[Illustration:  AN INDISCREET FELLOW LOOKING OVER MY ——­]

“Bobtail writes (in German of course): 

“I won’t write any more, for there’s an indiscreet fellow looking over my ——­”

“Rag.  It’s not true, I swear. (For Miss Clara.)”

[Illustration:  DU MAURIER AT WORK AGAIN.]

Another time he wants me to send him some brushes and various other painting materials he enumerates:  “Oh, and a little thing like this for oil to do the thing cheesy.”  He depicts himself quite elated; his eyes seemed so much better that he had once more resumed work in the studio of his friend Goyers.  “Gruss from maternal and self,” he ends; “ganz hertzlich; come soon, or write soon, or do something soon, hang it.—­Thy RAG, jusqu’ a la mort.”

[Illustration:  “CLAUDIUS FELIX ET PUBLIUS BUSSO, CUM CENTURIONE GUIDORUM, AUDIENTES JUVENES CONSERVATORIONI.”]

Monsieur Staps, Sous-Chef of the “Guides,” the best military band in Brussels, was a friend of ours.  He had invited us to one of the famous Concerts du Conservatoire, a treat in anticipation of which du Maurier at once takes to the pen, and shows us in classical garments and dignified attitudes listening to the “young men of the Conservatorio.”  “Sketch represents,” he says “Claudius Felix et Publius Busso, cum centurione Guidorum, audientes juvenes Conservatorioni, A.D.  CCLVIII.”  The “Busso” derived from his full name—­George Louis Palmella Busson du Maurier.

In striking contrast with the last drawing is the next.  Here we are decidedly anything but conventional in our attire, as he depicts us in “Double-bedded room, Brussels.  Time 11 a.m. (train starts 11.20).  Bobtail’s face being rather smutty, he washes it, and Rag’s boots being rather tight, he puts them on at leisure, during which process he has time to smoke three pipes. Bobtail.  Bub-bub-bub-bub ... whew ... pouf!... Rag.  How many?”

[Illustration]

A favourite theme of his was his supposed inability to shine on occasions when I had introduced him to friends of mine, and was particularly anxious to show him off to advantage, and then, again, the unrelenting fate that would swiftly overtake him if he ventured to put himself forward.  I need not say that the inability and the discomfiture existed only in his imagination, for in all circles he was ever appreciated and admired.  But he would have it otherwise, and pourtrays us side by side with the legend—­

[Illustration:  “The height of enjoyment.  Rag thinking of his eyes, in a pair of tight boots, with Bobtail whispering:  ’Say something clever, you stupid muff!’”]

Another drawing shows what happened when for once in a way he presumed to accept the homages of the fair.