My father smelt tobacco smoke at morning prayers.

It was my coat, which I forgot to air at the fire the night before; and he found it out, and said he wouldn't have me smoke, because it led to dissipation--but I told him (which is true) that lots of parsons smoked.

I wish you visited at our house, and could come and say a word on my side.

Dear Blyth, I am perfectly wretched; for I have had all my cigars taken from me; and I am, yours truly, Z.
THORPE, JUN." A third note is required before the palette can be scraped clean.
Mr.Blyth reads the contents rather gravely on this occasion; rapidly plastering his last morsels of waste paint upon the paper as he goes on, until at length it looks as if it had been well peppered with all the colors of the rainbow.
Zack's third letter of complaint certainly promised serious domestic tribulation for the ruling power at Baregrove Square:-- "Dear Blyth,--I have given in--at least for the present.

I told my father about my wanting to be an artist, and about your saying that I had a good notion of drawing, and an eye for a likeness; but I might just as well have talked to one of your easels.