,' says the Professor, 'and here
that of your young friend--what did you say was his name?' I told him
Rigby, for my dear old governor has promised to pay for J. J. too, you
know. 'Mr. Chivers is the senior pupil and custos of the room in the
absence of my son. Mr. Chivers, Mr. Newcome; gentlemen, Mr. Newcome, a
new pupil. My son, Charles Gandish, Mr. Newcome. Assiduity, gentlemen,
assiduity. Ars longa. Vita brevis, et linea recta brevissima est. This
way, Colonel, down these steps, across the courtyard, to my own studio.
There, gentlemen,'--and pulling aside a curtain, Gandish says 'There!'"

"And what was the masterpiece behind it?" we ask of Clive, after we have
done laughing at his imitation.

"Hand round the hat, J. J.!" cries Clive. "Now, ladies and gentlemen,
pay your money. Now walk in, for the performance is 'just a-going to
begin.'" Nor would the rogue ever tell us what Gandish's curtained
picture was.

Not a successful painter, Mr. Gandish was an excellent master, and
regarding all artists save one perhaps a good critic. Clive and his
friend J. J. came soon after and commenced their studies under him. The
one took his humble seat at the drawing-board, a poor mean-looking lad,
with worn clothes, downcast features, and a figure almost deformed;
the other adorned by good health, good looks, and the best of
tailors; ushered into the studio with his father and Mr. Smee as his
aides-de-camp on his entry; and previously announced there with all the
eloquence of honest Gandish. "I bet he's 'ad cake and wine," says one
youthful student, of an epicurean and satirical turn. "I bet he might
have it every day if he liked." In fact Gandish was always handing
him sweetmeats of compliments and cordials of approbation. He had
coat-sleeves with silk linings--he had studs in his shirt. How different
was the texture and colour of that garment, to the sleeves Bob Grimes
displayed when he took his coat off to put on his working jacket! Horses
used actually to come for him to Gandish's door (which was situated in a
certain lofty street in Soho). The Miss G.'s would smile at him from
the parlour window as he mounted and rode splendidly off; and those
opposition beauties, the Miss Levisons, daughters of the professor of
dancing over the way, seldom failed to greet the young gentleman with an
admiring ogle from their great black eyes. Master Clive was pronounced
an 'out-and-outer,' a 'swell and no mistake,' and complimented with
sc