Beyond the path, white as a snow flake, and, like nature herself, shining through its dressings of trellis - work and variegated creeper, stands Flake Whyte House. It is a picture in itself-as, of course, the production of an artist would be-and almost as many people rest upon their oars and admire it as crowd the Royal Academy to see other efforts by the same hand. We are trespassing, however, and it would not be polite to enter by the back door; moreover, we should miss the charming panorama of the hall. Once entered there, and you might be forgiven for not knowing exactly where you were. Italy is blooming on your right hand, and Switzerland upon your left. Roman colonnades confront you, while Derbyshire crags and North Wales scenery are not beyond your view. Every thing is spick and span perfection here, and use is blended with ornament in a remarkable degree. A bust of Michael Angelo surmounts a pedestal in close proximity to the umbrella stand, of which he is the trusty guardian; while a hat-rack hard by the portals of the Coliseum relieves us of the necessity of wearing those barbarous articles during our temporary stay.

Should it be surmised, however, that precision, order, and firm rule are the natural characteristics of Flake Whyte, there would be obvious injustice somewhere, both to that gentleman and the Queen of his domestic government. Had Flake White been a tidy man he would never have been an R. A. There are certain characteristics which attach themselves to all professions, without which success is a visionary thing. Who ever heard of a singer who attained lasting popularity without the aid of moustachios? And upon the same principle let history bear witness what painter of enduring fame was ever known to descend to the vulgarism of hair-cutting without a corresponding diminution in his influence on art. Mr. Flake Whyte is no exception to this unbending law; and it is well for him that in the affectionate person of his larger portion orderly deportment is a stronger rule.

Mr. Flake Whyte is rather below the middle height, and, like all little people, has an excellent opinion of himself. He is wont to observe that had he never entertained higher views of his own abilities than his friends held of them, he should never have been in a position to tell them that he knew better than they did.

The first step to triumph is the accurate estimate of one's resources; and if Mr. Flake Whyte's discernment of the elements of success has resulted in the expansion of his fortune and his fame, surely he has a right to assume equal prestige with one who, in the same time, may have extended his physiological development an accidental inch. At any rate, so it is; and those who know him best are least disposed to quarrel with the dignity which is rather real than apparent.

His studio is the mirror of himself—as, indeed, all men's studies are their truest photographs; but we must mind how we enter here. Dummies of every description are standing about, looking uncommonly real. An Indian with a javelin, in one corner, threatens us with uncomfortable consequences if we disturb the artist's solitude. Drawings of all kinds of legs, arms, and curious anatomy adorn the walls, like illustrated bills of fare to suit the sanguinary Indian's palate. Empty frames stand all about the room, and rise in nondescript pyramids from the seats of occasional chairs. A small piece of black canvas surmounts the chimney glass, which was once a picture, though at present it is doubtful what of. In the absence of better description, it represents most effectively a night scene during the moon's vacation and before the invention of gas; while the glass beneath bears record, round its edges, of the innumerable Browns and Smiths who have. visited Mr. Flake Whyte, during a period not exceeding a quarter of a century, in such plentitude as would supply a moderate engraver with stock-in-trade for a month.

In the other corner, with his back to the window, and obscured from anything but close observation by the easel, is the veritable R.A. himself. We have not interrupted him, he says—he has just left off at a convenient place for beginning again. In the cool of the evening he will resume his employment, and in the meantime he has no objection to a chat. He is not the victim of hard work that he used to be. He can lay his pencil down at will now, and take up something of the same shape, which goes into his mouth.

These preliminaries are generally followed by the opening of the studio casement, the leaning back in his easy chair, the stretching out of his legs, and the watching of the river rolling on, getting fainter and fainter in the distance, until he nods it a familiar farewell, and the reality dissolves into a

dream. He designs all his great pictures in this position; and therein is illustrated how great events from little causes spring. His celebrated cartoon of "Achilles' Wrath" was suggested by the actions of a Thames Conservancy inspector towards a gentleman of the agricultural interest from Whitechapel; while his "Antony and Cleopatra was drawn from the happiest pair of lovers that ever glided with the running stream. When Flake Whyte was a young man, he was a Cockney, and it was in one of his sketching trips that he first discovered Flake Whyte House. It was not called Flake Whyte House then, being inhabited by an old gentleman and his daughter, who were satisfied with the modest title of Rose Cottage. It is inhabited by the daughter still; but she has changed her name, and the house has followed her example, both of them going for better for worse.

The most successful picture Flake Whyte ever painted contributed to this end. It was of the two. He called it "Paradise and the Peri," the former being represented by the house, the latter looking out upon the garden from what is now the studio window. Flake Whyte did not know her name then; but he did not think he should be far wrong in describing her thus.

He was, moreover,

not without hopes that his drawing of her might lead to an introduction to her. And so it was that in the Royal Academy exhibition of that year, although labelled "A Scene on the Clyde," many people fancied they had seen something very much like it who had never been farther north than Islington in their lives; and so it was, also, that the old gentleman, her papa, was tempted to an extravagance in its purchase which, although he felt at the time was just a little bit injudicious at his time of life, as it led to the frequent and genial visits of Flake Whyte, he was prone subsequently to admit was not the worst outlay of his experience. Of course, the old gentleman was not so impolite as to intrude long upon the young couple whom nature and art had so effectively conspired to join, but died off, as a respectable old gentleman should, as soon as he had made all things comfortable for the young ones.

This is how Flake Whyte House became Flake Whyte House, and how both became the property of Flake Whyte. All was accomplished by one picture. But so it is with all triumphs in art. One great work esta

blishes a reputation, and then the worst that an adverse critic can say is "that number soand-so will not detract from its great originator's fame." Thus, as Flake Whyte observes, a man's great pictures preserve his name, and his name preserves his smaller pictures. He has his own theories of art, and he is seldom tired of discussing them; so much so, that in the absence of more communicative anditors his easel and his palette come in for large stores of edifying conversation.

"Professor Ruskin, you know," he says, "is all very well, but-"

And then he shakes his head. A wise man is Mr. Flake Whyte. A shake of the head involves nothing but dubiousness, and dubiousness is oftentimes the best friend of prudence. Nevertheless, "True to nature, true to art," was Flake Whyte's motto long before he knew there was a Ruskin in the world. Mrs. Flake Whyte, moreover, is not without her influence in the formation of her husband's views. It was her discrimination that discerned the artistic power in the "Scene on the Clyde," already referred to; and it is but natural that the critic who contributed so much to his first success should be employed in the formation of his others. She is of larger proportions than her husband, and is unquestionably handsome, and of majestic mien.

Artists always look out for quantity in the modicum of beauty which forms the centre figure of their domestic pictures, and Flake Whyte has been particularly happy in his choice. The lady, besides being all that could be desired, and possessing those qualities which her worthy husband lacked, presented him at an early period of their partnership with a miniature image of herself; and if the twenty years that have swiftly intervened have robbed her of brightness and elasticity, it is because they were wanted for her daughter, who is now the photograph of what she was twenty years "lang syne."

So Flake Whyte, without being a Mormon, derives all the benefit of having two wives, without the disadvantage of jealousy on the one hand, or penal consequences on the other. Mrs. Flake Whyte is responsible for the stereotyped neatness of the domestic arrangements; and, indeed, every part of the house except the studio unmistakably acknowledges her handiwork. The solitary exception we have indicated is the only spot-save, perhaps, her own heart--in

which that lady submits to the government of its presiding genius. She seldom, however, avails herself of the opportunity for so doing, avoiding the necessity of keeping unpalatable laws by steering clear of their jurisdiction.

Flake Whyte does not resent this apparent neglect, for he does not feel altogether certain that her frequent visits might not end in his ruin; seeing that upon such occasions as she has found time to enter the sacred apartment, she has been seized with an inadequate ambition to set things to rights, and the result, in five minutes, has been sufficient to involve poor Flake Whyte in a week's discomfort and confusion.

Flo Whyte-Florence is her name--inherits her father's romantic tendencies; and is, therefore, his much more constant companion. They meet upon a common understanding. Here he calls her Peter. It would not do downstairs, you know; but up here, who cares? And so, mixing his colours divides her attention with crochet and the "Last Rose of Summer" with variations. She accompanies all his sketching expeditions, and occupies a variety of positions in many of his pictures. His pictures come from his heart, and there is much of his family there; and that they should have a tendency to mingle is a happy and a natural result. Peter, moreover, has considerable powers of mimicry, which enable her to assume with equal felicity the character of Juliet observing astronomical analogy in Romeo, or her Majesty Victoria the First receiving the embassy from Timbuctoo at Paul's Wharf Pier. This is one reason why she is called Peter, because she is so skilful in being one thing and seeming another.

These are obviously the palmy days of Flake Whyte's experience. He did not always possess a model so much to his liking; and he can remember the time when he declared, in a storm of righteous indignation, that if they did not hang his next picture at the Academy he would hang himself at home. But now they exhibit every one he sends, and it is rarely that a single one returns. It was a difficult thing to find subjects for his canvas then; but now he has whole continents in his eye, which, when they have been buried in his heart, will in their resurrection adorn his country's halls. His country does not forget him, moreover; and although, happily,

he has received more sovereigns than have received him, he has not been without opportunities of airing his Court suit. It is even hinted in select circles that royalty has been so much pleased with his recent efforts as to render it not at all unlikely that a golden handle will shortly be affixed to his name, for the more convenient handing of it down to posterity.

It is hard to say who is looking forward to this interesting event with the greater pleasure-Peter or the Court suit. Peter says she shall go with him; but you must not take any notice of what she says, for no Peter always speaks the truth.

But the tea-bell rings, and we are invited to descend. We meet Peter about halfway, coming up to fetch the knight presumptive. She is not much embarrassed at meeting strangers-she has seen a great many in the course of her life; and so, by hands well accustomed to the way, we are piloted without much difficulty to the little red parlour of Flake Whyte House.

Be

They are early people, the Flake Whytes. It suits his work best, he says. You cannot paint much after dinner, nor in the burning afternoon heat; so economy is effected by dining early, and having the burning heat and the after-dinner at the same time. sides, if they are invited out to dinner, which is not unfrequently the case, it affords them an opportunity of having two dinners in one day, which is an advantage not to be lightly esteemed by any right-thinking man. The morning and the evening are the periods of inspiration; while ten o'clock rings the curfew to the dependencies of Flake Whyte. Thus, tea-time is early, because everything else is early, and happy for the self-same reason. The board is as bright as silver and glass can make it; the casement opens to the cooling breeze and the view of the winding river; and it is hard if, with the addition of Peter's prattling conversation, we do not thoroughly enjoy the uninebriating cup. Flake Whyte occupies his easy chair, and Mrs. Whyte presides over the dispensing; while Peter sits anywhere or everywhere, with a greater preference for her father's knee than anywhere else when there is no one by to make rude remarks. Welcome is a word that they thoroughly understand; and it is their visitor's fault if he does not discover a new meaning to that word before he has been with them long. And should you visit them

again-though Flake Whyte may be not at home, and though Peter may be somewhere near him—it is doing her no more than justice to observe that, even deserted by such powerful allies, Mrs. Whyte is a host in herself sufficient to bear you hospitable entertainment befitting that lady and her lord.

DEAN STANLEY.

THE very Reverend Arthur Penrhyn Stanley is the son of a clergyman who was at one time in the navy, and whothough he was made Bishop of Norwichwas always a good deal more remarkable for his knowledge of natural history than for his theological learning.

He was educated at Rugby School, under Arnold, afterwards proceeding to Balliol, where he won a scholarship. The Broad Church leader's University course was distinguished by a series of successes, ending, in 1837, in his taking a First Class in Classics. He was elected to a fellowship at University; and for many years, and with signal success and popularity, Dean Stanley discharged the duties of tutor of his college. He was afterwards Regius Professor of Ecclesiastical History at Oxford, and Canon of Christ Church.

Nearly thirty years ago, Dean Stanley first became known to the world of letters outside the limits of his University by the publication, in 1844, of his admirably written "Life of Arnold."

He is also the author of many volumes of sermons and lectures, and has contributed largely to periodical literature.

He travelled in the East with the Prince of Wales, and was, no doubt, a most suitable chaplain, and appreciated by his Royal Highness at his true worth. When in the East, Dr. Stanley let his beard grow long, which gave him a patriarchal appearance he does not wear in London, where many are familiar with the figure of the small, thin, spiritual-looking man who is Dean of Westminster. Dr. Stanley's views in Church matters are well known. He is a leader of the Broad Church party, is always for the fullest amount of religious liberty for everybody, is a friend of Dr. Colenso's, and was a subscriber to the Voysey Defence Fund. Dr. Stanley succeeded the present Archbishop Trench in the Deanery of Westminster, in 1864. His official position at the

Abbey Church has placed up of preaching a funeral sermo tal remains of several very gr Stanley has preached, after the national mausoleum, t mons of Charles Dickens, C eminent men. Such a pai not have fallen into abler o hands.

The Dean's prominent fi ecclesiastical reformers has s

much severe criticism. In th speech at Oxford, in the m ber, 1864, when Mr. Disrae that he espoused the side o alluded thus to the labou Jowett, and Maurice :

"I do perfect justice to the great energy, and the formation which the new I but I believe that this ne Church will fail, for two r first place, having examine ings, I believe without an exc they consist of fascinating e sified learning, and pictures I speak seriously what I fe ercised, too, by one honour University, and whom to ki and regard-or whether I cruder conclusions of prela to me to have commenced studies after they grasped who introduced to society t coveries . . . . or whether brations of nebulous profes in their style to have reviv or, lastly, whether it be the gance and precipitate self-co flash and glare in an essay this common characteristic ings, that their learning is hand."

Notwithstanding such cri school" still lives, and ver Disraeli himself would be it with more respect.