social
comrades of his laxer hours, and imagined himself reformed. But discord
broke out between the sisters concerning the proper division of rule and
authority in the house; and Morland, whose partner's claim perhaps was
the weaker, took refuge in lodgings in Great Portland Street. His
passion for late hours and low company, restrained through courtship and
the honey-moon, now broke out with the violence of a stream which had
been dammed, rather than dried up. It was in vain that his wife
entreated and remonstrated--his old propensities prevailed, and the
post-boy, the pawnbroker, and the pugilist, were summoned again to his
side, no more to be separated.

MORLAND'S SOCIAL POSITION.

Morland's dissipated habits and worthless companions, produced the
effect that might have been expected; and this talented painter, who
might have mingled freely among nobles and princes, came strength to
hold a position in society that is best illustrated by the following
anecdote. Raphael Smith, the engraver, had employed him for years on
works _from_ which he engraved, and _by_ which he made large sums of
money. He called one day with Bannister the comedian to look at a
picture which was upon the easel. Smith was satisfied with the artist's
progress, and said, "I shall now proceed on my morning ride." "Stay a
moment," said Morland, laying down his brush, "and I will go with you."
"Morland," answered the other, in an emphatic tone, which could not be
mistaken, "I have an appointment with a _gentleman_, who is waiting for
me." Such a sarcasm might have cured any man who was not incurable; it
made but a momentary impression upon the mind of our painter, who cursed
the engraver, and returned to his palette.

AN UNPLEASANT DILEMMA.

Morland once received an invitation to Barnet, and was hastening thither
with Hassell and another friend, when he was stopped at Whetstone
turnpike by a lumber or jockey cart, driven by two persons, one of them
a chimney-sweep, who were disputing with the toll-gatherer. Morland
endeavored to pass, when one of the wayfarers cried, "What! Mr. Morland,
won't you speak to a body!" The artist endeavored to elude further
greeting, but this was not to be; the other bawled out so lustily, that
Morland was obliged to recognize at last his companion and croney,
Hooper, a tinman and pugilist. After a hearty shake of the hand, the
boxer turned to his neighbor the chimney-sweep and said, "Why, Dick,
don't you know