of humour, and the wonderful smile that lit up his face when he heard
a good story, and the still more wonderful wink of his left eye when
he told one--all these will remain strongly impressed on the minds of
those who ever met him.

I attended his funeral as I had attended Leech's twenty-six years
before; Canon Ainger, a common friend of us both, performed the
service. It was a bitterly cold day, which accounted for the
sparseness of the mourners compared to the crowd that was present on
the former occasion; but bearing in mind that all those present were
either relations or old friends, all of them with the strongest and
deepest personal regard for the friend we had lost, the attendance
seemed very large indeed; and all of us, I think, in our affectionate
remembrance of one of the most singularly sweet-natured,
sweet-tempered, and simple-hearted men that ever lived, forgot for the
time that a very great artist was being laid to his rest.

[Illustration: GEORGE DU MAURIER

From an unpublished photograph by Fradelle and Young, London.]

And now, in fulfilment of my contract, I must speak of myself--a
difficult and not very grateful task. One's self is a person about
whom one knows too much and too little--about whom we can never hit a
happy medium. Sometimes one rates one's self too high, sometimes (but
less frequently) too low, according to the state of our digestion, our
spirits, our pocket, or even the weather!

In the present instance I will say all the good of myself I can
decently, and leave all the rating to you. It is inevitable, however