We were silent for a time—­at last I opened my mouth and mentioned the dog.

‘The dog,’ said my brother, ’is, I am afraid, in a very poor way; ever since the death he has done nothing but pine and take on.  A few months ago, you remember, he was as plump and fine as any dog in the town; but at present he is little more than skin and bone.  Once we lost him for two days, and never expected to see him again, imagining that some mischance had befallen him; at length I found him—­where do you think?  Chancing to pass by the churchyard, I found him seated on the grave!’

‘Very strange,’ said I; ’but let us talk of something else.  It was very kind of you to come and see me.’

’Oh, as for that matter, I did not come up to see you, though of course I am very glad to see you, having been rather anxious about you, like my mother, who has received only one letter from you since your departure.  No, I did not come up on purpose to see you; but on quite a different account.  You must know that the corporation of our town have lately elected a new mayor, a person of many qualifications—­big and portly, with a voice like Boanerges; a religious man, the possessor of an immense pew; loyal, so much so that I once heard him say that he would at any time go three miles to hear any one sing “God save the King”; moreover, a giver of excellent dinners.  Such is our present mayor; who, owing to his loyalty, his religion, and a little, perhaps, to his dinners, is a mighty favourite; so much so that the town is anxious to have his portrait painted in a superior style, so that remote posterity may know what kind of man he was, the colour of his hair, his air and gait.  So a committee was formed some time ago, which is still sitting; that is, they dine with the mayor every day to talk over the subject.  A few days since, to my great surprise, they made their appearance in my poor studio, and desired to be favoured with a sight of some of my paintings; well, I showed them some, and, after looking at them with great attention, they went aside and whispered.  “He’ll do,” I heard one say; “Yes, he’ll do,” said another; and then they came to me, and one of them, a little man with a hump on his back, who is a watchmaker, assumed the office of spokesman, and made a long speech—­(the old town has been always celebrated for orators)—­in which he told me how much they had been pleased with my productions—­(the old town has been always celebrated for its artistic taste)—­and, what do you think? offered me the painting of the mayor’s portrait, and a hundred pounds for my trouble.  Well, of course I was much surprised, and for a minute or two could scarcely speak; recovering myself, however, I made a speech, not so eloquent as that of the watchmaker of course, being not so accustomed to speaking; but not so bad either, taking everything into consideration, telling them how flattered I felt by the honour which they had conferred in proposing to me such an undertaking;