shillings a
week--sleeping on the hearth-rug included, if you like. Get your
paints, rouse up your friends, set to work at once. Drawing is of
no consequence; painting is of no consequence; perspective is of
no consequence; ideas are of no consequence. Everything is of no
consequence, except catching a likeness and flattering your sitter--and
that you know you can do."

I felt that I could; and left him for the nearest colorman's.

Before I got to the shop, I met Mr. Batterbury taking his walking
exercise. He stopped, shook hands with me affectionately, and asked
where I was going. A wonderful idea struck me. Instead of answering his
question, I asked after Lady Malkinshaw.

"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Batterbury; "her ladyship tumbled
downstairs yesterday morning."

"My dear sir, allow me to congratulate you!"

"Most fortunately," continued Mr. Batterbury, with a strong emphasis on
the words, and a fixed stare at me; "most fortunately, the servant had
been careless enough to leave a large bundle of clothes for the wash
at the foot of the stairs, while she went to answer the door. Falling
headlong from the landing, her ladyship pitched (pardon me the
expression)--pitched into the very middle of the bundle. She was a
little shaken at the time, but is reported to be going on charmingly
this morning. Most fortunate, was it not? Seen the papers? Awful news
from Demerara--the yellow fever--"

"I wish I was at Demerara," I said, in a hollow voice.

"You! Why?" exclaimed Mr. Batterbury, aghast.

"I am homeless, friendless, penniless," I went on, getting more hollow
at every word. "All my intellectual instincts tell me that I could
retrieve my position and live respectably in the world, if I might only
try my hand at portrait-painting--the thing of all others that I am
naturally fittest for. But I have nobody to start me; no sitter to give
me a first chance; nothing in my pocket but three-and-sixpence; and
nothing in my mind but a doubt whether I shall struggle on a little
longer, or end it immediately in the Thames. Don't let me detain you
from your walk, my dear sir. I'm afraid Lady Malkinshaw will outlive me,
after all!"

"Stop!" cried Mr. Batterbury; his mahogany face actually getting
white with alarm. "Stop! Don't talk in that dreadfully unprincipled
manner--don't, I implore, I insist! You have plenty of friends--you have
me, and your sister. Take to portrait-painting--think of your family,
and take to portra