If ever man suffered from _embarras de richesse_, I am that individual in making a selection from the early drawings of Leech; where all, or nearly all, are so perfect, choice becomes difficult indeed. I cannot resist, however, the one that follows this remark. For perfection of character and richness of humour, it seems to me unsurpassable. The doctor's attitude as he contemplates his victim--who seems to have brought with her the huge empty physic-bottles to prove that she has taken all her "stuff"--to say nothing of his startling individuality, is Nature itself; and that immortal pupil with the big knife, smiling in anticipation of the operation "to-morrow about eleven"! One can read on the face of the patient a dull realization of the doctor's announcement that only a seton in the back of her neck--whatever that may mean to her--will be of any service now; and to render the operation successful, she must have her head shaved. [Illustration: "AWFUL APPARITION TO A GENTLEMAN WHILST SHAVING IN THE EDGWARE ROAD, SEPTEMBER 29, 1846."] The statue of the Duke of Wellington, which so long disgraced Hyde Park Corner, has disappeared, to the satisfaction of the world in general, though there were, I believe, a few dissentients who saw, or said they saw, beauty in one of the most hideous objects ever perpetrated by the hand of man; yet the "ayes had it," and the monster has departed. The effigy was manufactured in a studio near Paddington Green, and it was on its journey through the Edgware Road to the arch now on Constitution Hill that the gentleman in Leech's cartoon was startled by a very remarkable object, to say the least of it. Speaking from my own experience, I have always found a difficulty in giving the effect of wind in a picture; the action of it on drapery, trees, skies, etc., is--from the almost momentary nature of the gusts--far from an easy task. No one who ever handled a brush or a pencil has been so successful as Leech in conveying the action of wind on every object, and never did he succeed more completely than in an "Awful Scene on the Chain Pier at Brighton," which is, no doubt, somewhat farcical; but how intensely funny! Master Charley has gone, and his ma's parasol has accompanied him. The horror-struck nursemaid is almost blown off her feet; and Charley's brother, also terror-stricken, will be down on his back in a moment; whilst his little sister maintains her equilibrium with great difficulty. The flying hat, and the couple staggering against the blast in the distance, all help to realize for us the exact effect of a wind-storm. NURSEMAID: "Lawk! there goes Charley, and he's took his ma's parasol! What _will_ missus say?" [Illustration: WAITER: "Gent in No. 4 likes a holder and a thinner wine, does he? I wonder how he'll like this bin!"]