agreement to separate; and a ruined household was the termination of this adventure."
The story was not quite finished when Eulalia entered the apartment. She was a young lady whose society was universally sought after; and she formed one of the most attractive ornaments of the club,—an accomplished woman and successful authoress.
The female caricatures were laid before her with which a clever artist had sinned against the fair sex, and she was invited to defend her good sisterhood.
"Probably," said Amelia, "a collection of these charming portraits is intended for the almanac, and possibly some celebrated author will undertake the witty task of explaining in words what the ingenious artist has represented in his pictures."
Sinclair felt that the pictures were not worthy of utter condemnation; nor could he deny that some sort of explanation of their meaning was necessary, as a caricature which is not understood is worthless, and is, in fact, only valuable for its application. For, however the ingenious artist may endeavour to display his wit, he cannot always succeed; and without a title or an explanation his labour is lost: words alone can give it value.
Amelia.—Then, let words bestow a value upon this little picture. A young lady has fallen asleep in an armchair, having been engaged, as it appears, with some sort of writing. Another lady, who stands by weeping, presents a small box, or something else, to her companion. What can it mean?
Sinclair.—Am I, after all, to explain it, notwithstanding that the ladies seem but ill disposed both to caricatures and their expounders? I am told that it is intended to represent an authoress, who was accustomed to compose at night: she always obliged her maid to hold her inkstand, and forced the poor creature to remain in that posture, even when she herself
