t, I
became conscious of a smell of burning. I made a minute search round the
studio, but could not discover the slightest indication of an incipient
conflagration. Then a dreadful thought occurred to me. Beneath the
studio is a vault, access to which is gained by a trap-door in the
floor. Could it be that the secret of my "Artistic Joke" had become
common property in the artistic world, and that some vindictive
Academician, bent upon preventing the impending caricature of his _chef
d'[oe]uvre_, was even now, like another Guy Fawkes, concealed below, and
in the dead of night was already commencing his diabolical attempt to
roast me alive in the midst of my caricatures? Up went the trap-door,
and with candle in hand I explored the vault. The result was to calm my
apprehensions upon this score, for there was no one there. Still
mystified as to where the smell of fire, now distinctly perceptible,
came from, I next walked round the outside of my studio, exciting
evident suspicion in the mind of the policeman on his beat. No, there
was not a spark to be seen; no keg of gunpowder, no black leather bag,
no dynamite, no infernal machine. I returned into the house and went
upstairs, roused all my family and servants, who, after a close
examination, returned to their beds, assuring me that all was safe
there, and half wondering whether the persistent pursuit of caricaturing
does not produce an enfeebling effect upon the mind. Consoled by their
assurances, I returned once more to my studio, where the burning smell
grew worse and worse. However, concluding that it was due to some fire
in the neighbourhood, I settled down to work once more; but hardly had I
taken my brush in hand when showers of sparks and particles of
smouldering wood began to descend upon my head and shoulders, and cover
the work I was engaged on. I started up, and looking up at my big
sunlight, saw to my horror that I had wound up my easel, which is twelve
feet high, and more nearly resembles a guillotine than anything else, so
far that the top of it was in immediate contact with the gas, and
actually alight!

[Illustration: FIRE!]

The _Times_ took the unusual course of giving, a month in advance of its
opening on April 23rd, 1887, a preliminary notice of this Exhibition.

It said: "A novel Exhibition, for which we venture to prophesy no
little success, is being prepared by Harry Furniss of _Punch_ celebrity.
As everyone knows, Mr. Furniss has long adorned th