CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Painter of the Heroic--I'll Go!--A Modest Peep--Who is this ?--A Capital Pharaoh--Disproportionably Short--Imaginary Picture--English Figures.
The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the western end of the town.

We had some difficulty in obtaining admission to him; a maid-servant, who opened the door, eyeing us somewhat suspiciously: it was not until my brother had said that he was a friend of the painter that we were permitted to pass the threshold.

At length we were shown into the studio, where we found the painter, with an easel and brush, standing before a huge piece of canvas, on which he had lately commenced painting a heroic picture.

The painter might be about thirty-five years old; he had a clever, intelligent countenance, with a sharp grey eye--his hair was dark brown, and cut a-la-Rafael, as I was subsequently told, that is, there was little before and much behind--he did not wear a neckcloth; but, in its stead, a black riband, so that his neck, which was rather fine, was somewhat exposed--he had a broad muscular breast, and I make no doubt that he would have been a very fine figure, but unfortunately his legs and thighs were somewhat short.

He recognised my brother, and appeared glad to see him.
"What brings you to London ?" said he.
Whereupon my brother gave him a brief account of his commission.