partment. But the police wanted some
entertainment, and waking him up, said:

"Now then, darky, tune up! we can pay you as well as the toffs; let's
have a song!" They had a concert all the way, Wingfield singing the
solos. The hat was sent round and a collection made, and to the bitter
end Wingfield had to bang away at his banjo and squeak with what little
voice he had left. This nearly finished him. Arriving at Victoria, he
hailed a hansom. One driver after another eyed him scornfully and passed
on. He then for the first time realised that it is not a customary thing
for an itinerant nigger to drive about London in hansoms, even on Derby
Day. So he dragged himself wearily along the streets until he happened
to meet an intimate friend. To him he explained matters, and his friend
called a hansom for him and paid the driver as well before he would take
up his dusky fare. He thought the fact of his driving a street nigger a
great joke, and made merry over his passenger as he passed the other
drivers. But he was very much astonished when he drove up in front of
quite an imposing dwelling and saw the door opened by a footman as the
nigger toiled up the steps.

[Illustration: LEWIS WINGFIELD AS A STREET NIGGER HOME FROM THE DERBY.]

As an artist Wingfield was ambitious. Finding, as he told me, that he
could never be a great artist, he preferred not to be one at all. On his
walls were large classic paintings, not likely ever to find their way to
the walls of anyone else. But he tried his hand at popular art as well.
A scene in a circus, for instance, was one subject. A pretty little
child was engaged to sit in his studio, but as that day he was going to
Hengler's Circus to paint the background he, to the delight of the
child, took her with him. The little girl played about in the ring, and
was noticed by Mr. Hengler, who asked her if she would like to be
dressed up and play in the same ring at night. This led to the child
becoming a professional. She enchanted everyone as Cinderella. Her name
was Connie Gilchrist. I fell in love with her myself when I was in my
teens and first saw her as Cinderella. Afterwards when I came to London
I was as ignorant as a Lord Chief Justice as to who Connie Gilchrist
was; but I recollect a model sitting to me recommending my writing to
her younger sister for some figures she thought her sister would suit.
The day was fixed, but by the morning's post I received a letter from
the young lady to