tration]

My family moved from Wexford to Dublin when I was ten. It is pleasant to
know they left a good impression. In Miss Mary Banim's account of
Ireland I find the following reference to these aliens in Wexford, which
I must allow my egotism to transcribe: "Many are the kindly memories
that remain in Wexford of this warm-hearted, gifted family, who are said
not only to be endowed with rare talents, but, better still, with those
qualities that endear people to those they meet in daily intercourse."
The flattering adjectives with which the remarks about myself are
sandwiched prevent my modest nature from quoting any more. However, as
one does not remember much of that period of their life before they
reach their teens I need not apologise for quoting from the same work
this reference to me at that age:

"One who was his playmate--he is still a young man--describes Mr.
Furniss as very small of stature, full of animation and merriment,
constantly amusing himself and his friends with clever[!] reproductions
of each humorous character or scene that met his eye in the
ever-fruitful gallery of living art--gay, grotesque, pathetic, even
beautiful--that the streets and outlets of such a town as Wexford
present to a quick eye and a ready pencil."

I can appreciate the fact that at that early age I had an eye for the
"pathetic, and even beautiful," but, alas! I have been misunderstood
from the day of my birth. I used to sit and study the heavens before I
could walk, and my nurse, a wise and shrewd woman, predicted that I
should become a great astronomer; but instead of the works of Herschel
being put into my hands, I was satiated with the vilest comic toy books,
and deluged with the frivolous nursery literature now happily a thing of
the past. At odd times my old leaning towards serious reflection and
ambition for high art come over me, but there is a fatality which dogs
my footsteps and always at the critical moment ruins my hopes.

It is indeed strange how slight an incident may alter the whole course
of one's life, as will be seen from the following instance, which I
insert here although it took place some years after the period to which
I am now alluding.

The scene was Antwerp, to which I was paying my first visit, and where I
was, like all artists, very much impressed and delighted with the
cathedral of the quaint old place. The afternoon was merging into
evening as I entered the sacred building, and the broad amber