study. In the first apartment—the doors of which are inlaid with panels of fruit and flowers painted on satin—more artistic treasures are to be met with, from the brush and pencil of many a master hand. A large picture—finished by Millais—of the late Mrs. Sala, rests on an easel draped with blue plush.
The drawing-room.
From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
It was whilst standing here that Mr. Sala paid a tribute of great tenderness to the memory of his late wife, and spoke as only a real man and true husband could of the woman who is his helpmate to-day. Journalists are the very worst of business men, and the veteran declares that he is no exception to the rule. Happy the journalist who possesses a wife of business instincts—a woman who can relieve him of all these worries, and leave him a free course to run his pen.
"My wife," says Mr. Sala, "is my man of business. She opens my letters, reads, and answers them, looks after contracts, and keeps my accounts. Therein lies one of my little secrets, you see. My wife takes upon herself all the worries of business, so I am enabled to work with an easy mind and a freedom of heart unattainable by any other means."
Bust by Mr. Sala, and the Dauphin's cabinet.
From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
This small cabinet was made for the little Dauphin Mr. of France. Mr. Sala saw it in a pawnbroker's window in his early days, and paid £2 a month for it until he had purchased it outright for £15. He tells how, as a young man, when first married, the height of his ambition was to possess a silver soup-tureen. Again he patronised the pawnbroker's, and selected one "to be put by" at £35. Unfortunately, after paying £8 his subscription lapsed, and the pawnbroker profited to that extent. A bust of a baby reveals Mr. Sala's ability with the clay. Once, at Brighton, when ill and unable to write, he sent for some clay, and modelled it.
A very remarkable example of the sculptor's art rests on a table. Originally the Saint was in a semi-nude state. Ewing, a wonderfully clever Scotch sculptor, who modelled the children of the Prince of Wales, saw it one day. He took out his pocket-handkerchief and asked for some warm starch. Dipping the linen in this, his ingenious fingers wrapped it round
