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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 place— command 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.

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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.

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"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!".

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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.

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. In 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,

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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

66 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."

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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."

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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, IÍ 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."

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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: as like you as one pea is to another, Mister."

"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 ?"

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'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 toto—"

"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

to the Times' for praising their works and not noticing mine. D-n 'em! what a thorough contempt I feel for 'em! I can imagine them at their dinners, which cost them thousands a-year ;-there they are, Phillips, and Shee, and Pickersgill, and Wilkie, laying their heads together to oppose me! But which of them can paint a Grenadier?' D-n 'em! they are one mass of envy and uncharitableness, that I can tell you, Mister."

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Happily, Mr. Daubson," said I, "those vices scarcely exist in Little-Pedlington."

"Unheard of, Mister. I don't envy them-I envy no man-on the contrary, I'm always ready to lend a hand to push on any rising talent that comes forward;-though, to be sure, I'll allow no man to take profiles in Little-Pedlington whilst I live. That's self-preservation. But they! they'd destroy me if they could. But, bad as some of them are, the worst are those envious fellows, Turner and Stanfield. They have done their utmost to crush me, but they have not succeeded. Why, Mister, last summer I began to do a little in the landscape way. No sooner were my views of the Crescent and of Little-Pedlington Church mentioned in our newspaper, than down comes a man from London with a camera-obscura to oppose me! Who was at the bottom of that? Who sent him? Why, they did, to be sure. The envious- ! But I didn't rest till I got him out of the town; so that scheme failed. No, no, Mister; they'll not get me amongst them in their d―d Academy,— at least, not whilst they go on in their present style. But let them look to it ;-let them take care how they treat me for the future ;-let them do their duty by me-they know what I mean-or they may bring the 'Little-Pedlingtom Weekly Observer' about their ears. For my own part I never condescend to bestow a thought upon them! D-n 'em! if they did but know the contempt I feel for them!"

Here another sitter was announced; so I received my portrait from the hands of the great artist, paid my shilling, and departed. "So then," thought I, "genius, even a Daubson's, is not secure from the effects of envy and persecution (real or imaginary) even in Little-Pedlington!"

Six o'clock.-Returned to mine inn. In the course of the evening received a note from Hobbleday, inclosing sealed letters to Rummins and Jubb.

"Dear Sir,-Sorry cannot have pleasure of accompanying you to my dear friend Rummins, neither to my worthy friend Jubb. Send letters of introduction,-spoke in warmest terms,-all you can desire. Sorry shan't see you to dine with me this time,-next time you must,-no denial. Believe me, my dear Sir, your most truly affectionate friend, "JOHN HOBBLEDAY.

"P.S. Do think of my advice about flute,-do turn your mind to it —will find it a great comfort."

Will not believe otherwise than that Hobbleday is a warm-hearted, sincere little fellow.

To-morrow to Hoppy's public breakfast, where I shall meet all the beauty and fashion of Little-Pedlington. Afterwards with my letters to Rummins and Jubb. With such warm introductions from their friend Hobbleday what a reception do I anticipate!

(To be continued.)


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