ily by the hand, and cried,
"Blastation! you shall have the tickets with all my heart; I have had
the opinion of the virtuosi, the dilettanti, the cognoscenti, and the
nobles and gentry on my pictures, and I want now the opinion of the
blackguards. I shall send you and your friends a score of tickets, and
thank you too for taking them."

FUSELI'S GENERAL SARCASMS ON LANDSCAPE AND PORTRAIT PAINTERS.

During the delivery of one of his lectures, in which he calls landscape
painters the topographers of art, Beechey admonished Turner with his
elbow of the severity of the sarcasm; presently, when Fuseli described
the patrons of portrait painting as men who would give a few guineas to
have their own senseless heads painted, and then assume the air and use
the language of patrons, Turner administered a similar hint to Beechey.
When the lecture was over, Beechey walked up to Fuseli, and said, "How
sharply you have been cutting up us poor laborers in portraiture!" "Not
you, Sir William," exclaimed the professor, "I only spoke of the blasted
fools who employ you!"

FUSELI'S OPINION OF HIS OWN ATTAINMENT OF HAPPINESS.

His life was not without disappointment, but for upwards of eighty years
he was free from sickness. Up to this period, and even beyond it, his
spirits seemed inexhaustible; he had enjoyed the world, and obtained no
little distinction; nor was he insensible to the advantages which he had
enjoyed. "I have been a happy man," he said, "for I have always been
well, and always employed in doing what I liked"--a boast which few men
of genius can make. When work with the pencil failed, he lifted the pen;
and as he was ready and talented with both, he was never obliged to fill
up time with jobs that he disliked.

FUSELI'S PRIVATE HABITS.

He was an early riser, and generally sat down to breakfast with a book
on entomology in his hand. He ate and read, and read and ate--regarding
no one, and speaking to no one. He was delicate and abstemious, and on
gross feeders he often exercised the severity of his wit. Two meals a
day were all he ventured on--he always avoided supper--the story of his
having supped on raw pork-chops that he might dream his picture of the
Nightmare, has no foundation. Indeed, the dreams he delighted to relate
were of the noblest kind, and consisted of galleries of the fairest
pictures and statues, in which were walking the poets and painters of
old. Having finished breakfast and noted down some