off, to admiration. Not so with the lady; he flattered her as much as he could without destroying the likeness, but the husband was not satisfied, expressed his dissatisfaction in polite terms, and requested him to try again. He did so, without any better success. The husband now began to fret, when the painter losing his patience, jumped up, laid down his palette, took a huge pinch of snuff, and stalking rapidly up and down the room, exclaimed, "What a d—d business is this of a portrait painter—zounds, you bring a potato, and expect him to paint you a peach."
STUART'S MARK.
Stuart, it is said, never signed but one picture in
his life, and that was his own portrait, before mentioned,
on which he wrote Gilbert Charles Stuart.
Dr. Waterhouse says, "his parents named him after
his father, and Charles the Pretender, but Stuart
soon dropt the Charles, as he was a staunch republican.
When asked why he did not sign his
pictures, he replied, "I mark them all over."
STUART AND HIS DOG.
In the early part of Stuart's career as a portrait
painter in London, he had for his attendant a wild
boy, the son of a poor widow, who spent half his
time in frolicking with a fine Newfoundland dog belonging
to his master. The boy and dog were inseparable
companions, and when Tom went on an
