then. Eleven-pound-two a great deal to me, though not much to a house like the Yawkins's-I'll go down quietly, as if I knew nothing, and draw my balance, that can't hurt them. Go-get there at a quarter before nine-what do I see?-I'll tell you what I see. I see Shrubsole, I see Chickney, I see Stintum, I see [here he recapitulated the whole of the two-and-thirty names he had already mentioned, ending with] and I see Sniggerston; all, with consternation painted on their faces, crowding about the door. Notwithstanding my request that they would not press upon my friend Yawkins, there they all were-and before me, too! What was the consequence? I'll tell you. The consequence

was, the first ten or a dozen that contrived to squeeze in were paid; but that could not last, you know; human nature couldn't stand it: so after paying nearly two hundred pounds-stop! a regular stoppage, Sir. I was at the tail of the crowd; and when I saw the green door closed you might have knocked me down with a feather. However, at the end of two years, although the outstanding claims amounted to nearly a thousand pounds, a dividend was paid of four shillings in the pound: and now, Snargate drives his gig again, old Yawkins rides his cob, and, to the honour of our town be it said, the Little-Pedlington bank is as firm and sound as any in Europe. Never kept cash there since, though; no more bankers for me-eleven-pound-two-the sight of that green door-no, no-one such fright in a man's life is enough. Ahem!" Here he paused.

"But," said I,

you have not told me the point of the story-the cause of Mr. Yawkins's hatred of you, which led you to favour me with these interesting details."

"Dear me no more I have-forgot the point. You must know, then, that he has always declared-mark the black ingratitude!-that if I had not gone running all over Little-Pedlington, frightening his customers by telling them not to be alarmed, and thus causing them to take him by surprise, he needn't have stopped payment-till he thought best."

Here was another pause. Clock struck three.

"Three o'clock, as sure as I'm born!" exclaimed my entertaining acquaintance. "Now who'd have thought that? But, as I said before, time does fly when one is engaged in pleasant conversation. Have not enjoyed so agreeable a morning for a long while. Afraid I've kept you at home, though;-lost ali your morning-eh ?-Ha! there goes Shrubsole. Ahem!-the greatest bore in Little-Pedlington. He'll sit with you for three hours, and not say a word. A man of no conversation.— But you are thinking about something-eh ?"

Hobbleday right. Thinking about Sir Gabriel Gabble, a chattering bore, and Major Mum, a silent bore. One will sit with you tête-à-tête through a long winter's evening, as mute as if he had but just issued from the cave of Trophonius, and (as Jack Bannister said of Dignum) thinks he's thinking; the other will chatter your very head off-his matter compounded of dull trivialities, commonplace remarks, and the most venerable of old-woman's gossip and calls it conversation.— Query 1. Which of the two is the least to be endured? Query 2. Were you to be indicted for that you did accidentally toss them both (or any of the like) out at window, whereby did ensuę "a consummation de

voutly to be wished," would not a jury of any sensible twelve of your › countrymen return a verdict of " Justifiable Bore-icide?"

Hobbleday rose to depart-but didn't. Almost wished he would. Expressed an apprehension that I was trespassing too far upon his patience and good-nature by detaining him. Assured me I didn't in the least. Sorry, indeed, to leave me; but it was near his dinner-time. Slowly drew on one glove, smoothing each finger separately with the other hand. Drew on the other glove with (as the French say) le même jeu. Deliberately took up his hat, looked into the crown of it, and whistled part of a tune. Reiterated his regrets that I didn't play the flute; and repeated his assurance that I should find it a very great comfort. Made a move-(" At last," thought I)—but not towards the door. His move, like a knight's at chess, brought him, by a zigzag, only into another corner. Made the circuit of the room, read all the cards and advertisements that were hanging against the walls, whistling all the time. "Well, now go I must. Sorry to leave you, for the present." Can't account for it; but, on hearing these three words, you might (to use Hobbleday's own expression)-you might have knocked me down with a feather.

"By-the-bye, promised to take you to see my dear friend Rummins's museum on a private day. Can't to-morrow. Thursday, I'm engaged. Let me see;-aye, I'll send you a letter of introduction to him-'twill be the same thing-he'll do anything to oblige me. Now, remember; anything I can do to be agreeable to you whilst you stay in our placecommand me. Sorry our little dinner-party can't take place this time; but when you come again to Little-Pedlington-remember-come you must-positively won't take No for an answer. Everybody knows little Jack Hobbleday,-always willing to always anxious to-good byesee you at Hoppy's public breakfast to-morrow-good-bye."

Really he is an obliging creature; and not to avail myself of his proffered civilities would be an offence. Strolled out-(four o'clock, and the thermometer at 82°)—and found the town deserted. Informed it was the fashionable day for walking to Snapshank Hill to see the view-only nine miles distant. How unfortunate am I that Hobbleday didn't acquaint me with this! for (with a tolerable telescope) one may look back and see the spire of Little-Pedlington church-the chief purpose of the pilgrimage. Approached a window wherein were exhibited several profiles in black, and a notice that "Likenesses are taken in this manner, at only one shilling each, in one minute." There was a

full-length of Hobbleday-no mistaking it-and of Mrs. Shanks, the confectioner; and of Miss Tidmarsh, with her poodle; and of many others, the originals of which I knew not, but all unquestionable likenesses, no doubt; for the works before me were DAUBSON'S. Recollected his "all-but-breathing Grenadier;" recollected, too, Jubb's noble apostrophe to him,

Stand forth, my Daubson, matchless and alone!" and instantly resolved to sit to him for a black profile.

My request to see Mr. Daubson was answered by a little girl, seated at a little table, and employed in preparing the happy canvass destined to receive immortality from the hand of the great artist: in other words,

she was cutting up a sheet of drawing-card into squares of different sizes.

"Mr. Daubson can't possibly be disturbed just yet, Sir," said she, with an air of importance befitting the occasion; "he is particularly engaged with a sitter."

Then," replied I, " I will call again in an hour or two, or to-morrow, or the next day."

But," continued she, (not noticing what I said,)" if you will take a seat, Sir, for half a minute or so, he will see you. The lady has been with him nearly a minute already!"

G

Recollected Daubson's expeditious method of handing down to posterity his mementos of the worthies of his own time-" perpetuating is, I believe, the word I ought to use. And this word reminds me of an untoward circumstance which occurred (not in Little-Pedlington, but at another equally well-known place-Paris) upon the occasion of a Welsh friend requesting me to take him to the studio of the Chevalier G―, (unquestionably the best portrait-painter in France,) whose works he expressed a great desire to see. The name of the party introduced, which was well known, would have been a sufficient passport to the Chevalier, even had it not been countersigned by me, and he was received with flattering attention; the painter himself conducting him through the studio, and carefully exhibiting to him his choicest productions. His portraits were of high merit as works of art, yet I must admit, he had not been fortunate in his originals, who certainly had not furnished his pencil with the most beautiful specimens of the "human face divine.” My friend examined the pictures with great minuteness, but made no remark, although the Chevalier understood English perfectly well. Having completed the voyage autour de la chambre, the painter, whose vanity was scarcely less than his politeness, turned towards his visiter with an evident, and no unnatural, expectation of some complimentary observation. The latter, having given one last and general glance round the room, exclaimed," Monsieur le Chevalier-what devilish infatuation can induce people to desire to perpetuate their d―'d ugly faces !—Monsieur le Chevalier, I wish you good morning."

Resolved that the recollection of this anecdote should not be lost upon me on the present occasion.

In

Ushered into the presence of the great artist. As it usually happens with one's preconceived notions of the personal appearance of eminent people, mine, with respect to Daubson, turned out to be all wrong. the portrait of Michael Angelo you read of the severity and stern vigour of his works; of tenderness, elegance, and delicacy in Raphael's; in Rembrandt's, of his coarseness as well as of his strength; in Vandyck's, of refinement; in all, of intellectual power. But I must own that, in Daubson, I perceived nothing indicative of the creator of the "Grenadier." Were I, however, to attempt to convey by a single word a general notion of his appearance, I should say it is interesting. To descend to particulars:-He is considerably below the middle height; his figure is slim, except towards the lower part of the waistcoat, where it is protuberant; his arms are long, and his knees have a tendency to approach each other; face small, sharp, and pointed; complexion of a bilious hue, the effect, doubtless, of deep study; small grey eyes; bushy, black eyebrows; and head destitute of hair, except at the hinder part,

where the few stragglers are collected and bound together pigtail-wise. Dress-coat of brown fustian; waistcoat, stockings, and smalls, black; silk neckerchief, black; and, I had almost added, black shirt, but that I should hardly be warranted in declaring on this point upon the small specimen exhibited. Manners, language and address, simple and unaffected; and in these you at once recognized the GENIUS.-Having told him, in reply to his question whether I came to be "done," that I had come for that purpose, he (disdaining the jargon common to your London artists, about "Kitcats," and "whole-lengths," and "Bishop's half-lengths," and "three-quarters," and so forth,) came at once to the point, saying

"Do you wish to be taken short-or long, Mister?" Told him I should prefer being taken short.

"Then get up and sit down, if you please, Mister."

Unable to reconcile these seemingly contradictory directions, till he pointed to a narrow, high-backed chair, placed on a platform elevated a few inches above the floor. By the side of the chair was a machine of curious construction, from which proceeded a long wire.-Mounted, and took my seat.

"Now, Mister, please to look at that," said Daubson; at the same time pointing to a Dutch cuckoo-clock which hung in a corner of the room. "Twenty-four minutes and a-half past four. Head stiddy, Mister."

He then slowly drew the wire I have mentioned over my head, and down my nose and chin; and having so done, exclaimed, "There, Mister, now look at the clock-twenty-five minutes and a-half. What do you think of that?"

What could I think, indeed? or what could I do but utter an exclamation of astonishment! In that inconceivably short time had the "great Daubson " produced, in profile, a perfect outline of my bust, with the head thrown back, and the nose interestingly perked up in the air. Such," might Hoppy well exclaim, " such are the wonders of art!" "Now, Mister, while I'm giving the finishing touches to the picture, -that is to say, filling up the outline with Ingy-ink,-I wish you'd just have the goodness to give me your candid opinion of my works here. But no flattery, Mister;-tell me what you really think. I like to be told of my faults; I turn it to account; I improve by it." Looked at the profiles hanging about the room. Said of them, severally, "Beautiful!"-" Charming !"-" Exquisite !"-" Divine !" So, so, Mister," said Daubson, rising, "I've found you out: you

are an artist."

"I assure you, Sir," said I, " you are mistaken. I am sorry I cannot boast of being a member of that distinguished profession."

"You can't deceive me, Mister. Nobody, excepting one of us, can know so much about art as you do. Your opinions are so just, it can't be otherwise. But these are trifles not worth speaking of-though they may be very well in their way, Mister-and though, without vanity, I may say I don't know the man that can beat them. But what think you of my great work- my Grenadier,' Mister? Now, without flattery."

-

Encouraged by praise of my connoisseurship, and from so high a quarter, I talked boldly, as a connoisseur ought to do; not forgetting to

make a liberal use of those terms, by the employment of which one who knows little may acquire a reputation for connoisseurship amongst those who know less and concluding (like the last discharge of rockets at Vauxhall) by letting off all my favourite terms at once-" Mr. Daubson," said I, " I assure you, that for design, composition, drawing, and colour, for middle-distance, foreground, background, chiaro-scuro, tone, fore-shortening, and light and shade,-for breadth, depth, harmony, perspective, pencilling, and finish,—I have seen nothing in Little-Pedlington that would endure a moment's comparison with it."

"Where could you have got your knowledge of art, your fine taste, your sound judgment, if you are not an artist? I wish I could have the advantage of your opinion now and then-so correct in all respectsI am sure I should profit by it, Mister.-Now-there is your portrait: like you as one pea is to another, Mister."

as

"Yes," said I, "it is like; but isn't the head thrown rather too much backwards ?"

Daubson's countenance fell. "Too much backwards! Why, Mister, how would you have the head ?"

"My objection goes simply to this, Mr. Daubson. It seems to me that, by throwing the head into that position"

"Seems to you, Mister! I think I, as a professional artist, ought to know best. But that is the curse of our profession: people come to us, and would teach us what to do."

"You asked me for a candid opinion, Sir; otherwise I should not have presumed to—-—”

"Yes, Mister, I did ask you for a candid opinion; and so long as you talked like a sensible man, I listened to you. But when you talk to a professional man upon a subject he, naturally, must be best acquainted with--Backwards, indeed! I never placed a head better in all my

life!"

Reflecting that Daubson, "as a professional man," must, consequently, be infallible, I withdrew my objection, and changed the subject. "How is it, Sir," said I, " that so eminent an artist as you is not a member of the Royal Academy ?"

"D-n the Royal Academy!" exclaimed he, his yellow face turning blue: "D-n the Royal Academy! they shall never see me amongst such a set. No, Mister; I have thrown down the gauntlet and defied them. When they refused to exhibit my 'Grenadier,' I made up my mind never to send them another work of mine, Mister; never to countenance them in any way: and I have kept my resolution. No, Mister; they repent their treatment of me, but it is too late; Daubson is unappeasable: they may fret their hearts out, but they shall never see a picture of mine again. Why, Mister, it is only last year that a friend of mine-without my knowledge-sent them one of my pictures, and they rejected it. They knew well enough whose it was. But I considered that as the greatest compliment ever paid me,-it showed they were afraid of the competition. D-n 'em! if they did but know how much I despise 'em! I never bestow a thought upon 'em; not I, Mister. But that den must be broken up ;-there will be no high art in England whilst that exists. Intrigue! cabal! It is notorious that they never exhibit any man's pictures unless he happens to have R.A. tacked to his name, It is notorious that they pay five thousand a-year