e overwhelmed with portrait work, but most of it is connected with
defunct people, for we cannot induce our patrons to believe that a
living person is a fit subject for our brush. And so it often happens
that we are summoned from our homes, doctor-like, at all hours of the
night, to hasten to the house of a moribund, for the purpose of making
such notes as shall afterwards serve as guides for a replica of the late
lamented in his habit as he lived.

One of our first applicants for this kind of patronage is Don Magin, the
merchant, whose acquaintance we have made at Don Benigno's tertulia. The
Don stops me in the street one day, and with a disturbed countenance
tells me that his only child--a girl of three--has been lately buried.
Will I, or my partner, be so good as to restore her to life on canvas? I
agree to undertake the work if Don Magin will provide me with a guide in
the shape of a photograph.

'I am sorry to inform you,' says the Don, 'that my poor child never sat
for her photograph.'

'Then,' I remark, 'I will be satisfied with a slight but faithful
sketch, or even a coloured miniature.'

'I regret that I cannot supply you with any representation of my
departed daughter,' replies Don Magin.

'How then can you expect to possess a portrait of her?' I enquire.

'Easily enough,' he answers. 'It is true that I have no actual likeness
of the child; but equally good guides are at your disposal. I can
provide you with the little dress, the little hat, the little shoes and
socks which she was accustomed to wear. I have also taken the measure of
her height, and the size round her pretty waist. I can furnish you with
minute particulars respecting the colour of her complexion, hair and
eyes, and I will show you a lovely child who resembles my own in many
ways. Besides this, my Engracia was considered to bear a strong likeness
to her father. Make her appear so also in the painting; introduce the
accessories which I have mentioned; take a notion or two from the girl
that I will send, and I am convinced that the result will be
satisfactory to both of us.'

In vain do I endeavour to show the impossibility of such an achievement;
the merchant will not hear of refusal, and as an inducement for me to
make only a trial, he offers me a large price, promising to double the
amount if I succeed to his liking.

It is a source of infinite consolation to the distressed old
gentleman--who by the way is very grey and wrinkled--when