oke, when he turned round and shook me
by the hand.

"What can possibly have induced you to hang that portrait up in your
library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, but it appears to me a
wretched daub."

"Daub as you call it," said my friend, smiling, "I would not part with it
for the best piece of Raphael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to
that picture--it is my principal source of inspiration; when my
imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare upon those
features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and drollery begin to flow
into my mind; these I round, amplify, or combine into goodly creations,
and bring forth as I find an opportunity. It is true that I am
occasionally tormented by the thought that, by doing this, I am
committing plagiarism; though, in that case, all thoughts must be
plagiarisms, all that we think being the result of what we hear, see, or
feel. What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source or
other; and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from the features of my
landlord than from the works of Butler and Cervantes. My works, as you
are aware, are of a serio-comic character. My neighbours are of opinion
that I am a great reader, and so I am, but only of those features--my
real library is that picture."

"But how did you obtain it?" said I.

"Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood, and my
jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for his
portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and then my
fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could not bear
the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it
of him for five pounds--I would not take five thousand for it; when you
called that picture a daub, you did not see all the poetry of it."

We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better
spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere
breakfast was over a servant entered--"The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,"
said he.

A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. "What
does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?" said he, half to
himself; "let him come in," said he to the servant.

The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the
Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is
vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was a