nent
as men of the world. Skill in plastic art seems a final gift imparted to
men very highly constituted. It steals them entirely away from other
aims, but exists side by side with, while yet it transcends the ability
to achieve remarkable performances in dissimilar directions. Perhaps it
is because, of all men, the true artist regards the material world with
the clearest vision, living in no world of dreams, finding reality
itself so delightful.

The artist never at any stage of his life lost the rollicking spirit of
a boy. It broke out in conversation and in his letters. In narration he
reserved the right of every _raconteur_ to make a point by some
exaggeration. In letters of his that I have seen the note of high
spirits may be said to be the prevailing one.

For instance, to the head of the _Punch_ Firm, after a _Punch_ dinner:

"_Jan._ 14.

"Would you allow one of your retainers to look under the table and
see if I left a golosh there--and if so, tell him to leave it at
Swain's, to be returned by his messenger on Monday? I must have
been tight, and the golosh not tight enough, and I appeared at the
Duchess's with one golosh and my trousers tucked up. H.R.H. was
much concerned about it, and said, 'It's all that ---- _Punch_
dinner!'"

To the same:

"I'm on for the 25th at the Albion and much delighted. Is it
evening dress? If not, tip us a card. If you do not I shall
conclude it is, and appear in full togs, which I will get out for
the evening.

[Illustration:

O
|
/|\
/ | \
O O O

(Attenborough)]

"I had really hoped to have got down to Bouverie Street yesterday,
but the conviction forced itself on me as the day wore on that I
should never get a cab to bring me back. I know I am a back-slider
in the matter of the _Punch_ dinner (and all other dinners when I
can help it). I can get thro' my work so much better after the
frugal home repast, and in bed before 11 P.M. Not that I have been
able to indulge in the early couch these holidays, for Hampstead,
slow as it is, is a fearful place for juvenile dissipation, and
parents have to sit up night after night at Xmas time. I hope you
Wandsworthians have more sense."

In an earlier stage of the book we fixed the period at which du
Maurier's work in _Punch_ was at the height of its vitality at about
1879-