“One fine morninge, earlie, at ye Cafe de la Plage, Blankenberghe, ye celebrated Rag, deeming himself alone, treateth himself to a private performance of ye Padre furioso e figlia infelice, in imitatione of his illustrious friende, Felix Bobtailo.  Presentlie a voice exclaimeth behind him, ‘Monsieur, permettez moi de vous feliciter,’ and a ladie politelie maketh him complimente on his talente.  Rag replieth that she must not be surprised thereat, as hys life has been spent among ye great musicians, and that therefore he can scarcelie helpe being a consummate musician himselfe.  Shortly after as he lighteth hys cigarre at ye barre, he enquireth bumptiously, ‘Who might that good ladie be?’ ‘She is the prima-donna of the Munich Opera, Monsieur.’  Whereupon ye soul of ye humiliated Rag sinketh into hys bootes, and he retireth for ever under a perpetual extinguisher.

“Ye hero of ye above unfortunate adventure presenteth hys compliments to Miss Clara Moscheles, and beggeth she will deigne to accepte ye sketche in acknowledgment of ye last box of ’acidulated lemon-flavoured droppes’ entrusted to her brother’s care (need he remark that they have not yet reached their destination).

“Miss Clara is invited to observe how cunninglie ye profile of Rag is made to imitate that of her talented brother.”

[Illustration:  YE CELEBRATED RAG TREATETH HIMSELF TO A PRIVATE PERFORMANCE OF YE PADRE FURIOSO E FIGLIA INFELICE.]

Du Maurier’s stay in Blankenberghe was but short.  He soon went to Duesseldorf to put himself under the treatment of a famous oculist, Hofrath de Leeuwe, who resided not far from there at Graefrath.  He wrote, in high spirits:  “Spent yesterday in Graefrath; jolly place, lots of beauties, plenty of singing and sketching and that sort of thing, you know.  Long walks in beautiful valleys, most delightful.  The fact is, I’m so beastly merry since I’ve been here that I don’t think I’m quite sane, and altogether only want your periodical visits and permission to have my fling on Saturday nights to be in heaven.  Doctor says he’ll do me good; have to go to Graefrath once a week.  Ca me bote joliment.  Good-bye, my old.  Thine ever

[Illustration]

He had met some old acquaintances and fraternised with some English and American artists, had got into the swim of Graefrath society, such as it was, and was soon placed on a pedestal, whilst sundry beauties sat at his feet and, to the best of my belief, sighed.  “They all want me to make etchings of the little can-cans and lick-spittlings going on here.  Splendid study; shall think about it.  Carry novel, of course, adjourned sine die; haven’t got time just now—­you know what a fellow I am.  Just got her letter; very naive and amusing—­but don’t tell her so, or else she will pose for that and spoil it.  Here is a little drawing for you.  Do all honour to it, since it has met with a little ovation here.”

[Illustration:  AT THE HOFRATH’S DOOR.