dore”, not of 18-carat gold perhaps, but a “jeunesse” quite equal to the pleasant task of buzzing around the fair tobacconist.  Mrs. L. did her share of chaperoning; du Maurier and I supplied the rest, and watched over her with chivalrous, if not quite disinterested devotion.  We differed in every respect from the type of the young man of the period above mentioned; so naturally we were bright stars in Carry’s firmament; she looked upon us as superior beings, and, granting her points of comparison, not without cause; du Maurier could draw and I could paint; he could sing and I could mesmerise, and couldn’t we just both talk beautifully!  We neither of us encourage hero-worship now, but then we were “bons princes,” and graciously accepted Carry’s homage as due to our superior merits.

[Illustration:  “BESHREW THEE, NOBLE SIR RAGGE!  LET US TO THE FAIR TOBACCONISTE!”]

There are two drawings illustrative of that chivalrous devotion of ours.  We are galloping along on our noble steeds, richly attired, as true knights and good should be when they go to pay homage to beauty.

“Beshrew thee, noble Sir Ragge! let us to the fair tobacconiste!”

[Illustration:  “SALUT A LA GENTE ET ACCORTE PUCELLE!”]

“Aye!  Gentle Sir Bobtaile!  By my halidome, she’s passing fair.”

The second drawing shows our “Salut a la Gente et accorte pucelle!” and the winning smile with which Carry would receive us.

Mesmerism, or, as the fashion of to-day calls it, Hypnotism, formed so frequent a topic of conversation and speculation between du Maurier and myself, that it takes a very prominent place in my recollections.

In Paris I had had opportunities of attending some most interesting seances, in consequence of which I soon proceeded to investigate the mesmeric phenomena on my own account.  Now I have not touched the fluid for some thirty years; I swore off because it was taking too much out of me; but I look back with pleasure on my earlier experiments, successes I may say, for I was fortunate enough to come across several exceptional subjects.  Du Maurier was particularly interested in one of these, Virginie Marsaudon, and had a way of putting puzzling questions concerning her faculties and my mesmeric influence.  Virginie was a “femme de menage” of the true Parisian type, a devoted elderly creature, a sort of cross between a charwoman and a housekeeper.  I was not yet eighteen when I first went to Paris, to study under my cousin, the eminent painter, Henri Lehmann.  At his studio I found Virginie installed as the presiding genius of the establishment, using in turn broom or tub, needle, grill or frying-pan as the occasion might require; the wide range of her powers I further extended by making a truly remarkable mesmeric subject of her.  My debut in Paris was that of the somewhat bewildered foreigner, speaking but very indifferent French, and she had from the first done what she could to make