time I became, in an anonymous way, one
of the young buccaneers of British
Caricature; cruising about here there and
everywhere, at all my intervals of spare
time, for any prize in the shape of a subject
which it was possible to pick up. Little
did my highly-connected mother think that,
among the coloured prints in the shop-window,
which disrespectfully illustrated the
public and private proceedings of distinguished
individuals, certain specimens bearing the
classic signature of "Thersites junior," were
produced from designs furnished by her
studious and medical son. Little did my
respectable father imagine when, with great
difficulty and vexation, he succeeded in
getting me now and then smuggled, along
with himself, inside the pale of fashionable
society,—that he was helping me to study
likenesses which were destined under my
reckless treatment to make the public laugh
at some of his most august patrons, and to
fill the pockets of his son with professional
fees, never once dreamed of in his
phiosophy.

For more than a year I managed,
unsuspected, to keep the Privy Purse fairly
supplied by the exercise of my caricaturing
abilities. But the day of detection was to
come. Whether my medical friend's
admiration of my satirical sketches led him into
talking about them in public with too
little reserve; or whether the servants at
home found private means of watching me in
my moments of Art-study, I know not: but
that some one betrayed me, and that the
discovery of my illicit manufacture of caricatures
was actually communicated even to the
grandmotherly head and fount of the family
honour, is a most certain and lamentable
matter of fact. One morning my father
received a letter from Lady Malkinshaw
herself, informing him, in a handwriting crooked
with poignant grief, and blotted at every
third word by the violence of virtuous
indignation, that "Thersites junior," was his
own son, and that, in one of the last of
the "ribald's" caricatures her own
venerable features were unmistakeably
represented as belonging to the body of a large
owl!

Of course, I laid my hand on my heart and
indignantly denied everything. Useless. My
original model for the owl had got proofs of my
guilt that were not to be resisted. The doctor,
ordinarily the most mellifluous and self-
possessed of men, flew into a violent, roaring,
cursing passion, on this occasion—declared
that I was imperilling the honour and standing
of the family—insisted on my never drawing
another caricature, either for public or
private purposes, as long as I lived; and ordered
me to go forthwith and ask pardon of Lady
Malkinshaw in the humblest terms that it
was possible to select. I answered dutifully
that I was quite ready to obey, on the condition
that he should reimburse me by a
trebled allowance for what I should lose by
giving up the Art of Caricature, or, that Lady
Malkinshaw should confer on me the appointment
of physician in waiting on her with a
handsome salary attached. These extremely
moderate stipulations so increased my father's
anger, that he asserted, with an unmentionably
vulgar oath, his resolution to turn me out of
doors if I did not do as he bid me, without
daring to hint at any conditions whatsoever.
I bowed, and said, that I would save him the
exertion of turning me out of doors, by going
of my own accord. He shook his fist at me;
after which, it obviously became my duty, as a
member of a gentlemanly and peaceful profession,
to leave the room. The same evening I
left the house, and I have never once given
the clumsy and expensive footman the
trouble of answering the door to me since
that time.

I have reason to believe that my exodus
from home was, on the whole, favourably
viewed by my mother, as tending to remove
any possibility of my bad character and
conduct interfering with my sister's advancement
in life. By dint of angling with great
dexterity and patience, under the direction
of both her parents, my handsome sister
Annabella had succeeded in catching an
eligible husband, in the shape of a wizen,
miserly, mahogany- coloured man, turned
fifty, who had made a fortune in the West
Indies. His name was Batterbury; he had
been dried up under a tropical sun, so as to
look as if he would keep for ages; he had
two subjects of conversation, the yellow fever
and the advantage of walking exercise: and
he was barbarian enough to take a violent
dislike to me. He had proved a very delicate
fish to hook; and, even when Annabella had
caught him, my father and mother had great
difficulty in landing him—principally, they
were good enough to say, in consequence of
my presence on the scene. Hence the decided
advantage of my removal from home. It is
a very pleasant reflection to me, now, to
remember how disinterestedly I studied the
good of my family in those early days.

Abandoned entirely to my own resources,
I naturally returned to my business of
caricaturing with renewed ardour. About this
time, Thersites Junior really began to make
something like a reputation, and to walk
abroad habitually with a bank-note comfortably
lodged among the other papers in his
pocket-book. For a year I lived a gay and
glorious life in some of the freest society in
London; at the end of that time, my tradesmen,
without any provocation on my part,
sent in their bills. I found myself in the
very absurd position of having no money to
pay them, and told them all so with the
frankness which is one of the best sides of
my character. They received my advances
towards a better understanding with brutal
incivility, and treated me soon afterwards
with a want of confidence which I may