the humorous artist whose satirical sketches have, for many years, been
well-known and well sold in England, in Scotland and in Ireland too. He
was then a youth of about twenty. Longing to see the world and without
the necessary means, he emulated Goldsmith, made a prolonged tour in
France and Italy supporting himself not by his flute nor by disputations,
but by his brush and palette. For a few weeks at a time he worked in
towns or cities, sold what he painted, and then, with purse replenished,
wandered on. He and I were living "doon the watter," at Dunoon, on the
Clyde, one summer month. A Fancy Dress Bazaar was on at the time. The
first evening we went to it, and he, unobserved, made furtive sketches of
the most prominent people and the prettiest girls. We both sat up all
that night, he working at and finishing the sketches. Next morning by
the first boat and first train, we took them to Glasgow, had six hundred
lithographic copies struck off; back post-haste to Dunoon; in the evening
to the Bazaar, and sold the copies at threepence each. It was an immense
success; we could have disposed of twice the number; every pretty girl's
admirer wanted a copy of her picture, and the portraits of the presiding
"meenister" and of the good-looking unmarried curate were eagerly
purchased by fond mammas and adoring daughters. We had our fun, and
cleared besides a profit of nearly four pounds sterling. This financial
_coup_ would not have come off so well but for the warm-hearted
co-operation of our railway printers, McCorquodale and Coy. They, good
people, entered into our exploit with a will, did their part well, and
made little if any profit, generously leaving that to _Cynicus_ and
myself.

To his mother, like many another clever son, _Cynicus_ owed his talent.
She was a woman of great intellectual endowment, with highly cultivated
literary tastes. Her memory was remarkable and her conversational powers
very great. She read much and thought deeply. In a modest way her