“It was this,” said Tom. “In the town of C——ff, in South Wales, where I was once quartered with the regiment, there was a young fellow, a travelling portrait-painter. He dressed like a gentleman, but rather, just a bit, seedily, and he wore fine light boots; but one day I heard him say, as a gentleman was taking him to his house to paint some young ladies, ‘I see my boots are burst at the side; I am ashamed to go into a good house, and into the presence of ladies; but the misfortune is, my feet are so tender I can’t wear good boots.’ Thinks I, certainly not, but the tenderness is, I guess, in the pocket. Well this young fellow painted little portraits for lockets of many of the young gentlemen and their sweethearts, but somehow he never seemed to get richer. He was well known by staying in the town some months, and one day, passing a game-dealer’s, he saw a wonderfully fine woodcock. He stopped, admired it, cheapened it, and bought it for four-and-sixpence. ‘I’ll call and pay you for it in a day or two, he said to the dealer, but I will take it and show it to a friend.’ So he carried it away with him, went straight to one of the principal inns in the town, showed it to the landlord, and said, ‘See what I have brought you! It is the finest woodcock I ever saw, and fat too.’ “‘Oh, thank you,’ said the landlord; ‘you are very kind; you must come and partake of it to-morrow.’ “‘To-morrow—no, I can’t dine with you to-morrow, but I’ll stay and dine with you to-day instead, if you ask me; I don’t care myself for game.’ “Said and done. The artist knew that it was then exactly the landlord’s hour. They dined together, got very friendly over their wine; the landlord had the woodcock brought in to admire it afresh. “‘By-the-by,’ said the painter; ‘it would be a shame to pluck that bird and not to take a portrait of it. Give me leave to carry it home, you shall have both it, and a good sketch of it, early in the morning.’ “‘You are very good,’ said the landlord; and the young man carried off the woodcock when he went. The next day, at the same hour, he went to another inn, played the same game, got another dinner, carried back the bird to paint it, but instead of painting it, he now skinned it, had the bird nicely dressed, cooked, and eat it himself. Immediately after dinner he carried the skin to a bird-stuffer’s, ordered him to set it up in his best style, and send it to the museum of the town. He left written on a paper—‘Presented to the public Museum of C——ff, by J. D——, Esq.’