right of your famous Mr. Darrell; if ever you hear an artist, musician, scribbler, no matter what, ridiculed as a tuft-hunter—seeking the great—and so forth—before you join in the laugh, ask some great man's son, with a pedigree that dates from the Ark, 'Are you not a toad-eater too? Do you want political influence?—do you stand contested elections?—do you curry and fawn upon greasy Sam the butcher, and grimy Tom the blacksmith for a vote? Why? useful to your career—necessary to your ambition!' Aha! is it meaner to curry and fawn upon whitehanded women and elegant coxcombs? Tut, tut! usefui to a career—necessary to ambition?" Vance paused, out of breath. The spoiled darling of the circles—he—to talx such radical rubbish! Certainly he must have taken his two guineas' worth out of those light wines. Nothing so treacherous! they inflame the brain like fire, while melting on the palate like ice. All inhabitants of light-wine countries are quarrelsome and democratic.
Lionel (astounded). "No one, I am sure, could have meant to call you a tuft-hunter—of course, every one knows that a great painter—"
Vance. "Dates from Michael Angelo, if not from Zeuxis! Common individuals trace their pedigree from their own fathers!—the children of Art from Art's founders!"
Oh Vance, Vance, you are certainly drunk! If that comes from dining with fine people at the Star and Garter, you would be a happier man and as good a painter if you sipped your toddy in honey-suckle arbors.
"But," said Lionel, bewildered, and striving to turn his friend's thoughts, "what has all this to do with Mr. Darrell?"
Vance. "Mr. Darrell might have been one of the first men in the kingdom. Lady Selina Vipont says so, and she is related, I believe, to every member in the Cabinet. Mr. Darrell can push you in life, and make your fortune, without any great trouble on your own part. Bless your stars, and rejoice that you are not a painter!"
Lionel flung his arm round the artist's broad breast. "Vance, you are cruel!" It was his turn to console the painter, as the painter had three nights before (apropos of the same Mr. Darrel) consoled him. Vance gradually sobered down, and the young men walked forth in the moonlight. And the eternal stars had the same kind looks for Vance as they had vouchsafed to Lionel.
"When do you start?" asked the painter, as they mounted the stairs to bed.
