ith whose
features, notwithstanding the portraits of him, we are all familiar. It
was not of the least use to me that I knew he was not the illustrious
general, but simply a mountebank. There were the stern traits, haughty
and defiant; and do what I would, the thought of the great man would
clash with the capers of the little one. Owing to this impression,
it was impossible for me to address him without a certain sense of
deference and respect.

"Will you not be seated?" said I, offering him a chair and taking one
myself. He accepted with all the quiet ease of good breeding, and smiled
courteously as I filled a glass and passed it towards him.

I pressed my hand across my eyes for a few moments while I reflected,
and I muttered to myself,--

"Oh, Potts, if instead of a tumbler this had really been the hero, what
an evening might this be! Lives there that man in Europe so capable of
feeling in all its intensity the glorious privilege of such a meeting?
Who, like you, would listen to the wisdom distilling from those
lips? Who would treasure up every trait of voice, accent, and manner,
remembering, not alone every anecdote, but every expression? Who, like
you, could have gracefully led the conversation so as to range over the
whole wide ocean of that great life, taking in battles and sieges and
storm ings and congresses, and scenes of all that is most varied and
exciting in existence? Would not the record of one such night, drawn
by you, have been worth all the cold compilations and bleak biographies
that ever were written? You would have presented him as he sat there in
front of you." I opened my eyes to paint from the model, and there was
the little dog, with his legs straight up on each side of his head and
forming a sort of gothic arch over his face. The wretch had done the
feat to amuse me, and I almost fainted with horror as I saw it.

"Sit down, sir," said I, in a voice of stern command. "You little know
the misery you have caused me."

I refilled his glass, and closed my eyes once more. In my old
pharmaceutical experiences I had often made bread pills, and remembered
well how, almost invariably, they had been deemed successful. What
relief from pain to the agonized sufferer had they not given! What
slumber to the sleepless! What appetite, what vigor, what excitement!
Why should not the same treatment apply to morals as to medicine? Why,
with faith to aid one, cannot he induce every wished-for mood of mind
and