aware.
One day, on our way from the Temple, through Howland Street, to the
Colonel's house, we beheld Major-General Sir Thomas de Boots, in full
uniform, rushing from Smee's door to his brougham. The coachman was
absent refreshing himself at a neighbouring tap: the little street-boys
cheered and hurrayed Sir Thomas, as, arrayed in gold and scarlet, he
sate in his chariot. He blushed purple when he beheld us. No artist
would have dared to imitate those purple tones: he was one of the
numerous victims of Mr. Smee.

One day, then, day to be noted with a white stone, Colonel Newcome,
with his son and Mr. Smee, R.A., walked from the Colonel's house to
Gandish's, which was not far removed thence; and young Clive, who was
a perfect mimic, described to his friends, and illustrated, as was his
wont, by diagrams, the interview which he had with that professor. "By
Jove, you must see Gandish, pa!" cries Clive: "Gandish is worth the
whole world. Come and be an art-student. You'll find such jolly fellows
there! Gandish calls it hart-student, and says, 'Hars est celare
Hartem'--by Jove he does! He treated us to a little Latin, as he brought
out a cake and a bottle of wine, you know."

"The governor was splendid, sir. He wore gloves: you know he only puts
them on on parade days; and turned out for the occasion spick and span.
He ought to be a general officer. He looks like a field-marshal--don't
he? You should have seen him bowing to Mrs. Gandish and the Miss
Gandishes, dressed all in their best, round the cake-tray! He takes
his glass of wine, and sweeps them all round with a bow. 'I hope, young
ladies,' says he, 'you don't often go to the students' room. I'm afraid
the young gentlemen would leave off looking at the statues if you came
in.' And so they would: for you never saw such guys; but the dear old
boy fancies every woman is a beauty.

"'Mr. Smee, you are looking at my picture of 'Boadishia?'' says Gandish.
Wouldn't he have caught it for his quantities at Grey Friars, that's
all.

"'Yes--ah--yes,' says Mr. Smee, putting his hand over his eyes, and
standing before it, looking steady, you know, as if he was going to see
whereabouts he should hit Boadishia.

"'It was painted when you were a young man, four years before you were
an associate, Smee. Had some success in its time, and there's good pints
about that picture,' Gandish goes on. 'But I never could get my price
for it; and here it hangs in my own room. Igh art won't d