d a room in the house admirably adapted for the purpose
fitted up as a gallery, and in a short time had got together the nucleus
of a valuable display of masterpieces. By degrees it came to be known
that this was the case, and I found pleasure in allowing the public to
see them on certain days.

One day I was puzzled by the arrival of a picture carefully boxed up and
addressed to me, which on opening I discovered to be the portrait of me
which Paul Barr had painted. In selecting material for my entertainments
I had naturally thought of him among the first, but inquiry failed to
discover his whereabouts. He had left town a few days subsequent to the
harassing scene between us, and there were no traces of him beyond the
direction on the door of his studio that all communications intrusted to
the janitor of the building would ultimately reach him. To this address
I sent several notes of invitation, hoping perhaps to catch him on the
wing or lure him from retirement. But at the time the portrait arrived I
had ceased to make further attempts. There was no note or card
accompanying it, but the bold superscription left no doubt in my mind as
to the donor. A few weeks later I was astonished and delighted at one of
my receptions to see the artist-poet's massive figure towering above the
other guests, and an instant later we had exchanged the most cordial of
hand-shakings, attended on his part as ever by profuse gesture and
compliment, and on mine by genuine good-will, which it was easy to see
he reciprocated. He looked little changed, unless it were that he was
handsomer and more extraordinary than formerly, and his presence caused
much lively speculation as to the new celebrity I had unearthed. He had
been abroad, studying and travelling,--and trying to forget, he added.
The last he had found impossible, he said; but though he sighed as he
spoke, I knew that his wound was healed. He was to resume his work at
once; had brought back a host of ideas he was eager to put into
execution, and was what he called "under the mastery of the twin
demi-gods--necessity and aspiration."

Later I thanked him for his picture, which I told him, as was notably
the case, artistic circles were raving over. Indeed, when I let it be
known that the handsome stranger was no other than Paul Barr, whose
genius was already celebrated, he received an ovation. Nor was it
exhausted at my house. He was instantly taken up by the critics and by
fashionable fol