76 Foachim the Mimic.

am fond of beauty.” And the Mother placed the
book in his hands, pointing to a blank page.

Joachim took a pencil, and fatdown. Now he
thought he fhould be able to pleafe his Mother ;
but, alas, he found to his furprife, that the fine
faces he tried to recall had not left that vivid im-
preffion on his brain which enabled him to repre-
fent them. On the contrary, he was tormented
and baffled by vifions of the odd forms and gro-
tefque countenances he had fo often pictured.
He {feized the indian-rubber and rubbed out nofe
after nofe to no purpofe, for he never could replace
them with a better. Drawing was his favourite
amufement ; and this difappointment, where he
expected fuccefs, broke down his already deprefled
heart. He threw the book from him, and burft
into a flood of tears.

“ Joachim ! have you drawn him? What
makes you cry ?”

“ T cannot draw him, Mother,” fobbed the dif-
trefled boy. |

“© And why not? Juft look here ; here is an
admirable likenefs of {quinting Joe, as you have
named him. Why cannot you draw the hand-
fome boy ?”

‘© Becaufe his face is fo handfome !” anfwered
Joachim, ftill fobbing.

‘© My fon,” faid his Mother gravely, ‘‘ you have
now a fad leffon to learn, but a neceflary and a
wholefome one. Get up, defift from crying, and
liften to me.”