ted in his arm-chair,
with his back to the window that the light might fall on the top of his
head and form a sort of glory, Landor looked every inch a seer, and
would entertain us with interesting though unseerlike recollections,
while the artist was busy with his brush.

Putting out his foot one day, he said, "Who could suppose that that ugly
old foot had ever been good-looking? Yet they say it was once. When I
was in Rome, an artist came to me, and asked to take a cast of my foot
and leg."

"Ah, Mr. Landor, you don't know how good-looking you might be now, if
you would get a new suit of clothes and a nice pair of boots."

"No, no. I never intend to buy anything more for myself. My old clothes
are quite good enough. They are all-sufficient for this world, and in
the next I sha'n't need any; that is, if we are to believe what we are
told."

"But, indeed, Mr. Landor, you really ought to get a new cap."

"No, the one I wear is quite grand enough. I may have it made over.
Napier gave it to me," (I think he said Napier,) "and for that reason I
value it."

"Mr. Landor, you do look like a lion," I said at another time.

He smiled and replied, "You are not the only person who has said so. One
day, when Napier was dining with me, he threw himself back in his chair,
exclaiming, with a hearty laugh, 'Zounds! Landor, I've just discovered a
resemblance. You look like an old lion.'"

"That was a compliment, Mr. Landor. The lion is the king of beasts."

"Yes, but he's only a beast after all," was the quick retort.

Landor always spoke with enthusiasm of General Sir William Napier, and
in fact lavished praise upon all the family. It was to General Napier
that he dedicated his "Hellenics," published in 1859, wherein he pays
the following chivalric tribute: "An illustrious man ordered it to be
inscribed on his monument, that he was _the friend of Sir Philip
Sidney_; an obscurer one can but leave this brief memorial, that he was
the friend of Sir William Napier." Not long after the conversation last
referred to, Landor said, very sadly, as he welcomed us, "I have just
heard of the death of my dear old friend Napier. Why could not I have
been taken, and he left? I have lived too long."

The portrait was soon painted, for Landor, with great patience and
good-nature, would pose for an hour and a half at a time. Then, rising,
he would say by way of conclusion to the day's work, "Now it is time for
a little refreshment." After t