ped this martial
cloak around me, and soon found myself in the most extraordinary scene,
so graphically described by Wingfield. He was not alone in his scorn
for me. The "Duke of York" had a great contempt for my appearance, but
when introduced to him as His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, he
unbent, waved his bauble, and commanded me to be seated. The visitors
eyed me suspiciously all the evening, and on my entering the
supper-room, accompanied by the Doctor, they were seized with the idea
that I must be a very dangerous case, and readily made room--in fact,
made off. One of the poor patients was an artist, and showed me his
sketch-book, the work of many, many months--a number of drawings in
colour, stuck one on top of the other, resembling an elongated
concertina, so that only the corners of the pages could be seen. The
patients wore costumes designed and made by themselves, in marked
contrast to their stylish keepers. Among the guests the county families
were well represented, and garrison officers from a neighbouring depot
formed a motley group which a looker-on, viewing the scene as in a
kaleidoscope, would laugh at. One turn, and the next moment some
incident might occur which an imaginative brain could easily work into a
romance too touching to relate.

For some years I had quite a run of fancy dress balls, a craze at that
time, acting as special artist for various periodicals, the _Illustrated
London News_ in particular. The ball above recorded was unique, but
there is very little variety in such gatherings, where variety is the
one thing aimed at, thus showing the limit of our English artistic
invention. The ingredients of a ball of three hundred, say, would be as
follows,--Thirty Marie Stuarts, ten Marguerites, twenty-eight Fausts,
fifty Flower Girls, nine Portias, three Clowns, sixteen Matadores,
thirty Sailors, twenty-five Ophelias, twenty-five Desdemonas, the
remainder uniforms and nondescripts. Of course any popular figure,
picture or play of the moment will be represented. When the relief of
Mafeking took place, the number of Baden-Powells, tall, short, young,
old, thin and stout, in the various fancy balls and bazaars appearing
will be, as newspaper leader-writers say, "a fact fresh in the mind of
the reader." Some years ago a portrait of the "missing Gainsborough," a
picture of the Duchess of Devonshire, which mysteriously vanished from
Agnew's gallery in Bond Street, was represented in dozens at th