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butterfly that symbolized it？ Sweet； doubtless； were these days；
and congenial to the artist's soul。 They were full of bright
conceptions； which gleamed through his intellectual world as the
butterflies gleamed through the outward atmosphere； and were real
to him； for the instant； without the toil； and perplexity； and
many disappointments of attempting to make them visible to the
sensual eye。 Alas that the artist； whether in poetry； or whatever
other material； may not content himself with the inward enjoyment
of the beautiful； but must chase the flitting mystery beyond the
verge of his ethereal domain； and crush its frail being in
seizing it with a material grasp。 Owen Warland felt the impulse
to give external reality to his ideas as irresistibly as any of
the poets or painters who have arrayed the world in a dimmer and
fainter beauty； imperfectly copied from the richness of their
visions。
The night was now his time for the slow progress of re…creating
the one idea to which all his intellectual activity referred
itself。 Always at the approach of dusk he stole into the town；
locked himself within his shop； and wrought with patient delicacy
of touch for many hours。 Sometimes he was startled by the rap of
the watchman； who； when all the world should be asleep； had
caught the gleam of lamplight through the crevices of Owen
Warland's shutters。 Daylight； to the morbid sensibility of his
mind； seemed to have an intrusiveness that interfered with his
pursuits。 On cloudy and inclement days； therefore； he sat with
his head upon his hands； muffling； as it were； his sensitive
brain in a mist of indefinite musings； for it was a relief to
escape from the sharp distinctness with which he was compelled to
shape out his thoughts during his nightly toil。
From one of these fits of torpor he was aroused by the entrance
of Annie Hovenden； who came into the shop with the freedom of a
customer； and also with something of the familiarity of a
childish friend。 She had worn a hole through her silver thimble；
and wanted Owen to repair it。
〃But I don't know whether you will condescend to such a task；〃
said she； laughing； 〃now that you are so taken up with the notion
of putting spirit into machinery。〃
〃Where did you get that idea； Annie？〃 said Owen； starting in
surprise。
〃Oh； out of my own head；〃 answered she； 〃and from something that
I heard you say； long ago； when you were but a boy and I a little
child。 But come； will you mend this poor thimble of mine？〃
〃Anything for your sake； Annie；〃 said Owen Warland；〃anything；
even were it to work at Robert Danforth's forge。〃
〃And that would be a pretty sight！〃 retorted Annie； glancing with
imperceptible slightness at the artist's small and slender frame。
〃Well； here is the thimble。〃
〃But that is a strange idea of yours；〃 said Owen； 〃about the
spiritualization of matter。〃
And then the thought stole into his mind that this young girl
possessed the gift to comprehend him better than all the world
besides。 And what a help and strength would it be to him in his
lonely toil if he could gain the sympathy of the only being whom
he loved！ To persons whose pursuits are insulated from the common
business of lifewho are either in advance of mankind or apart
from itthere often comes a sensation of moral cold that makes
the spirit shiver as if it had reached the frozen solitudes
around the pole。 What the prophet； the poet； the reformer； the
criminal； or any other man with human yearnings； but separated
from the multitude by a peculiar lot； might feel； poor Owen felt。
〃Annie；〃 cried he； growing pale as death at the thought； 〃how
gladly would I tell you the secret of my pursuit！ You； methinks；
would estimate it rightly。 You； I know； would hear it with a
reverence that I must not expect from the harsh； material world。〃
〃Would I not？ to be sure I would！〃 replied Annie Hovenden；
lightly laughing。 〃Come； explain to me quickly what is the
meaning of this little whirligig； so delicately wrought that it
might be a plaything for Queen Mab。 See！ I will put it in
motion。〃
〃Hold！〃 exclaimed Owen； 〃hold！〃
Annie had but given the slightest possible touch； with the point
of a needle； to the same minute portion of complicated machinery
which has been more than once mentioned； when the artist seized
her by the wrist with a force that made her scream aloud。 She was
affrighted at the convulsion of intense rage and anguish that
writhed across his features。 The next instant he let his head
sink upon his hands。
〃Go； Annie；〃 murmured he； 〃I have deceived myself； and must
suffer for it。 I yearned for sympathy； and thought； and fancied；
and dreamed that you might give it me； but you lack the talisman；
Annie； that should admit you into my secrets。 That touch has
undone the toil of months and the thought of a lifetime！ It was
not your fault； Annie； but you have ruined me！〃
Poor Owen Warland！ He had indeed erred； yet pardonably； for if
any human spirit could have sufficiently reverenced the processes
so sacred in his eyes； it must have been a woman's。 Even Annie
Hovenden； possibly might not have disappointed him had she been
enlightened by the deep intelligence of love。
The artist spent the ensuing winter in a way that satisfied any
persons who had hitherto retained a hopeful opinion of him that
he was； in truth； irrevocably doomed to unutility as regarded the
world； and to an evil destiny on his own part。 The decease of a
relative had put him in possession of a small inheritance。 Thus
freed from the necessity of toil； and having lost the steadfast
influence of a great purpose；great； at least； to him；he
abandoned himself to habits from which it might have been
supposed the mere delicacy of his organization would have availed
to secure him。 But when the ethereal portion of a man of genius
is obscured the earthly part assumes an influence the more
uncontrollable； because the character is now thrown off the
balance to which Providence had so nicely adjusted it； and which；
in coarser natures； is adjusted by some other method。 Owen
Warland made proof of whatever show of bliss may be found in
riot。 He looked at the world through the golden medium of wine；
and contemplated the visions that bubble up so gayly around the
brim of the glass； and that people the air with shapes of
pleasant madness； which so soon grow ghostly and forlorn。 Even
when this dismal and inevitable change had taken place； the young
man might still have continued to quaff the cup of enchantments；
though its vapor did but shroud life in gloom and fill the gloom
with spectres that mocked at him。 There was a certain irksomeness
of spirit； which； being real； and the deepest sensation of which
the artist was now conscious； was more intolerable than any
fantastic miseries and horrors that the abuse of wine could
summon up。 In the latter case he could remember； even out of the
midst of his trouble； t