displaying himself. The result was disastrous; whilst the natural phenomenon was visited by thousands, the painting was utterly deserted, and its unhappy exhibitor, in despair, put an end to his own existence. "The grotesque bitterness of the antagonism," says Miss Barrett, "was too much for Haydon—the dwarf slew the giant."
Besides the shock which the news of Haydon's suicide was to Miss Barrett, she was placed in a sad state of trouble by the information that by taking charge of his manuscripts and papers whilst he was in an insolvent state she had in some way infringed the law, and might find herself entangled in controversy with his creditors. Happily this fright proved groundless, as did also the fear that she was expected to edit or have anything to do with the twenty-six large volumes of Diary he had left in her charge. "I take it that they will be very interesting," says Miss Mitford, "not so much about art, but about poetry and literature, and the world in general, poor Haydon having been the friend of almost every eminent man for the last forty years; but he was so keen and close an observer, and so frank and bold a writer, that the publication of the Memoirs will be terribly dangerous, and would have killed Elizabeth Barrett."
The letter in which Miss Barrett communicated her own account of her feelings on this occasion is sufficiently explicit. She says:—
"The shock of poor Mr. Haydon's death overcame me for several days. Our correspondence had ceased a full year and a half; but the week preceding the event he wrote several notes to me; and, by his desire, I have under my care boxes and pictures of his, which
