“Besides the inconveniences which I have mentioned, but which were, perhaps, hardly worth chronicling, the caravan has social drawbacks, more particularly embarrassing to a modest man like myself. It is confusing, for example, on entering a town, or good-sized village, to be surrounded by the entire juvenile population, who cheer us vociferously, under the impression that we constitute a ‘show,’ and afterwards, on ascertaining their mistake, pursue us with opprobious jeers; and it is distressing to remark that our mode of life, instead of inviting confidence, causes us to be regarded with suspicion by the vicar of the parish and the local policemen. We are exposed, moreover, to ebullitions of bucolic humour, which have taken the form of horse-play on more than one occasion. Tim has had several fights with the Welsh peasantry, and has generally come off victorious; though on one occasion he would have been overpowered by numbers if I had not gone to his assistance. Generally speaking, nothing will remove from the rural population an idea that the caravan forms an exhibition of some sort. When I airily alight and stroll through a village, sketch-book in hand, I have invariably at my heels a long attendant train of all ages, obviously under the impression that I am looking for a suitable ‘pitch,’ and am going to ‘perform.’ “To avoid these and similar inconveniences we generally halt for the night in some secluded spot--some roadside nook, or outlying common. But there is a fatal attraction in the caravan: it seems to draw spectators, as it were, out of the very bowels of the earth. No matter how desolate the place we have chosen, we have scarcely made ourselves comfortable when an audience gathers, and stragglers drop in, amazed and open-mouthed. I found it irksome at first to paint in the open air, with a gazing crowd at my back making audible comments on my work as it progressed; but I soon got used to it, and having discovered certain good ‘subjects’ here and there among my visitors, I take the publicity now as a matter of course. Even when busy inside, I am never astonished to see strange noses flattened against the windows--strange faces peeping in at the door. The human temperament accustoms itself to anything. When all is said and done, it is flattering to be an object of such public interest; and I do believe that when I return to civilization, and find no one caring in the least what I do, I shall miss the worldly tribute which is now my daily due.