I'm making a study of a sausage-wreath to hang on the cannon, and I don't really reckon I can do it right, but if I can, we can break the butcher." "Unquestionably your confederate--I mean your--your fellow-craftsman-- is a great colorist--" "Oh, danke schon!--" -- "in fact a quite extraordinary colorist; a colorist, I make bold to say, without imitator here or abroad--and with a most bold and effective touch, a touch like a battering ram; and a manner so peculiar and romantic, and extraneous, and ad libitum, and heart-searching, that-- that--he--he is an impressionist, I presume ?" "No," said the captain simply, "he is a Presbyterian." "It accounts for it all--all--there's something divine about his art,-- soulful, unsatisfactory, yearning, dim hearkening on the void horizon, vague--murmuring to the spirit out of ultra-marine distances and far-sounding cataclysms of uncreated space--oh, if he--if, he--has he ever tried distemper ?" The captain answered up with energy: "Not if he knows himself! But his dog has, and--" "Oh, no, it vas not my dog." "Why, you said it was your dog." "Oh, no, gaptain, I--" "It was a white dog, wasn't it, with his tail docked, and one ear gone, and--" "Dot's him, dot's him!--der fery dog.

Wy, py Chorge, dot dog he would eat baint yoost de same like--" "Well, never mind that, now--'vast heaving--I never saw such a man.

You start him on that dog and he'll dispute a year.

Blamed if I haven't seen him keep it up a level two hours and a half." "Why captain!" said Barrow.

"I guess that must be hearsay." "No, sir, no hearsay about it--he disputed with me." "I don't see how you stood it." "Oh, you've got to--if you run with Andy.