desperation upon his condition. His conscience seemed to tell him that he had deserved his afflictions, and drawn them upon himself, by his want of due gratitude for past favors from heaven. His heart, all at once, seemed filled with the hope that God would listen to his prayers, if he would offer up his direct expressions of penitence, and ask for divine aid. He accordingly locked his door, withdrew to a corner of the room, threw himself upon his knees, and prayed for a loaf of bread for himself and his wife. While thus employed, a knock was heard at the door. A feeling of momentary shame at being detected in this position, and a feeling of fear lest he might have been observed, induced him to hasten and open the door. A stranger inquired for Mr. Allston. He was anxious to learn who was the fortunate purchaser of the painting of "Angel Uriel," regarded by the artist as one of his masterpieces, and which had won the prize at the exhibition of the Academy. He was told that it had not been sold. "Can it be possible? Not sold! Where is it to be had?" "In this very room. Here it is," producing the painting from a corner, and wiping off the dust. "It is for sale—but its value has never yet, to my idea of its worth, been adequately appreciated—and I would not part with it." "What is its price?" "I have done affixing any nominal sum. I have always, so far, exceeded my offers. I leave it for you to name the price." "Will four hundred pounds be an adequate
