iew of Paestum,' taken on the spot by myself, when
travelling with the late lamented Earl of Kew. 'Beauty, Valour,
Commerce, and Liberty, condoling with Britannia on the death of Admiral
Viscount Nelson,'--allegorical piece drawn at a very early age after
Trafalgar. Mr. Fuseli saw that piece, sir, when I was a student of
the Academy, and said to me, 'Young man, stick to the antique. There's
nothing like it.' Those were 'is very words. If you do me the favour to
walk into the Hatrium, you'll remark my great pictures also from English
istry. An English historical painter, sir, should be employed chiefly
in English istry. That's what I would have done. Why ain't there temples
for us, where the people might read their history at a glance, and
without knowing how to read? Why is my 'Alfred' 'anging up in this 'all?
Because there is no patronage for a man who devotes himself to Igh art.
You know the anecdote, Colonel? King Alfred flying from the Danes, took
refuge in a neaterd's 'ut. The rustic's wife told him to bake a cake,
and the fugitive sovering set down to his ignoble task, and forgetting
it in the cares of state, let the cake burn, on which the woman struck
him. The moment chose is when she is lifting her 'and to deliver the
blow. The king receives it with majesty mingled with meekness. In the
background the door of the 'ut is open, letting in the royal officers to
announce the Danes are defeated. The daylight breaks in at the aperture,
signifying the dawning of 'Ope. That story, sir, which I found in my
researches in istry, has since become so popular, sir, that hundreds of
artists have painted it, hundreds! I who discovered the legend, have my
picture--here!'

"'Now, Colonel,' says the showman, 'let me--let me lead you through the
statue gallery. 'Apollo,' you see. The 'Venus Hanadyomene,' the glorious
Venus of the Louvre, which I saw in 1814, Colonel, in its glory--the
'Laocoon'--my friend Gibson's 'Nymth,' you see, is the only figure I
admit among the antiques. Now up this stair to the students' room, where
I trust my young friend, Mr. Newcome, will labour assiduously. Ars longa
est, Mr. Newcome. Vita----'"

"I trembled," Clive said, "lest my father should introduce a certain
favourite quotation, beginning 'ingenuas didicisse'--but he refrained,
and we went into the room, where a score of students were assembled, who
all looked away from their drawing-boards as we entered.

"'Here will be your place, Mr. Newcome