of golden ornaments. If an artist wishes to
establish a great reputation among the soldiery,
the best thing he can do is to ornament each of
his patrons as he would a field-marshal. They
rarely patronise the photographer, perhaps
because his works are too truthful. The soldier
having listened to the merits of different artists,
selects the one whom he will patronise, and in
full dress pays him an official visit. The painter
receives him with every sign of high consideration,
draws from a folio a lithograph, which he
hides carefully from the eyes of his patron  —  a
lancer, if the man be a lancer; or a cuirassier, if
the man be a cuirassier. He poses his subject
in a graceful position, answering to that of the
figure in the lithograph, and proceeds then to fill
in the colours. The consequence is, that if fifty
dragoons have their portraits painted, the fifty
will all be in one attitude. If, however, there
be twenty blonds, twenty will resemble one
another as peas do peas, and all the dark ones
will appear to the inexperienced eye a band of
brothers. But as the shepherd learns the
physiognomy of sheep, so it is that amongst
themselves the men will select the portrait of any
man in particular, although the pictures are ail
printed from one stone. For, in each picture
there is some distinctive mark. One man will
insist upon having a cigar in his mouth: the
artist is obliged to comply with his wishes —
another wants his sword out of the sheath, in
his right hand. This is rather an awkward job,
for the hero of the lithography has already a
sword by his side; however, to oblige a customer
, it must be managed. A knife erases the
hilt over the scabbard, and a drawn sword is
represented in the hero's hand. When this is
done, the man certainly generally looks as if he
were violating all the laws of war, and offering
his sword for sale! He seems to say to the
spectator, " It is yours for twopence." Another
man not approving of the scarlet tint of his
trousers, suggests that they should be painted
pink; another, that his coat should be changed
from dark olive to a bright emerald green, or
from Prussian blue to ultra-marine. In all cases
the artist is most amiable; and if he gets but
his twenty sous, offers his customers a choice of
all the colours of the rainbow. Actually, then,
these pictures, if they do not give the physical
proportions of each subject, generally represents
some idiosyncrasy which marks the original.
Grosjean, desiring to be handsomely painted,
rigged himself out in gala dress, twisted his
moustache into wiry " crocs," and wended his
way through Versailles to the artists studio. If,
as he ascended the grand staircase of polished
oak, he had any doubts whether a painter living
in such a mansion would do him a portrait for a
franc, the fact of my having given him the
address would have sufficed to reassure him;
for, to a good French soldier, his captain is
infallible. The captain of a troop serves to his
soldiers in lieu of father, mother, banker, friend,
and often spiritual adviser. If the captain says a
thing is so or so, that settles it.

Grosjean pulled the bell-rope on the first
landing, and, with a patronising air, asked a
gentleman who opened the door, for M. Horace
Vernet?

"Yes, my friend, it is here."   " Is he at
home?"   "Yes, I am he."   "Oh! do you make
pictures?"   " Sometimes, my friend."   " How
much do you ask for a portrait?"   " A portrait?
What do you want with a portrait, my friend?"
"That's my affair. I'll pay for it."   " Oh! who
recommended you to me?"   " Why, I have
heard of your talents, and —   I thought you might
as well do it as anybody else."   " Thank you.
Come in, mon ami. Do you know my charges —
or thereabouts?"   " Yes. I suppose fifteen or
twenty sous —   that is, with lots of gold ornament,
twenty sous, eh?"   " Hum!"

Vernet, with a good-natured smile on his face,
showed the dragoon into his studio, where was
his grand picture of the "Taking of the Smahla
of Abd-el-Kader," finished on an easel.

"Twenty sous? that's very little, my friend!"
"The usual price, I believe."   " Not with lots
of gold ornament?"   " Oh yes, I've seen some
you've done for other fellows."   " Have you
now?"   " Yes; now, monsieur, I don't like
bargaining; I see by this picture that you paint
well. Will you do 'it for twenty sous, gold and
all?"   " Make it twenty-five."   " No, twenty."
"How do you want it done?"   " Full dress, as
lam."   "With the helmet on?"   "Of course."
"Then it's impossible! Not under twenty-
five."   "Why?"   "Why? just think, mon
ami, that red horse-hair tail on your helmet
would take at least five sous' worth of ver-
milion  —  and vermilion has risen in price."
"Well, I don't so much care about the helmet;
but you'll do the spurs in gold?"   " Yes; the
spurs."   "And a gold hilt to the sword?"
"Also."   " Very well, monsieur, consider it as
an order; shall I pay you anything in advance?"
"Oh, by no means. See whether you like your
picture first, and if you don't I'll do you
another."   "Oh, very well; but I forgot to tell
you, don't put me in the same position as all the
other fellows. Draw me something like this!
As if I were leading on to an attack."   " But
that will cost more."   " Why?"   " Because
there is more work, and it will take more paint.
You see, when your sword is in its scabbard,
it is only one thing to paint  —  only the hilt and
the sheath; but when you draw your sword, I
must paint the hilt, the scabbard, and the
blade."   " Well, there's something in that; but
look here, never mind that, I'll give you twenty-
two sous. There!"   " It is a bargain, then,"
said Vernet; " come the day after to-morrow.'*
"Why not do me now?"   "Oh! for twenty-
two sous I want to do you somewhat stylish,
and I must get some new colours."   " Very
well; don't do it like that chasseur d'Afrique in
the big picture here; the colours are so dull.
There's no brilliancy in them  —  there is a
something wanting."   " Yes, yes, no doubt; that's
a cheap picture I've done for the Museum
here."

Horace Vernet, relating this part of the adventure,
says he never enjoyed an order so much