times, each after an interval to allow the pigments to dry hard, and that it had taken years in place of months to complete. "Now were I to paint like that I should simply starve, and possibly be called a fool for my pains—and man must live, you know, to say nothing of rent, rates, and taxes. When I began life I was young and enthusiastic, and, as you know, painted in a garret for love and possible fame which came too tardily" (I have a painting the artist did in those happy early days, pronounced by competent critics to be worthy of a great master); "but love did not butter my bread nor provide me with a decent home, so at last I was compelled to paint for popularity and profit. Now I possess a fine studio and fashionable patrons, whose portraits I paint without pleasure but I live at ease—yet sometimes I sigh for those old times when things were otherwise."
AN ARTIST'S TALE
