se me; this child is my son!"

"But Art is his mother," replied a tall, raw-boned young man, with
long tawny hair streaming down from a hat very much battered. "At the
juvenile age, the child is consigned to the mother! Have I said it?" and
he turned round theatrically to his comrades.

"Bravo!" cried the rest, clapping their hands.

"Down with all tyrants and fathers! hip, hip, Hurrah!" and the hideous
diapason nearly split the drum of the ears into which it resounded.

"Gabriel," whispered the father, "you had better follow me, had you not?
Reflect!" So saying, he bowed low to the unpropitious assembly, and as
if yielding the victory, stepped aside and crossed over towards Bond
Street.

Before the din of derision and triumph died away, Dalibard looked back,
and saw Gabriel behind him.

"Approach, sir," he said; and as the boy stood still, he added, "I
promise peace if you will accept it."

"Peace, then," answered Gabriel, and he joined his father's side.

"So," said Dalibard, "when I consented to your studying Art, as you
call it, under your mother's most respectable brother, I ought to have
contemplated what would be the natural and becoming companions of the
rising Raphael I have given to the world."

"I own, sir," replied Gabriel, demurely, "that they are riotous fellows;
but some of them are clever, and--"

"And excessively drunk," interrupted Dalibard, examining the gait of his
son. "Do you learn that accomplishment also, by way of steadying your
hand for the easel?"

"No, sir; I like wine well enough, but I would not be drunk for the
world. I see people when they are drunk are mere fools,--let out their
secrets, and show themselves up."

"Well said," replied the father, almost admiringly. "But a truce with
this bantering, Gabriel. Can you imagine that I will permit you any
longer to remain with that vagabond Varney and yon crew of vauriens? You
will come home with me; and if you must be a painter, I will look out
for a more trustworthy master."

"I shall stay where I am," answered Gabriel, firmly, and compressing his
lips with a force that left them bloodless.

"What, boy? Do I hear right? Dare you disobey me? Dare you defy?"

"Not in your house, so I will not enter it again." Dalibard laughed
mockingly.

"Peste! but this is modest! You are not of age yet, Mr. Varney; you are
not free from a father's tyrannical control."

"The law does not own you as my father, I am told, sir. You have said