamma," said the child; "but I am a bad inventor, I can do nothing well; and besides, how can any one succeed who is not taught?" "Do nothing well, my child! your patterns are all beautiful," said his mother, with ma VOL. VI. N. S. 66 Yes, mamma, you can; give me no soup for dinner, no butter for breakfast; in summer I can do without shoes-let me go barefooted-deprive me of everything, but give me a master." "My poor child, I fear I shall be obliged to deprive you of all those things as it is; for though I work hard, even beyond my strength, I cannot make both ends meet. When your father lived he was able to make a comfortable subsistence by designing for tapestry, but his long illness prevented his being able to leave us anything but debts; a paralytic stroke deprived him of the use of his right hand; he then endeavoured to draw with his left, but he could not succeed; besides which his mind became weakened; and he lost the power of invention. What more can I say to you, my son? He is now dead, and I have only you left to me in the world; do not be discouraged, I beg of you; patterns for B country women's caps are not difficult-besides, they are good creatures, and easily pleased. Work then, my beloved Adrian. Stay, draw me a bird for our neighbour, Madame Fritz's cap; try to draw her own, which is in the opposite window. Such a little mark of attention may please her, and perhaps induce her to pay me better than she did for the last: tell me, will you do it?" "I am willing enough," said Adrian, sorrowfully; and placing his little deal table before the window, he sat down, cut his pencil, prepared his sheet of paper, and commenced looking out into the street. "Well, you are not working," said his mother, after a short silence. "I am thinking of something that grieves me, and proves the truth of what I told you just now, mamma-about the poorness of my drawings; you must have remarked, as well as I, that wherever there are things displayed in shop windows, people collect to look at them; well, I have invented patterns, and exhibited them in the window, and yet not one single person has ever stopped to look at them." "All in good time, my child; all in good time." "Yes; but when will that time come?" "Put your trust in God, my dear, and He will never forsake you." "I pray to Him every morning, mamma; I pray that He will make one single being-let it be man, woman, or child-stop to look at my drawings; but it is all in vain: one would think that every person combined to pass this miserable window without even deigning to look at it! Oh! I am very unfortunate! If I could have only one person while others have so many. . . ." At that moment he stopped, as if something extraordinary had occurred to arrest his attention; and his mother, who had watched him with true maternal affection, saw him with open mouth and fixed eyes gazing with breathless anxiety through the casement. The emotion of Adrian was occasioned by a dark figure opposite the window; it would be difficult to describe the excess of joy which animated the mind of the poor little artist, when he at length beheld a person stopping to look at his work. He was a large, grave-looking man, with an expression of low cunning in his countenance; his clothes, though clean, were nearly threadbare, and his shoes appeared to be strangers to the blacking-brush; but these were unimportant matters; he was looking at the drawings, and Adrian thought him quite handsome, and felt sure that he must be good: he could have thrown his arms round his neck and thanked him for his kindness; but though his tongue was silent, his eyes expressed the gratitude of his heart, and he anxiously watched every movement, every shade in the countenance of the stranger, who appeared at one time as if he was about to enter the shop, then changing his mind he passed on, and the eyes and heart of Adrian followed him until he turned the corner of the streef; he then returned mournfully to his scat. "Do you know that man?" said Madame Brauwer, who had watched all the varied emotions of her son. "No, mamma; but it is all the same, I love him. Did you remark how attentively he looked at my drawings? He smiled-I saw him smile. Oh, how hard I will work today, that he may see a better and a prettier one to-morrow!" "Are you sure that he will come again tomorrow?" said his mother, who felt unwilling to encourage hopes which might be disappointed. "Oh, if he does not come!" said the child, with all the ardour of youth and inexperience; "if it was only by chance that he stopped, and that he looked without seeing anything, as I sometimes do myself; oh! I shall be very sorry! But he will come, mamma; let me believe that he will, that I may be able to work." Madame Brauwer made no reply; it would have grieved her to quench the hopes of her son; but the next day the heart of both mother and son beat at the sound of every footstep that approached the door. On that morning, by a feeling which it would have been difficult for Adrian to explain, he dressed himself with peculiar care, and had at least four or five times brushed and arranged his fine, fair hair. Then, having fixed the drawing which he had finished the preceding evening (and which represented two birds upon the branch of a tree) in the most conspicuous part of the window, he sat down to his little table, and with his pencil in his hand, his paper before him, he appeared to work, but was in reality intently watching for the stranger of the preceding day. I cannot tell you with what feelings the young artist at length heard the slow, heavy step of his unknown friend; his cheeks flushed to the deepest red, he was unable to speak, and could only make a sign to his mother; while his eyes, in which his whole soul seemed |