giving him many a good hint. He wound up his advice by saying: "Always think in semicolons whilst speaking; by adhering to this rule you will never come to a full stop unless you wish it."
Then came Cruickshank—dear old George Cruickshank.
"I knew him well," said Mr. Sala, "and was one of the pall bearers at his funeral. When the old fellow was hard up he would go and sit in his publisher's office with a card round his neck on which was written: 'I am starving!' With such a suggestive appeal he never had to wait long without a cheque, but he always kept the card handy! Once Prince Albert—the Prince Consort—sent for him for the purpose of seeing his drawings. He arrived at Buckingham Palace, and was marched down countless corridors by a couple of footmen bearing long wands, Cruickshank following them in the rear, imitating them in a very exaggerated style. On they went—wand and imitation, imitation and wand. Suddenly a door opened from behind them, and a voice cried out: 'This is the room, Mr. Cruickshank.'
"Prince Consort had been watching Cruickshank's performance in infinite appreciation."
Mr. Sala has a great admiration for the genius, and a love for the memory, of Thackeray. He first saw Thackeray at a small club held on the first floor of a little old-fashioned tavern in Dean-street, Soho, kept by one Dicky Moreland, supposed to have been the last landlord in London who wore a pigtail and top-boots. Thackeray that night sang "The Mahogany Tree." His hair was not white then, but he wore the gold-rimmed spectacles, and stood as he always did, with his hands in his pockets.
A M. Alexis Soyer had constructed a place he called "The Symposium" on the site of the Albert Hall, where Mr. Sala was for a short period secretary. Soyer was very proud of the huge dining-tent he had put up, capable of dining 300 persons. It was made of blue and white canvas.
When taking Thackeray round the grounds one day, Soyer remarked, pointing out the huge tent: "This, Mr. Thackeray, is the baronial. hall."
"Oh! Baronial hall, is it!" said Thackeray; "it's more like a marquee!"
"And your photo, Mr. Sala?" I asked.
"Oh! yes—certainly. Had it specially taken in Rome for you. Notice the smile?" Then he added in a whisper, as he followed me on to the stairs, "The Roman photographer specially turned on a young man to tell me funny stories in Italian to make me laugh. That's the secret of it!"
Mr. Sala.
From a Photo. by Le Lieure, Rome.
