The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1883-07-07
THE MAKESHIFT COLT.

n 1alt OI tHe DeTDys
No, never gamble. | don't profess a
pious horror of it, or anything of that sort,
you know, but 1 simply object to it as a
waste of time, money and temper. Not that
won't have sixpence on the rub, with
three-penny points, or so, just to give an
interest to ones whist; and not that | won't
put a crown on horse, or take a ticket in
a sociable sweepstake. But that's mere
amusement; | never bet or gamble in earn
est. '..
Why don't l? Well, for a very simple
reason. | once all but made grand coup,
once came within the cock of horses
ear of pulling off a very big thing-and l
didn't.
What do you say? Funk? No, sir, call
it common sense. l had a chance such as
a man rarely gets more than once in his
life, and fortune didn't favor me. | have
reasoned it out since, and come to the con-
clusion that the odds against gambler are
heavier even than any one supposes. be-
lieve that should never have such anoth-
er chance as that; and, upon the whole, it
doesn't seem to me to be worth while to
gamble now. | am satisfied that | am not
a lucky hand in that way.
However, you shall hear the tale. Not
that its much of story, either; but you say
YOU would like to hear the account of nv
life. And this one bit of mine is really the
most important incident, | think, in my
whole career. For, had it gone otherwise
- But there you shall judge for yourself.
Seeing me now what am, a fourishing
tradesman in Auckland, New Zealand, you
would hardly imagine how began life.
have taken root here and prospered; l have
wife and family, as you see, and am
comfortable man. Yet only a very few
years ago my case was widely different.
All, yes Eighteen seventy-two; Gre
morne's year. It's queer thing to look
back on those times. Only a short ten
/ l:
man.
| was gentleman in those days, if you
please, although as poor as a rat; an artist
to boot that being one of the well-1nown
lucrative professions that needy gentlemen
are so fond of adopting.
l don't say that l had much faith in my
own genius. Youthful and verdant as L
was then, knew better than that. But an
artists life seemed an agreeable one to me,
and | was sanguine enough to suppose that
| could earn living at it, as a copyist and
producer of pot-boilers. That was about
all | looked forward to.
| dwelt in Camden Town, London, in
studio high up at the top of a house that
stood in an anything butpretentious street.
was practically alone in the world. For,
though | had relations, | saw or knew but
little of them. Being poor, and an artist
| was naturally a Bohemian, and my asso-
ciates We're mostly drawn from that hetero-
geneous stratum of society.
| was poor, as | have said, but | was not
so INDECENT as some of my friends and ac-
quaintances were. In their opinion, in
deed, was far too well off to thoroughly
comprehend the luXuries of poverty; for
used to receive an occasional ten-pound
note from one of my relatives, who, though
he grumbled at my uselessness, yet always
sent me that sum whenever Twas so pushed
as to bring myself to apply to him.
Besides that, | could earn money. There
loo 1at.x rnp +<,,
occasional job, to make copy or the like
And then there were certain pawnbrokers
was aware of, who would advance sums
on such pictures as brought them. o yes
that used to be regular system then, and
| daresay it is now.
This is the way of it: you paint picture
and take it to the artistic "uncle." He
lends you on it a certain price, which he
fixes according to the size of the picture
and with small relation to its subject or
execution. If you think proper, of course,
you can redeem the picture any time within
a,year, or you could take possible pur-
chaser to view it at the shop. At the ex-
piration of the year it becomes "uncle's"
property. .....t t...s 't r
Lots of us used to find that these pawn
brokers were our only patrons They lent
us price on our paintings that, deducting
the cost of materials, would leave us what
might be reckoned shilling an hour or so
for our own work. And that work, as you
may suppose, was far from being our best /:
yet with our best we could do no better.
We pawned our pot-boilers, without a
thought Of ever taking them out' again.
In due course they passed irrevocably into
Nuncle's" possession. What he did with
them then we neither knew nor cared.
Among the men i used TO meet about in
the studios, or conSort with in the bar-par-
Tor of the Brush and Palette of an evening,
were many whose sole means of livelihood
70 haf Mi, 60.
ers. had another resource, as have men.
tioned-that picture dealer out of whom
used to make wages pretty frequently. And
then there was that relative of mine, who
though he considered me to be an idle good
for-nothing, would not let me go wrong fol-
want of ten-pound note. IT'S
| was sort of Croesus among these ont
at-elbows daubers then. They drank anc
smoked and ate very frequently at my ex
pense, in the free happy style Of Bohemia
and they also often borrowed" shillingi
and half-crowns, with the careless bon
homie of their guild. They made much o
me and tickled my youthful vanity by pre-
tending TO take it for granted thatpersona
talent with the brush was Their source o
my comparative affluence.
had no business to call myself poor, fo
i had, from the various sources, total in
come of over two hundred a year. Then
had good capital, in the shape of Il fai
S1OSh VI SUM bnlhSS us u young dIllSU re
quires, an extensive wardrobe, some furni
ture and books. | was comfortable enough
in my humble studio, which also was my
living room, with a small bedroom adjoin
hight. There was no reason why | shoul
have felt poverty, but did.
Like most inexperienced youngsters ha,
but the vaguest ideas of the value of money
Moreover, / was extravagant, never stint
ing my expenditure, and wasting a lot NOR
money than Icould afford at the Brush an
Palette, and similar places. was Away