year before, he was more than ordinarily desperate, and cursed and
swore in the most pathetic manner. "O miserable fate of genius!" cried
he, "was I, a man of such commanding talents, born for this? to be
bullied by a fiend of a wife; to have my masterpieces neglected by the
world, or sold only for a few pieces? Cursed be the love which has
misled me; cursed be the art which is unworthy of me! Let me dig or
steal, let me sell myself as a soldier, or sell myself to the Devil,
I should not be more wretched than I am now!"

"Quite the contrary," cried a small, cheery voice.

"What!" exclaimed Gambouge, trembling and surprised. "Who's
there?--where are you?--who are you?"

"You were just speaking of me," said the voice.

Gambouge held, in his left hand, his palette; in his right, a bladder
of crimson lake, which he was about to squeeze out upon the mahogany.
"Where are you?" cried he again.

"S-q-u-e-e-z-e!" exclaimed the little voice.

Gambouge picked out the nail from the bladder, and gave a squeeze;
when, as sure as I'm living, a little imp spurted out from the hole
upon the palette, and began laughing in the most singular and oily
manner.

When first born he was little bigger than a tadpole; then he grew to
be as big as a mouse; then he arrived at the size of a cat; and then
he jumped off the palette, and, turning head over heels, asked the
poor painter what he wanted with him.

* * * * *

The strange little animal twisted head over heels, and fixed himself
at last upon the top of Gambouge's easel,--smearing out, with his
heels, all the white and vermilion which had just been laid on the
allegoric portrait of Mrs. Gambouge.

"What!" exclaimed Simon, "is it the--"

"Exactly so; talk of me, you know, and I am always at hand: besides, I
am not half so black as I am painted, as you will see when you know me
a little better."

"Upon my word," said the painter, "it is a very singular surprise
which you have given me. To tell truth, I did not even believe in your
existence."

The little imp put on a theatrical air, and with one of Mr. Macready's
best looks, said,--

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Gambogio,
Than are dreamed of in your philosophy."

Gambouge, being a Frenchman, did not understand the quotation, but
felt somehow strangely and singularly interested in the conversation
of his new friend.

Diabolus continued: "You are a man of merit, and want