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.[March 16, 1872.


each fresh reminder of the social fall—“what C'est le commencement,said Frank. “Et did we do to merit all this?"

gai, gai–” he began to sing. Frank and Kate, with the sanguine en- Do not move just now. Please don't." thusiasm which belonged to their father's

“Bergeronnette, blood as well as to their time of life, tried

Douce baisselet, to cheer her with pictures of the grand suc

Donnez le moi votre chapelet," cesses which were to come; but in vain. The sang her model, with one of his happy laughs. good lady would only relapse into another “Don't you remember, Katie, when I sang of her weeping fits, and be taken to her room, that jolly old French song last at Parkside, crying, “Oh! Francis-oh! my poor hus- when Grace played the accompaniment? band !” till the enthusiasm was damped, and Dear little Grace! When shall I see her the present brought back to the brother and again?" sister in all its nakedness.

“Let us talk seriously,” said Kate. “I Every day they took counsel together. sure mamma must go away into the Frank's bed-room, metamorphosed by Kate's country somewhere. We could live cheaper clever hands till it looked no more like a bed there than we can in London, and I know room than Mr. Swiveller's one apartment, she would get back her health at some served as their studio. An inverted case- quiet seaside place; and I could fill my which once, in what lodging-house keepers sketch book with pretty bits, and work call their “happier days," had contained them up into landscapes, like those you Clicquot or gooseberry-served as a plat-sold" form, on which Frank stood for a model to “For fifteen shillings each,"Frank laughed. his sister. They called it their throne. His experience of picture selling had been

Do-my dear, good boy-do hold out rather disheartening. But still he hoped; your arm as I placed it,” says Mistress Kate, nor was it unnatural that he should do so. sketching in rapidly, while Frank stands as He had a strong taste for art. He could do motionless as he can before her in the best what few young men can do-draw nicely. suit he has left. “I have wasted I don't He had been famous for his pen and ink know how much time to-day in getting up to sketches at Cambridge; but Kate was much put you right.”

more proficient with her pencil than he “My dear girl, can I stand—I put it to you-can I stand like a semaphore for an Kate guided their course. She chose the hour at a time? Even a semaphore's arms lodgings near the Museum. She was bursar go up and down, you know."

for the family, and did the marketing, often “Yes, I know, Frank, it's dreadfully tire- at night, in the Fulham-road: for her mosome, as I found when I sat for your Anti-ther would speedily have outrun the congone. But see how patient I was.”

stable by a distance. The advantage was certainly on Frank's As it was, John Heathcote's gift was reside, because Kate would stand in the same duced to small dimensions. position for half an hour at a time-twice as Grace's hundred pounds Frank held salong as a professional model.

cred, proposing to use it for his mother. "How far have you got, Kate?”

Kate took the necessary steps to their “Don't move now-a moment more painting at the public galleries. They went only five minutes, and I shall have finished at first on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and the outline."

Fridays to the Museum. Then Frank went She is sketching on a boxwood block. It on Thursdays and Fridays to the National was the first order they had received: it was Gallery, leaving Kate to go to the South to illustrate a poem in a magazine, and the Kensington Museum by herself. They price was three guineas.

wanted to learn Art. Now, Art is learned, “If you go on at this rate,” said Frank, they had been told, by copying. So they set “it will pay a great deal better than oils. to work to copy. Kate spent three days Why, you can do a block a-day-easily-a-week for four months at Dyckmans' “Blind working up your backgrounds by candle- Beggar.” It is a pretty picture, but copying light."

it teaches nothing. She found that out be“Yes—if we can get the orders; but you fore it was half done; but she made a splenmust not forget the trouble we had in get- did copy of it on panel, like the original. ting the first."

Frank copied Sir Joshua's "Heads of An


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gels” at the National. In this work there was shopkeepers, but he did feel a little nervous something to be learnt. The softness, the at the prospect of bearding an editor in his delicacy, the angelic expression of those den. little cherubs' heads, all painted from one

el So he showed his sketches, with some suctiny mortal face, showed the student of art The answer at both the shops was-, what it is in the hands of a master. And “Do me some with shorter petticuts, and Reynolds is a master for a very unartistic I'll give you forty-two shillings a dozen for nation to be proud of. Frank had finished them.” this picture when Kate's “Blind Beggar” was The shops were kept by brothers, and half done. The copy he made was very Frank's sketches were pretty young ladies, good. At the Gallery the old women praised He profited by this experience. it; and as they had often copied it them- He spent that afternoon, and the next, selves, they were judges. A dealer who and the next after that in calling at different came in one students' day called it "clever." places with the inquiry, “Is the editor of He was a burly man, with a tremendously the So-and-so in?" red nose that told its own tale of knock-outs. With one result. The editor never was This professional opinion encouraged Frank. in-to a young man who did not know his He had hoped to sell it to some of those illustrious name. At night, after the third connoisseurs of art who loiter round the stu- of these excursions, he felt embittered todents' easels on closed days; but there had wards these gentlemen, and told Kate he been no bid.

thought they might as well put their block He had it framed: it happened to be at in the fire, it would warm them, so. the shop of the red-nosed man, whose name The weather was as warm as

Frank's temwas Burls. He paid two pounds ten shillings per. Kate reproved him, and gave him her for an appropriate Reynolds frame for it. royal commands to try again.

Then he put his picture into a cab, and “And now, Frank," she said after their tried the dealers all over the West-end with it. mother had gone to bed, "I have made up

“What! buy a copy of a picture in the Na my mind to go away from London, and take tional Gallery? Not unless we knew where mamma with me—to Wales, I think. Living we could place it!”

is cheap there, and the scenery is beautiful. It was a knock-down blow for our innocent She must be taken out of London." artist-hero; but it was the answer he got Frank felt rather glad at this. He thought everywhere, from rough dealers and smooth, his mother and sister would be better in the Hebrew and Gentile. So at last, in despair, country for a few months. When they came he left it at an auction room in Bond-street, back to him, he meant to have a home for where, a fortnight afterwards, Kate and he attended, and bought it in at two pounds "And I'll tell you why, Frank. I shall seven and sixpence-half a crown less than finish my picture; but it is not easy to do the frame that was on it had cost him; and that. There are four people at it now—such he had five per cent. commission to pay, and a vulgar man; and oh! two such vulgar the cost of taking it home. This opened women—and they race on a Wednesday his eyes to the trade value of copies of pic- morning to get up the stairs before me, and tures that are known.

secure their seats for the week close to the A young lady at the Museum made friends picture. The man elbows roughly by me, with Kate--they all make friends with one and I can hardly get a look at the picture another-and exhorted her to try at working myself." on wood. So with Frank and her mother for Frank began to fume-his fingers tingled. models, and a background out of her sketch "The authorities should make some probook, she made a pretty picture, and de- per rules, I think, for I began my copy bespatched Frank to lay siege to the editors. fore any of them. Of course, I can't race

He took a few water-colour sketches of up the stairs with them, and tear through the his own with him, to show at one or two rooms to be first at the picture; and, then, picture shops where he had seen similar Frank-you'll promise me to do as I tell sketches displayed in the window.

you?" He tried two shops--one was near Picca- “I don't know, Kate. I think I shall be dilly-in his walk towards the publishers' at the top of the stairs before that fellow offices. He was not afraid of talking to the some day soon—'

"There, now, I have done if you do not He wrote rapidly for five or six minutes, give me your word.”

and then handed Frank a list of all the “Well-there, then go on."

illustrated magazines of standing and re“Well, Frank, an old man-nobleman, spectability, with the names of their editors. they say he is—has been very attentive." “I have put a star to those where you

Her brother gave an angry snort, and his may just mention my name.” eyes looked very mischievous.

Frank thanked his new friend very sin“Don't be angry“he is too ridiculous-cerely, and bowed himself out—to get an the funniest old object, with teeth, and a order for a block fifteen minutes after. wig, and stays, and a gold-headed cane. The editor of the “Universal” blew down He wants to buy the 'Blind Beggar,' and a pipe at his desk. Whistle. has given me advice I don't want about “Sir?" painting it; and to-day, Frank"

“Look in the contributor's book, vol. "To-day, Kate?"

xxvii. Who wrote the article on 'Commer"He brought me a bouquet, which of cial Morality?” course I declined to accept. But I thought After an interval of ten minutes, a whistle it best to put away my picture, and leave the in the editor's room. gallery.”

“Well?” “I shall be there to-morrow."

"Mr. Francis Melliship, banker, Market He was, and nearly every day after till Basing, Holmshire.” Kate had finished her picture.

"Ah, I thought I knew the name. If I But the Earl of - -only paid one more am not mistaken, I shall be able to pay this visit to the Museum during his stay in town young man what his father refused to rethat season.

ceive, the honorarium for several articles he In the afternoon of the day on which Frank did for us." had given his card to his sister's admirer, he He entered Frank's name in his note-book. determined to try his luck again with the But Frank was not the sort of gentleman block and the portfolio of sketches. At the to be helped. He would not ask anybody first place he called at, the man he saw took for assistance. Dick Mortiboy would have his name up to the editor of the magazine, helped him; John Heathcote would have and, to his great surprise, he was asked to helped him; and in London, a dozen men walk upstairs.

who had known his father would have taken He found himself in a dingy room, in the him by the hand. But Frank was too proud. presence of a fatherly young man, with a He would make his own way—to Grace. grave but kind face.

It was always Grace, this goal he was hasten. Frank told him how surprised he was at ing to. He devoured her letters to Kate. having the opportunity of showing his spe- He inspired Kate's epistles in reply. cimens, and asking for work.

“Burn the boy's nonsense,” honest John The editor of the “Universal Magazine” Heathcote had said a dozen times. “If we was a scholar and a gentleman. He drew the could only get at him, we might do someyoung man out, looked at his sketches, and thing for him. Painter! I would as soon gave him a few words of judicious praise. see a boy of mine a fiddler."

“But I don't use any blocks. The ‘Uni- But Mrs. Heathcote was rather pleased versal' is not an illustrated magazine.”

than not. Frank was disappointed.

" What in the world can he do without “I really had not thought of that,” he any money?" she said. “If his father had stammered out.

brought him up to something, he would have “But I am always ready to help anybody stood the same chance as other people." I can. Wait a minute, Mr. Melliship. Your sister's drawings are really clever, and the As the summer advanced, Mrs. Melliship's sort of thing that is wanted. I will give you health became worse, and it was decided a note to a friend of mine who uses a great that Kate and she should go away into many illustrations." He handed Frank the Wales. Kate had sold her “Blind Beggar” letter, adding, “I shall be glad to hear of for twenty pounds, and with this money they your success some day when you are pass- paid their few debts, and Frank saw them ing this way. Stay, I will give you some- off. thing else.

The world was before him. He took a


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pose of it.

lodging in Islington, and went on with his shopman laughed, and Frank did too. He painting. He still meant to be famous. had put his pride in his pocket, for Mr. One fine morning he had no money left ex

Burls amused him. cept a five pound note he had resolved never “Now, this here Sir Joshua ought to be to break into. This brought him down from wet; and not to ask you to stand, suppose the clouds. He had not been successful in

we torse." getting any work for the magazines, so he Frank assented, lost, and paid for three determined, at whatever sacrifice, to turn his glasses. angels' heads into money.

“Where's Critchett ?- I haven't seen him He took it first to Mr. Burls's shop, and to-day?" Mr. Burls asked of his man. told the picture dealer he had tried hard “He has not turned up. The old comto sell it before, but had been unable to dis- plaint, I expect.”

“Well, you can tell him from me, when “It isn't in our way, sir.”

he does turn up, he's got to the end of his "Is it in anybody's way?" asked Frank. tether," said Mr. Burls, very angrily. "Be “I should think not. Copies aren't no

dashed if I employ such a vagabond any good at all.”

longer. There's this picture of Mr. Thing“Would you give me anything for it?” amy's for him to restore, and I promised it asked the young man.

this week faithfully." “Well, you may leave it if you like. I've “He's often served you so before,” said got a customer I don't mind showing it to." the man.

Frank called again a few days after. But this remark did not soothe the dealer.

"I'll give you six pounds for it, and then It made him only the more angry. I dare say I shall lose by it,” said Mr. Now, Mr. Frank Melliship had got to the Burls.

end of his tether, too, for he had only the He had sold it for eighteen guineas to a six pounds he had just received, and no imcustomer who collected Sir Joshuas, and mediate prospect of being able to earn more. bought copies when the originals were not Opportunity comes once in a way to every likely to come into the market. But Frank man. It had come to Frank, and he dedid not know this. He accepted the six termined to make the most of it. pounds eagerly.

“Could I restore the picture for you, sir?" “I'm a ready-money man, my lad—there's It was a great ugly daub-a copy, a hunyour coin.”

dred years old probably, of some picture in a “Thank you,” said Frank, pocketing six | Dutch gallery—and stood on the floor by sovereigns. “You have a great many pic-Frank. Doubtless, it had a value in the eyes tures, Mr. Burls."

of its owner, who thought it worthy of reAnd he might have added, “very great storation; but a viler, blacker tatterdemalion rubbish they are."

of a canvas you never saw. “There's seventeen hundred pictures in At Frank's question, Mr. Burls opened his this house, from cellar to garrets, lad," said eyes very wide. the dealer.

"Show us your hands," he said. “That's They stood in stacks, eight or ten thick, what they say to beggars as say they're inround the cellar, down the open trap of nocent at the station. Ah, I thought sowhich Frank could see. They were piled you aint done any hard work. Now, pereverywhere. One canvas, thirteen feet by haps you're what I call a gingerbread gentleeight, was screwed up to the ceiling. They man. Are you?" were numberless pictures of every age and The colour mounted to Frank's cheeks. school, Titians and Tenierses, Snyderses and “I want employment, sir. I'm a poor Watteaus: all the kings of England, from man.” the Conqueror down to William IV.; an- “He aint no use to us—is he, Jack?" cestors ready for hanging in the pseudo-ba- Jack, Mr. Burls's man, shook his head. ronial halls of the nouveaux riches;-in a “I could repaint that picture where it word, furniture pictures by the gross. wants it," said Frank.

“ If there was seventeen hundred before, “Did you ever restore a picture before? yours makes the seventeen hundred and Restoring's an art: it's a thing as isn't learnt oneth, don't it?"

in a moment, I can tell you. 'Pictures The dealer was pleased to joke. His cleaned, lined, and restored by a method of ONCE A WEEK.

(March 16, 1872.

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our own invention, without injury, and at a moderate charge," said Mr. Burls, quoting an inscription in gilt letters over Frank's head. “Now, did you ever clean a picture?”

No,” said Frank.

"Do you think you could do the painting part if I taught you how to clean and restore on the system I invented myself ?”

“I think I could,” said Frank.

"But if I teach you the secrets of the trade, what are you going to give me?"

“I'm afraid I can't afford to give you anything,” said Frank, "except labour."

“It's worth fifty pounds to anybody to know. Critchett might have made a fortune at it. Look at me. I began as an errand boy. I'm not ashamed of it. A good restorer can always keep himself employed.”

"Indeed, sir," said Frank—who contemplated with admiration a man who had been the founder of his own fortune-"I should very much like to learn the art of restoring, as I have not been successful in getting a living as an artist.”

“Well,” said the dealer, “I'll see first what you're up to, and whether you can paint well enough for me if I was to teach

you storing. You may come upstairs. Bring that picture up on your shoulder."

Frank hoisted the canvas aloft, and followed Mr. Burls up the stairs.


Good wishes, pedigrees, last hours,

Their courtship, prospects-all, in short;
Some lost, some saved--but most were saved :

He answered for them as they ought.
The kernel of all creeds to him

Was “God is Love," no less, no more;
The gray old man disliked to damn,

However small the fees in store.
Text, sermon, vicar's kindly face,

Old chalice cup, baptismal dove,
Churching of women, marriage banns,

Meant, more or less, that God was Love.
His ancient soul shone through his eyes

As slumb'ring fire within the bar,
Or flickered as a taper light

To window draught or door ajar.
Sometimes in fuller moon it rose,

And drew a spring-tide through each vein,
When ale or porter struck the nerves

That rise from stomach to the brain.
And then what stories filled the air

With ghosts, and owls, and funeral sign,
Death dances, warnings, black pit shades,

That made the lingering bumpkins whine,
And dread the murmurs of the wind;

And loosened shutters' rusty chime
Were half a message from the fiend,

To call a soul before its time.
And sprang the wish that they were safe

'Tween sheet and blanket in their bed
(Their angered spouses sunk in peace),

And barricaded from the dead;
And moved them, arm and voice, to ask

And stand the cost of extra glass,
To see them through the steeping yard,

And swollen gutter safely pass.
His long-known master how he loved-

A few grades less than fees to earn-
Who went along the village lane

With eyes to earth, as mourners turn
Their last light on the new-born grave,

Yet heart large-sized to hold full dear :
The sick, the aged, the young and strong

He called “his children "all the year.
One thorn he had that pierced his flesh-

The navvies and their sinful lives,
Who worried cats with terriers vile,

And fought their brothers and their wives;
And cut their railway through his glebe,

And drank and swore till midnight hours,
And never came to church at all,

But poached the game and cursed the powers.


the re


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LD Jonathan, as wafer thin,

Yet waterproof as paletot, Ilad dug the graves of sire and son,

These twenty years and more, I know. His jaws, the size of ass's bone

That slew the thousand Philistine, Worked in his skin as archer's bow

Full strung, with arrow in its line. And loud he talked, above the noise

Of spade and axe, with spirit brave, And tossed the juicy clay on bank,

And deepened fast the narrow grave. And every bone he threw aside,

He named the owner of the wreck-
Or tooth, or hair, he knew their mark,

As banker his upon a cheque.
How well he loved those steeple bells

He rang on Sunday through the year,
The good old vicar, burial fees,

His pickaxe, shovel, all were dear. For all were living things to him;

With nind, and heart, and strength, and soul, IIe gave them words when they had none,

At marriage times, or funeral knoll.

THE subject of our cartoon this week, ,

Mr. George Augustus Sala, was born
in London about the year 1826. He is the
son of a Portuguese gentleman, who married
an English lady. Having adopted literature
as his profession, Mr. Sala became a writer

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