work, pluckily upholding the traditions of the
Past, whilst readily encouraging the wholesome aspirations of a rising
generation.

Another man destined to find a permanent home in England was Alma
Tadema. He was not much in the Painting Class in my time, but had
previously been hard at work there. I mostly saw him in the room
adjoining it, and he always seemed to me exclusively interested in the
study of costume and history. The incident that led to his leaving
the academy rather abruptly is characteristic. An uncle of his having
given him a commission for a picture, Tadema applied to de Keyser for
authorisation to make the necessary break in his studies. The Director
accorded him three weeks, but, as Tadema put it when lately recalling
the circumstance, "I couldn't paint a picture in three weeks then, and
I cannot now."

I little thought that from his studies of costume and history, the
comrade of my Antwerp days would evolve a long and uninterrupted
series of masterpieces, resuscitating the Past and presenting it with
the erudition of the Student and the genius of the Artist. Nor did
anything foreshadow that my genial Dutch friend, to whom the English
language was a dead letter, was destined in a not too distant Future
to become a shining light of England's Royal Academy.

Du Maurier was soon installed in the Painting Class, and made a
vigorous start. Of the things he painted, I particularly recollect
a life-size, three-quarter group of an old woman and a boy--a
pen-and-ink drawing of which is in my father's album--that showed
talent enough and to spare, but his artistic aspirations were soon to
meet with a serious check. His eyesight suddenly gave him trouble, and
before long put a stop to his studies at atelier or academy. He was
not to become a painter, as he had fondly hoped, but as we now know,
he was to work out his destiny in another direction. With the simplest
of means he was to delineate character, and everyday drops of ink,
when filtered through his pen, were to emerge in quaint or graceful
shapes, wit, satire, and sentiment taking their turns to prompt and
guide that pen.

[Illustration: _From du Maurier's painting._]

In those days we called all that caricaturing, and caricature he
certainly did; mainly me and himself. From the first he imagined he
saw a marked contrast between us. His nose was supposed to be turned
up, and mine down, whereas really neither his nor mine much deviated
from the ord