* “This privilege of mine, to laugh,—such a nothing as it seems,—I would not barter to thee for an Iliad.”
“And yet, Tarleton,” said I, “the littlest feeling of all is a delight in contemplating the littleness of other people. Nothing is more contemptible than habitual contempt.”
“Prithee, now,” answered the haughty aristocrat, “let us not talk of these matters so subtly: leave me my enjoyment without refining upon it. What is your first pursuit for the morning?”
“Why, I have promised my uncle a picture of that invaluable countenance which Lady Hasselton finds so handsome; and I am going to give Kneller my last sitting.”
“So, so, I will accompany you; I like the vain old dog; ‘tis a pleasure to hear him admire himself so wittily.”
“Come, then!” said I, taking up my hat and sword; and, entering Tarleton’s carriage, we drove to the painter’s abode.
We found him employed in finishing a portrait of Lady Godolphin.
“He, he!” cried he, when he beheld me approach. “By Got, I am glad to see you, Count Tevereux; dis painting is tamned poor work by one’s self, widout any one to make des grands yeux, and cry, ‘Oh, Sir Godfrey Kneller, how fine dis is!’”
“Very true, indeed,” said I, “no great man can be expected to waste his talents without his proper reward of praise. But, Heavens, Tarleton, did you ever see anything so wonderful? that hand, that arm, how exquisite! If Apollo turned painter, and borrowed colours from the rainbow and models from the goddesses, he would not be fit to hold the pallet to Sir Godfrey Kneller.”
“By Got, Count Tevereux, you are von grand judge of painting,” cried the artist, with sparkling eyes, “and I will paint you as von tamned handsome man!”