title-suppose we call it a Canzonette in Carmines. And take my word for it, that picture will now make your reputation, and Lady Gotham will only too gladly accept it, however abjectly she may have to apologise, or heavily to pay."

"But suppose she is too proud ever to come to look at it?" I ventured humbly to insinuate.

"In that case nothing is simpler. The canvas is now an upright one; you turn it the other way, and Lady Gotham's face will then, with trivial alterations, represent the Sun. A few broad touches laid on without that niggling timidity which is so dangerous to the young artist, will transform her dress into in fact into anything you like, and you can then send your work under some such title as 'Sunrise in Mist, Mouth of the Thames' to the Academy ;-though to be sure they like that kind of thing rather better at the Grosvenor."

What could I say? Was it for me, a poor struggling mortal who could scarcely prove himself to be in the right to the extent of a five pound note-to dispute the dictum of Art itself? I bowed in a silence which I can only hope was accepted as a token of speechless gratitude.

"And now," said my patron-for indeed he began to speak very patronisingly after my tacit acceptance of his achievement-" and now what colors have you the best stock of?"

"I cannot say," replied I, in some wonderment as to whither this novel enquiry might lead, "but I should certainly think all the reds were gone."

"True, true," was the calm reply, "then it is of no use attempting an Idyl in Carnations, or that Dying Gladiator of yours I see there might have been adapted into a Dancing Girl Reposing, with very little trouble. But I see you have abundance of blues and neutrals, and with these we can always secure a Nocturne—that is if there is any,oh yes, there is just enough flake white left for a small moon, nothing else need be visible.'

To abridge my story, the Nocturne was completed (on the top of a study of Beechey Head, the summit of the cliff in which came in usefully for the edge of a moonlit cloud) with the most startling rapidity; and verily, save that some portions appeared somewhat darker than others, nothing except the moon can be said to have been visible.

"That," said my visitor, again contemplating his handiwork with much complacency, "is a Nocturne, or 'The Moonlight Sonata' would not be a bad idea for it. Now just look at it," continued my mentor, "cannot you see the vast poetic suggestiveness of that portion of this work in which the non-irradiation of the objective entity has set free the subjective intuition to formulate conjectural hypotheses in a field of quite too distinctly precious mystery ? "

What my reply to this might have been, is more than I can formulate however hypothetically, even now. But the room formed by this time a Nocturne of nature's own making, and in stepping forward

to inspect more closely the masterpiece which had been completed at such a minimum of time and trouble, I stumbled over something, and putting out my hand instinctively as I fell forward, I first clutched unavailingly at my palette, and then brought my bedaubed hand_down with much emphasis upon what I knew to be a careful, and as I considered, very successful study of my wife's face, which I intended to serve as that of Una, in a composition from Spenser.

"Confound it," I could not help ejaculating, "there goes another two days' work, at the very least!"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Art, "accidents such as this can always be turned to advantage by an appreciative mind, and furnish indeed not unfrequently, hints of the most valuable character. Let me see," and here he held up the ruined canvas to what little light was yet to be had, "ah! as I expected, a most valuable and precious suggestion, and of the uttermost originality. Only look for yourself. See what, with a poetic instinct and with very little trouble, may be made of this most opportune hint,-Innocence Marked By The Hand Of Destiny!—with a poetical quotation which you can easily compose for yourself from Goethe, in German!"

I must confess that this boldly nefarious idea staggered even my humble faith. I could not deny my strange visitant's matchless rapidity and facility of execution; and that men had become rich and famous by the very means he suggested, was a fact too patent to be questioned ;— but this last proposal was too much.

"That it

"You are but jesting with me to try me," I exclaimed. should be consistent with the honesty of an artist, abandoning all sincerity and care, to aim only at a vague suggestiveness, may indeedas you have hinted-be the fault rather of the world at large than of the artist himself. But that you should seriously recommend the foisting of a mere casual slip into a claim for regard and consideration ;-you, who if you are Art are yourself one of the Eternal Verities—. "

"Eternal fiddlesticks!" thundered my strange visitant, now evidently roused to a more or less divine anger. "Do you pretend to dictate to me, your master; or to attempt to explain to me what I myself am? I have shown you the way to wealth-it is for you only to obey my precepts. Get money. Make yourself a name. Build yourself a house which shall resemble no other earthly habitation save in the possession of a roof and walls. But above all get money. It is thus, and thus only that modern art is to be honored; as for your egregious nonsense about 'Eternal Verities,' why if it profits you no more than it concerns meyou are like to starve on it unknown for all that I can see."

The door slammed-I was alone.

I slept late and ill that night, and had scarcely set foot in my studio the next morning when Spilkins, who does the art criticism for the Bathoræum, entered in company with a small party of connoisseurs, male and female, who, as he explained, were "doing the studios" under

his guidance. Spilkins is an æsthete of the first order, and consequently, (though a good natured little fellow as ever lived, with no more real notion of art than an intelligent terrier) ;-thinks very lightly of my unfortunate productions. Still he generally gives me a good word, if somewhat pityingly, and I could see that he was endeavouring, with much difficulty, to find some few of the milder of his stock-phrases which might be made decently laudatory of my antiquated and rococo attempts at pictorial representation. Suddenly he stopped, agape and aghast, as well he might, before the transfigured effigy of Lady Giles Gotham. Absolutely petrified by this supreme achievement in the most advanced style of the very school for which he had lamented so often my incapacity, he stood for the moment bewildered and speechless. For the moment only, but to have reduced Spilkins, although but for a moment to a state of speechless amazement, was in itself a triumph; for I know no man less accustomed to prolonged reticence. When words did come, they came with all the force of a mountain torrent whose gathering strength sweeps away the temporary obstacles which had dammed back its waters. Congratulations enquiries-eulogies-amazements-expressed in every form of the aesthetic vocabulary, and ending only to recommence again, came first from Spilkins, and then from all the flock he led, in chorus. His obedient followers indeed, not having, as I conjecture, the remotest notion of what the Canzonette in Carmines or the Nocturne might be about, were all the more anxious to cover the retreat of their ignorance handsomely by a sounding cannonade of compliments, and I received a veritable ovation. Not later than that very afternoon, Lady Gotham herself appeared, (I believe that good fellow Spilkins had managed that she should receive early intelligence of the excitement her portrait was causing ;) and in her most gracious manner expressed her assurance that the alterations I had seen fit to make must have removed all cause for the little difference of opinion between us which she personally had so much regretted. Her ladyship regarded her image with not unnatural surprise at the first shock, and, I believe was verily upon the point of asking me if I were sure it was the right way up. But she recovered herself with wonderful tact considering she is but the widow of a city knight, and made no manner of objection to my plea that the additional labour had necessitated an increase in my charge. And I, for my part, felt no qualm of conscience at selling dearly a travesty, where the truth had been offered reasonably, and had been so contemptuously rejected. But I am still, and I thank God for it, a poor artist. The Hand of Destiny I have painted out long since, and rescued at least my innocent wife's features from being the catchpenny of a charlatan. The Nocturne hangs in my studio, and serves as a kind of touchstone for common sense, by which I can often distinguish without further trouble the true, from the mock worshipper of art. My sudden volcanic eruption of genius has given me a certain queer notoriety, and I am become to Spilkins and to his school a very stumbling-block of bewilderment and perversity. But I will disgrace myself and my profession by no pandering to that ignorant eccentricity which cloaks its stupidity by the demand

that all art shall be in an unknown tongue; I will not aim at the dirt because my bow can hardly carry to the stars; I will live honest, or honest I will starve. And oh, thou, my mistress! whom I love, and whom all unworthily I serve-if not with the acceptance of a successful lover, at least with the sincerity of a true one-let whosoever and whatsoever will masquerade in thy name, I shall know thee still the daughter of Heaven. To earthly aims-earthly honours; and to those who worship Mammon in thy temple, I grudge neither their rank nor their wealth. Let me but see thee in thy true shape; only illusive because too pure for mortal touch, and it will suffice me; only disappointing because too perfect for mortal enjoyment; for to those who know thee as thou art, surely it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

ACHESPÈ.

SPECIMEN OF A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ILIAD.

[An attempt to combine a construction consonant with the genius of the English language with a rythm containing, however faintly, some echo of the ring of the Greek hexameter. The measure is dactyllic and should be scanned by the accents, five of which occur in each verse.]

Sing, O Goddess! the direful wrath of Achilles,

That brought on the men of Achaia unnumber'd afflictions,
Sending the souls of great heroes untimely to Hades,
And giving their bodies a prey to the dogs and the vultures-
So was fulfill'd the purpose of Zeus-from the time when
The wrangle arose that parted asunder those chieftains,
Agamemnon the monarch of men, and the god-like Achilles.

Say which of the Gods incited these heroes to quarrel.

It was the son of Leto and Zeus. Enraged with the monarch
He sent a disease on the army; and perish'd the people;
Because Agamemnon dishonour'd old Chryses the priest of
His temple; who came to the swift flowing ships of the Grecians,
With presents unvalued, to ransom his daughter Chryseis;
Holding forth in his hand the sceptre of gold, and the crown of
Far-throwing Apollo; and thus he addresses the Grecians,
And chiefly the noble Atridæ, the leaders of heroes.

Ye sons of great Atreus, and all ye well-greave'd Grecians!
So may the Gods, who have their abodes on Olympus,
Grant you the prowess to ruin the city of Priam,
And guide you safe homewards, if ye, accepting my ransom,
Restore me my child, my daughter, my darling Chryseis,
Revering the son of great Zeus, far-throwing Apollo !"

Then with a shout, all the Grecians applauded, assenting
To grant his request, and to take his presents resplendent;
But not Agamemnon; he, in his heart sorely anger'd,
Dismiss'd the old man with proud scorn and insulting derision.

COTTESWOLDE.

A WINTER AND SUMMER IN NEW YORK.

NEW York is at its gayest period in the winter months, when its hotels and boarding-houses are generally thronged to their utmost capacity. From the middle of October to the end of the winter the denizens of this beautiful but dirty city revel in "receptions" and other social gatherings of a festive nature, and the theatres and concert rooms are in full swing. Life is somewhat bustling and wearying it is true, but the winters in the limits of New York city are certainly more endurable than the hot months of summer. I trust I shall not be telling a too oftrepeated tale if I take up a little space by writing of life in New York and its vicinity during the winter and summer months, and possibly I may be able to impart to my readers some points of transatlantic existence which they were previously unaware of. In this hope I will plunge at once into my experiences.

We are sitting in our own proper places at the dining-table of our Thirty-fourth Street boarding-house (and here I should say that we could not be in a more "high-toned" quarter of the city), and are indulging in the last meal of the day-the half-past six dinner. The lady who "runs" the establishment sits at one end of the table, her daughter presides at the other; and at their right hands are seated a score of people, young, middle-aged, and antiquated. Myself and a couple of friends have a little British Colony in one place, facing us are three undergraduates of Columbia University, yonder are some particularly nice young ladies who have a due appreciation of the merits of the mother country and her sons, and close by us is a small family of four, comprising a highly-considerate matron, her husband, and two little girls. A pair of dusky waiters slip in and out of the room, and we galop through the meal. When it is over one or two of us linger over our coffee, but some of the men folk find they have a particular appointment and slip round the corner "to see a man." We cannot help reflecting just then that if there had been some light wine on the table instead of iced-water only, it would not have been needful for them to hurry off to that diurnal appointment. The ladies leave the table one by one, and before they go we are invited to attend in the kitchen at eight to assist in a Candy Pull." We retire to our rooms