[December, 1895.] ... And before the days of photography, the bane of art, there was an artist who had a booth just by the Madeleine - and outside his booth he wrote up a tariff of prices - as thus: Resemblance frappante 2 francs Resemblance ordinaire 1.50 " Air de famille 50 centimes I should never had had an order for more than 50 centimes. And this is the third letter I have written to you without any reply - which statement for logic is on a par with the lady's postscript we heard the other evening. But I know you are skating at Wimbledon all day long - and on the Serpentine by torchlight - and I am gnashing my teeth with rage at the darkness when I am so busy; and you will say I ought to be thankful at my age that I have teeth to gnash, but it is kind of you to say that? Do you remember the old dying lady's answer to the minister who was comforting her bedside with the terrors of the pit. "There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." "Let them gnash 'em as 'as 'em," said the veteran sinner, and passed gently away. ... I am at work at Lucifer most days, the most troublesome picture I have on hand - downright hard I find it and full of problems; and I have to mount a ladder to reach it, and never, no never, remember the bottom step - and altogether I have known much better times - but, as you say, I have much to be thankful for. Ah, what would you do if you had to go to bed at nine, as I often do - and wake at two, as I mostly do, and lie thinking of all the mistakes and the ill-lucks and the many turnings for three or four hours night after after night. If I was a king I would make my prime minister sit up with me and read chronicles of other people's mistakes till I fell asleep; but I am reading a very nice novel now at night and quite looking forward to the next chapter - and it is The Antiquary. "This story," says the author, was not well received at first, but it has taken its place along with other tales." Bless me, and it wasn't well received? My word, but where have I met Miss Isabella Wardour? Somewhere I have met her - she is as familiar to me as my very self. I can't bear the scene about the "bigging o't." I can't bear it, it is so cruel - and I believe it was a Roman caml and was the scene of Agricola's battle, and Ocheltree lied and said it for pure cussedness. I'm tired of the nobleman and that's like nature. I'm always very tired of noblemen - and I have just finished he rescuing of Miss Wardour - and she has been swung up and safely landed, and sent to Monkbarns to spend another day; and do write to me again very soon. ...