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ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 215
Thornhaugh Street, or the ladies will say that we are too fond of
bachelor habits, and keep our friends away from their charming
and amiable society. A novel must not smell of cigars much, nor
should its refined and genteel page be stained with too frequent
brandy-and-water. Please to imagine, then, the prattle of the
artists, authors, and amateurs assembled at Ridley's divan. Fancy
Jarman, the miniature painter, drinking more liquor than any man
present, asking his neighbour {sub voce) why Ridley does not give
his father (the old butler) five shillings to wait ; suggesting that
perhaps the old man is gone out, and is getting seven-and-sixpence
elsewhere ; praising Ridley's picture aloud, and sneering at it in an
undertone ; and when a man of rank happens to enter the room,
shambling up to him and fawning on him, and cringing to him
with fulsome praise and flattery. When the gentleman's back is
turned, Jarman can spit epigrams at it. I hope he will never
forgive Ridley, and always continue to hate him : for hate him
Jarman will, as long as he is prosperous, and curse him as long as
the world esteems him. Look at Pym, the incumbent of Saint
Bronze hard by, coming in to join the literary and artistic assembly,
and choking in his white neckcloth to the diversion of all the
company who can see him ! Sixteen, eighteen, twenty men are
assembled. Open the windows, or sure they will all be stifled
with the smoke ! Why, it fills the whole house so, that the Little
Sister has to open her parlour window on the ground-floor, and
gasp for fresh air.
Phil's head and cigar are thrust out from a window above, and
he lolls there, musing about his own affairs, as his smoke ascends
to the skies. Young Mr. Philip Firmin is known to be wealthy,
and his father gives very good parties in Old Parr Street, so
Jarman sidles up to Phil and wants a little fresh air too. He
enters into conversation by abusing Ridley's picture that is on
the easel.
"Everybody is praising it! what do yon think of it, Mr.
Firmin ? Very queer drawing about those eyes, isn't there %"
"Is there ?" growls Phil.
" Very loud colour."
"Oh!" says Phil.
" The composition is so clearly prigged from Raphael."
"Indeed!"
"I beg your pardon. I don't think you know who I am,"
continues the other, with a simper.
" Yes, I do," says Phil, glaring at him. " You're a painter and
your name is Mr. Envy."
"Sir!" shrieks the painter; but he is addressing himself to