“It has been reserved for the present age, and for this prolific territory, so exuberant in cabbages, turnips, and other potables, to produce the greatest of living artists—­real genius—­who is destined to outshine all the Michel Angelos and Rubenses of former ages.  Not that these men were entirely devoid of talent, but because they could do nothing without their palette and their paint brushes.  Now that illustrious maestro, Mr. Jack Becker, has both genius and ingenuity, for he has succeeded in dispensing with the aforementioned troublesome auxiliaries of his art.  His plan which has the advantage of not being patented, consists in placing his subject before a mirror, where he is permitted to stay till the portrait takes root in the glass.  By this novel method the original and the copy will be subject alike to the ravages of time, so that no one, on seeing a portrait, will be liable to mistake the grand-mother for the grand-daughter.  Likenesses guaranteed.  Payments, under all circumstances, to be made in advance.

“Ah, well,” said Becker, laughing, “it appears that the scapegrace has not spared himself.”

“I hope there is not a fourth proclamation,” said Mrs. Wolston.

“There are no more trees on our route, at all events,” replied Becker.

“Glad to hear that; Jack must respect the avocation chosen by Frank, since he sees nothing in it to ridicule.”

As they drew near the Jackal River, in which the pinnace was moored, Mary and Fritz were a little in advance of the party.

“Are you really determined to turn the world upside down, Master Fritz?”

“At present, Miss Wolston, I am myself the sum and substance of my army, in addition to which I have not yet quite made up my mind.”

“It is an odd fancy to entertain to say the least of it.”

“Does it displease you?”

“In order that it could do that, I must first have the right to judge your projects.”

“And if I gave you that right?”

“I should find the responsibility too great to accept it.  Besides, a determination cannot be properly judged, without putting one’s self in the position of the person that makes it.  You imagine happiness consists in witnessing the shock of armies, whilst I fancy enjoyment to consist in the calm tranquility of one’s home.  You see our views of felicity are widely different.”

“Not so very widely different as you seem to think, Miss Wolston.  As yet my victories are nil; I have not yet come to an issue with my allies; to put my troops on the peace establishment I have only to disembody myself, and I disembody myself accordingly.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mary, “you are very easily turned from your purpose.”

“Easily! no, Miss Wolston, not easily; you cannot admit that an objection urged by yourself is a matter of no moment, or one that can be slighted with impunity.”

“Ah! here we are at the end of our journey.”