ward and eccentric being, full of strange ideas and unreasonable caprices. He never would allow the vines and fig-trees of his garden to be pruned or trained, but allowed them to run wild, saying that Nature must have her way. And he would stand for hours watching the clouds and framing fantastic landscapes and cities out of their changing shapes, much after the fashion suggested by Leonardo in his book on Painting. But after his master's death, his dislike of society and aversion to his fellow-creatures increased with every year, until in his last days he became a complete misanthrope. He lived alone, without servants or companions, and only a few intimate friends were admitted to his house. His daily fare consisted chiefly of hard-boiled eggs, which he cooked, by fifty at a time, in the water which he used to heat his size. He was terribly afraid of thunder and lightning, and would close all the doors and windows, and crouch in a corner, with his head under his mantle, until the storm had passed away. And he had a perfect horror of noises, whether of screaming children, church-bells, or singing friars. Even the buzzing of flies excited his wrath beyond control, and he would fly into a rage with the very shadows on the wall. When he was ill, he refused the help of either doctors or nurses, and was fond of contrasting the misery of a death-bed, surrounded by weeping friends and disturbed by the visits of tiresome doctors and unfeeling servants, with the end of the victim of justice, who goes to the scaffold in the light of day and fulness of strength, attended by priests who pray that angels may receive his soul, and followed by the blessings and sympathy of
