together after him and his disciples. I looked
at his works and theirs; and, vain as I was,
my practical common sense told me that my
occupation as a caricaturist was gone. The
new men had cast down broad farce under
their feet, and had set up genteel comedy
instead. I felt that I might feebly imitate,
but that I could never successfully rival them;
and I said to myself: " This scene in the
drama of your life, my friend, has closed in;
you must enter on another, or drop the
curtain at once." Of course I entered on
another.

I went to call on an artist-friend of my
free-and-easy days. I had heard it darkly
whispered that he was something of a
vagabond. But the term is so loosely applied,
and it seems so difficult, after all, to define
what a vagabond is, or to strike the right
moral balance between the vagabond work
which is boldly published, and the vagabond
work which is reserved for private circulation
only, that I did not feel justified in holding
aloof from my former friend; especially as I
expected him, so far as advice went, to be of
some assistance to me. Accordingly, I
renewed our acquaintance, and told him my
present difficulty. He was a sharp man, and
he showed me a way out of it directly.

"You have a good eye for a likeness,"
he said; " and you have made it keep you
hitherto. Very well. Make it keep you still.
You can't profitably caricature people's faces
any longer—never mind! go to the other
extreme, and flatter them now. Turn portrait-
painter. You shall have the use of this study
three days in the week, for ten shillings a-
week—sleeping on the hearth-rug included,
if you like. Get your paints, rouse up your
friends, set to work at once. Drawing is of
no consequence; painting is of no
consequence; perspective is of no consequence;
ideas are of no consequence. Everything is
of no consequence, except catching a likeness
and flattering your sitter—and that you know
you can do."

I felt that I could; and left him for the
nearest colourman's.

Before I got to the shop, I met Mr.
Batterbury, doing his four miles an hour. He
stopped, shook hands with me affectionately,
and asked where I was going. A wonderful
idea suddenly struck me. Instead of
answering his question, I asked after Lady
Malkinshaw.

"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Batterbury;
"her ladyship tumbled downstairs yesterday
morning."

"My dear sir, allow me to congratulate
you," said I.

"Most fortunately," continued Mr. Batterbury,
with a strong emphasis on the words,
and a fixed stare at me; " most fortunately,
the servant had been careless enough to leave
a large bundle of clothes for the wash at the
foot of the stairs, while she went to answer
the door. Falling headlong from the landing,
her ladyship pitched (pardon me the expression)
—pitched into the very middle of the
bundle. She was a little shaken at the time,
but is reported to be going on charmingly
this morning. Most fortunate, was it not ?
Seen the papers ? Awful news from Demerara
—the yellow fever——"

"I wish I was at Demerara! " said I, in a
hollow voice.

"You! Why ? " exclaimed Mr. Batterbury,
aghast.

" I am homeless, friendless, penniless," I
went on, getting more hollow at every word.
"All my intellectual instincts tell me that I
could retrieve my position and live respectably
in the world, if I might only try my
hand at portrait-painting—the thing of all
others that I am naturally fittest for. But I
have nobody to start me; no sitter to give
me a first chance; nothing in my pocket but
three-and-sixpence; and nothing in my mind
but a doubt whether I shall struggle on a
little longer, or end it immediately in the
Thames. Don't let me detain you from your
walk, my dear sir. Those are the reasons why
I wish I was at Demerara."

"Stop! " cried Mr. Batterbury; his
mahogany face actually getting white with
alarm. " Stop! Don't talk in that dreadfully
unprincipled manner—don't, I implore,
I insist! You have plenty of friends—you
have me, and your sister. Take to portrait-
painting—think of your family, and take to
portrait-painting!"

"Where am I to get a sitter? " I inquired,
with a gloomy shake of the head.

"Me," said Mr. Batterbury, with an effort.
"I'll be your first sitter. As a beginner,
and especially to a member of the family, I
suppose your terms will be moderate. Small
beginnings—you know the proverb? " Here
he stopped; and a miserly leer puckered up
his mahogany cheeks.

"I'll do you, life-size, down to your waistcoat,
for fifty pounds," said I.

Mr. Batterbury winced, and looked about
him to the right and left, as if he wanted to
run away. He had five thousand a-year, but
he contrived to look, at that moment, as if
his utmost income was five hundred. I
walked on a few steps.

"Surely those terms are rather high to
begin with? " he said, walking after me.
"I should have thought five-and-thirty, or
perhaps forty——"

"A gentleman, sir, cannot condescend to
bargain," said I, with mournful dignity.
"Farewell! " I waved my hand, and crossed
over the way.

"Don't do that! " cried Mr. Batterbury.
" I accept. Give me your address. I'll come
to-morrow. Will it include the frame ?
There! there! it doesn't include the frame,
of course. Where are you going now ? To
the colourman ? He doesn't live in the
Strand, I hope—or near one of the bridges.
Think of Annabella, think of the family,