's to a banyan day anywhere
else. Whilst F. B.'s speech went on, I remember J. J. eyeing the trophy,
and the queer expression of his shrewd face. The health of British
Artists was drunk a propos of this splendid specimen of their skill, and
poor J. J. Ridley, Esq., A.R.A., had scarce a word to say in return. He
and Clive sat by one another, the latter very silent and gloomy. When J.
J. and I met in the world, we talked about our friend, and it was easy
for both of us to see that neither was satisfied with Clive's condition.

The fine house in Tyburnia was completed by this time, as gorgeous as
money could make it. How different it was from the old Fitzroy Square
mansion with its ramshackle furniture, and spoils of brokers' shops,
and Tottenham Court Road odds and ends! An Oxford Street upholsterer had
been let loose in the yet virgin chambers; and that inventive genius had
decorated them with all the wonders his fancy could devise. Roses and
cupids quivered on the ceilings, up to which golden arabesques crawled
from the walls; your face (handsome or otherwise) was reflected by
countless looking-glasses, so multiplied and arranged as, as it were, to
carry you into the next street. You trod on velvet, pausing with respect
in the centre of the carpet, where Rosey's cypher was worked in the
sweet flowers which bear her name. What delightful crooked legs the
chairs had! What corner cupboards there were filled with Dresden
gimcracks, which it was a part of this little woman's business in life
to purchase! What etageres, and bonbonnieres, and chiffonnieres! What
awfully bad pastels there were on the walls! What frightful Boucher
and Lancret shepherds and shepherdesses leered over the portieres! What
velvet-bound volumes, mother-of-pearl albums, inkstands representing
beasts of the field, prie-dieu chairs, and wonderful knick-knacks I can
recollect! There was the most magnificent piano, though Rosey seldom
sang any of her six songs now; and when she kept her couch at a certain
most interesting period, the good Colonel, ever anxious to procure
amusement for his darling, asked whether she would not like a
barrel-organ grinding fifty or sixty favourite pieces, which a bearer
could turn? And he mentioned how Windus, of their regiment, who loved
music exceedingly, had a very fine instrument of this kind out to
Barrackpore in the year 1810, and relays of barrels by each ship with
all the new tunes from Europe. The Testimonial took its