Chie?y through the solicitations of my father, old Watteau has consented to place Antony with a teacher of painting here. I meet him betimes on the way to his lessons, as I return from Mass; for he still works with the masons, but making the most of late and early hours, of every moment of liberty. And then he has the feast-days, of which there are so many in this old-fashioned place. Ah! Such gifts as his, surely, may once in a way make much industry seem worth while. He makes a wonderful progress. And yet, far from being set-up, and too easily pleased with what, after all, comes to him so easily, he' has, my father thinks, too little self-approval for ultimate suc cess. He is apt, in truth, to fall out too hastily with himself and what he produces. Yet here also there is the golden mean. Yes! I could fancy myself offended by a sort of irony which sometimes crosses the half melancholy sweet ness of manner habitual with him; only that.