otch, and make this too heavy and that too light, and produce
at last a base caricature. I must stick to the flageolet, for music is
the only one of the fine arts which deigns to acknowledge me.

'Did you know that Colonel Mannering was a draughtsman? I believe not,
for he scorned to display his accomplishments to the view of a subaltern.
He draws beautifully, however. Since he and Julia left Mervyn Hall,
Dudley was sent for there. The squire, it seems, wanted a set of drawings
made up, of which Mannering had done the first four, but was interrupted
by his hasty departure in his purpose of completing them. Dudley says he
has seldom seen anything so masterly, though slight; and each had
attached to it a short poetical description. Is Saul, you will say, among
the prophets? Colonel Mannering write poetry! Why, surely this man must
have taken all the pains to conceal his accomplishments that others do to
display theirs. How reserved and unsociable he appeared among us! how
little disposed to enter into any conversation which could become
generally interesting! And then his attachment to that unworthy Archer,
so much below him in every respect; and all this because he was the
brother of Viscount Archerfield, a poor Scottish peer! I think, if Archer
had longer survived the wounds in the affair of Cuddyboram, he would have
told something that might have thrown light upon the inconsistencies of
this singular man's character. He repeated to me more than once, "I have
that to say which will alter your hard opinion of our late Colonel." But
death pressed him too hard; and if he owed me any atonement, which some
of his expressions seemed to imply, he died before it could be made.

'I propose to make a further excursion through this country while this
fine frosty weather serves, and Dudley, almost as good a walker as
myself, goes with me for some part of the way. We part on the borders of
Cumberland, when he must return to his lodgings in Marybone, up three
pair of stairs, and labour at what he calls the commercial part of his
profession. There cannot, he says, be such a difference betwixt any two
portions of existence as between that in which the artist, if an
enthusiast, collects the subjects of his drawings and that which must
necessarily be dedicated to turning over his portfolio and exhibiting
them to the provoking indifference, or more provoking criticism, of
fashionable amateurs. "During the summer of my year," says Dudley, "