Archibald Stuart Wortley was accomplished in many ways. I made his acquaintance at the Slade Schools when we were both studying drawing, and when we met again at William Street we soon became friends. I found him excellent company. It was just after his picture of "Wharncliffe Chase" had come back from exhibition at the Royal Academy, and he had completed a portrait of his sister (afterwards Lady Talbot) and one of Lady Wharncliffe, his aunt, that he started on his shooting pictures, which for some time he made a speciality of, and with which he succeeded so well. "The Big Pack," and "Partridge Shooting" were enormously popular, especially with sportsmen, who were delighted to find that one of the best shots in England could show equal dexterity with the brush in suggesting birds actually in flight. But eventually, anxiety to succeed as a portrait painter led him to give most of his time to this branch of art. Amongst his best-known portraits were perhaps those of King Edward VII., Purdy, the gun-maker, and his own mother. He founded the Society of Portrait Painters, consisting of fifty members, among whom were and now are some of the most eminent artists of the day. He was the first President of that institution, which two years ago became a Royal one. Under the Presidency of J. J. Shannon, R.A., I am glad to say it now thrives, and I had recently the honour to be on the Hanging Committee at the Grafton Galleries when the last annual exhibition was held. Archie Wortley was very versatile in his tastes, and probably too much so for the pursuance of a profession. Outside that he was a social success, for he played the piano and sang, danced on the stage as a rival to Vokes, was a clever mimic and _raconteur_, made an excellent after-dinner speech, and shot pigeons so well that in his match with Carver (the champion) he tied. He was a keen fisherman and a good all-round sportsman. There were two things he could not and would not do, and they were, to get astride a horse or to walk for the sake of walking. Two of my happiest holidays were spent with him and with his charming wife (formerly the beautiful Miss Nelly Bromley) in an old Manor House on the north coast of Jersey, where he occupied his time painting or shooting geese at night on the Ecrehon Rocks, improving his garden, and felling trees. On the occasion of my first visit, he welcomed me with the remark:-- "You will get no frost or snow here, old chap--none of that weather that I know you left in London!" A morning or two after I was certainly amused to find his small son busily engaged in building up a snow man in the garden after breakfast, and when I jokingly reproached my friend for his former reassuring remarks upon the weather, he said:-- "Well, I'm astounded. Snow hasn't been seen on the island since Heaven knows when!"