too modest; I like your style of painting, so do we all, and--why
should I mince the matter?--the money is to be collected in the town, why
should it go into a stranger's pocket, and be spent in London?"

"Thereupon I made them a speech, in which I said that art had nothing to
do with Church and State, at least with English Church and State, which
had never encouraged it; and that, though Church and State were doubtless
very fine things, a man might be a very good artist who cared not a straw
for either. I then made use of more Greek words, and told them how
painting was one of the Nine Muses, and one of the most independent
creatures alive, inspiring whom she pleased, and asking leave of nobody;
that I should be quite unworthy of the favours of the Muse if, on the
present occasion, I did not recommend them a man whom I considered to be
a much greater master of the heroic than myself; and that, with regard to
the money being spent in the city, I had no doubt that they would not
weigh for a moment such a consideration against the chance of getting a
true heroic picture for the city. I never talked so well in my life, and
said so many flattering things to the hunchback and his friends, that at
last they said that I should have my own way; and that if I pleased to go
up to London, and bring down the painter of Lazarus to paint the mayor, I
might; so they then bade me farewell, and I have come up to London."

"To put a hundred pounds into the hands of--"

"A better man than myself," said my brother, "of course."

"And have you come up at your own expense?"

"Yes," said my brother, "I have come up at my own expense."

I made no answer, but looked in my brother's face. We then returned to
the former subjects of conversation, talking of the dead, my mother, and
the dog.

After some time my brother said, "I will now go to the painter, and
communicate to him the business which has brought me to town; and, if you
please, I will take you with me and introduce you to him." Having
expressed my willingness, we descended into the street.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Painter of the Heroic--I'll Go!--A Modest Peep--Who is this?--A Capital
Pharaoh--Disproportionably Short--Imaginary Picture--English Figures.

The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the western end of
the town. We had some difficulty in obtaining admission to him; a
maid-servant, who opened the door, eyeing us somewhat suspiciously: it
was not