“Take care,” cried Ernest, pushing back his seat, “if you go on at that rate you will take fire.”

“No fear of that, brother, unless you have a star or a comet in your pocket, in which case you are not far enough away yet.”

These occasional bickerings between Ernest and Jack were always given and taken in good part, and had only the effect of raising a good-humored laugh.

“Let the painter,” he continued, “fall in with a spot that pleases him, he can take it with him and have it always before his eyes.  The hand of God or of man may alter the original, the forest may lose its trees, the old castle may be destroyed by fire or time, the green meadow may be converted into a dismal swamp, but to him the landscape always retains its pristine freshness, the same butterfly still flutters about the same bush, the same bee still sucks at the same flower.”

“Really,” said Mrs. Wolston, “it is a pity, after all, that you did not achieve your second verse.”

“And yet,” continued Jack, “that is only a copy.  How much more sublime when we regard the painter as a creator!  If there is in the past or present a heroic deed—­if there is in the infinity of his life one moment more blessed than another, like Pygmalion he breathes into it the breath of life, and it becomes imperishable.  Who would think a century or two hence of the victories of Fritz, unless the skill of the painter be called in to immortalize them!”

“I agree with you in thinking that the arts you name are the source of beautiful and legitimate emotions.  But generally it is better to view them as a recreation or pastime, rather than a profession.  They have doubtless made a few men live in posterity, but, on the other hand, they have embittered and shortened the lives of thousands.”

“You will never guess what led me to adopt this art in preference to the two others.  It was the discovery, that we made some years ago, of a gum tree, the name of which I do not recollect.”

“The myrica cerifera,” said Ernest.

“From the gum of this tree the varnish may be made.  Now, like my brother, who, when he sees the sun overhead, considers he ought to profit by the circumstance and become a discoverer, so I said to myself:  You have varnish, all you want, therefore, to produce a magnificent painting is canvas, colors, and talent; consequently, you must not allow such an opportunity to pass—­it would be unpardonable.  Accordingly, I set to work with an energy never before equalled; and,” added he, showing the design he had just finished, “here are two eyes and a nose, that I do not think want expression.”

“Capital!” said Mrs. Wolston; “your painting will be in admirable keeping with the hangings my daughters have promised to work for your mamma.”

“Nobody can deny,” continued Jack, laughing, “that the colony is advancing in civilization; it already possesses a conqueror, a member of the Royal Society minus the diploma, and an Apelles in embryo.”