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MEN I HAVE PAINTED Saturday.

I had a very good sitting from Spencer yesterday, and I go again to-day. The light is very bad now, and there is a prospect of a black fog, but I keep hoping that it will clear sufficiently to enable me to finish this afternoon.

Tuesday Evening.

You can have no conception of the annoyance which this plague of fleas is giving me. If the powder which Mrs. Evans has scattered on the floors does not soon kill the pests, I shall be driven out of the house by them. Even in the streets I am not safe from their attacks, for they harbour in my clothes, and if I put my hand in my overcoat pocket it is nibbled at once. Yesterday, while painting Mr. Spencer, one of the voracious insects commenced an attack on my wrist, under my cuff, and where I could not dislodge him. I hardly dared to make a great effort to catch him because I was afraid Mr. Spencer would detect me in the act, so I had to suffer the wretch to nip me in twenty places before I could drive him away. Between these vermin and a bad toothache I have had a wretched time since Saturday, but I am better now, so do not mind telling you of my past misfortunes.

Mr. Spencer is old. He strikes me as being a vain man, and though like Professor Tyndall in features, he differs from him very materially in character. He selected Burgess to paint his portrait because Burgess was not a portrait painter; and he explained this apparent inconsistency by saying that he thought the portrait would be more carefully carried out in its details by a man who was not accustomed to paint portraits.