tle streets, wherein the Red Lion and the Blue Boar, with
Somebody's Entire along their front, and "Commercial Room" on their
windows; the doctor's house, of substantial red-brick; and the facade
of the New Wesleyan Chapel, which we thought very fine, were the chief
architectural ornaments: while the Roman populace pottered about in
smocks and corduroys, twisting the tails of Roman calves and inviting
each other to beer in musical Wessex. From Rome I drifted on to other
cities, dimly heard of--Damascus, Brighton (Aunt Eliza's ideal), Athens,
and Glasgow, whose glories the gardener sang; but there was a certain
sameness in my conception of all of them: that Wesleyan chapel would
keep cropping up everywhere. It was easier to go a-building among
those dream-cities where no limitations were imposed, and one was sole
architect, with a free hand. Down a delectable street of cloud-built
palaces I was mentally pacing, when I happened upon the Artist.

He was seated at work by the roadside, at a point whence the cool large
spaces of the downs, juniper-studded, swept grandly westwards. His
attributes proclaimed him of the artist tribe: besides, he wore
knickerbockers like myself,--a garb confined, I was aware, to boys and
artists. I knew I was not to bother him with questions, nor look over
his shoulder and breathe in his ear--they didn't like it, this
genus irritabile; but there was nothing about staring in my code of
instructions, the point having somehow been overlooked: so, squatting
down on the grass, I devoted myself to a passionate absorbing of every
detail. At the end of five minutes there was not a button on him that I
could not have passed an examination in; and the wearer himself of that
homespun suit was probably less familiar with its pattern and texture
than I was. Once he looked up, nodded, half held out his tobacco
pouch,--mechanically, as it were,--then, returning it to his pocket,
resumed his work, and I my mental photography.

After another five minutes or so had passed he remarked, without looking
my way: "Fine afternoon we're having: going far to-day?"

"No, I'm not going any farther than this," I replied; "I WAS thinking of
going on to Rome but I've put it off."

"Pleasant place, Rome," he murmured; "you'll like it." It was some
minutes later that he added: "But I wouldn't go just now, if I were
you,--too jolly hot."

"YOU haven't been to Rome, have you?" I inquired.

"Rather," he replied, briefly; "I