I'll go; when shall we set off ?" Thereupon it was arranged between the painter and my brother that they should depart the next day but one; they then began to talk of art.
"I'll stick to the heroic," said the painter; "I now and then dabble in the comic, but what I do gives me no pleasure, the comic is so low; there is nothing like the heroic.

I am engaged here on a heroic picture," said he, pointing to the canvas; "the subject is 'Pharaoh dismissing Moses from Egypt,' after the last plague--the death of the first-born,--it is not far advanced--that finished figure is Moses:" they both looked at the canvas, and I, standing behind, took a modest peep.

The picture, as the painter said, was not far advanced, the Pharaoh was merely in outline; my eye was, of course, attracted by the finished figure, or rather what the painter had called the finished figure; but, as I gazed upon it, it appeared to me that there was some thing defective--something unsatisfactory in the figure.

I concluded, however, that the painter, notwithstanding what he had said, had omitted to give it the finishing touch.

"I intend this to be my best picture," said the painter; "what I want now is a face for Pharaoh; I have long been meditating on a face for Pharaoh." Here, chancing to cast his eye upon my countenance, of whom he had scarcely taken any manner of notice, he remained with his mouth open for some time.