2 Holland Park Road, Monday.

Many thanks for your letter. I have had absolutely no time to answer sooner, and now can only do so most briefly. I am extremely glad to hear of the success of your labours at Dorchester, and think you are very right to take for yourself and "Mrs. Nan" a refreshing little holiday on the hills.

I will begin the portrait next week,[66] when you return, at which time also I hope to show you some under-painted work which I think may interest you. I shall certainly call and see your screen. It will no doubt be a very useful bit of "property" to you.

Remember me very kindly to your wife.

My dear Johnny,—I am much obliged to you for your letter, telling me of your doings in the country. I think you will do wisely in going to the Isle of Wight to paint landscape; the danger of copying the old masters too exclusively, as you have been forced to do lately, is that one is apt to fall into mannerism by trying to see Nature with the eyes of others; painting landscape direct from Nature is the best possible corrective against this tendency.

I shall be glad to see you and what you have done on your return, if you are here before the 20th or 22nd August; if not, we shall meet in October, when I return from the East.

I am working away at my picture, which will be under-painted before I leave England.

I wish you joy of your summer trip, and remain, yours very truly,

Fred Leighton.

6th September.

I have just got your letter, and scribble a line in haste (for I am very busy) to say that you are wholly at liberty to do whatever you choose with Nan's picture, and that I am glad for your sake that people like it. I am also much pleased to hear that you have an interesting portrait on the easel, in which you see progress and improvement in the matter of breadth and light and subordination of half tints; nothing is more important in painting; I think that after accuracy and refinement of form, it is the quality you should most strive for. I am myself tolerably well, but not by any means brilliantly. I have got to work at a few small heads, which you will see before long.

In haste, with love to Nan and the children.

Lynton, Saturday.

I have just received your note, and hear with sincere regret that you have not been prospering lately in your affairs. I am in great difficulty as to what I can do for you in the matter of the Curatorship. If it were only a question of testifying to your character, zeal, industry, &c. &c., I should have real pleasure in giving you that testimony in the highest and fullest degree. But, my dear Johnny, if I am not very much mistaken, the Curator is expected to be able when required to advise and direct the pupils, and I cannot in candour conceal from you that your age and experience do not appear to me yet to qualify you for that part of the duties. If it were not so, why does the candidate send in some of his works for inspection? You must not be angry with me, Johnny; you know I have always spoken the plain truth to you, and am always ready and desirous to help you when it is in my power. I should be only too glad to think of your obtaining some post that should relieve you from all immediate pecuniary care. Give my love to your wife and children, and believe me always, yours most sincerely,

Fred Leighton.

P.S.—I shall be back on Wednesday or Thursday.

Sunday.

In case any alteration should have been made in the arrangements of the Schools during my absence, and that teaching is not expected as part of the duties of a curator, I send you a letter to the Council, as I should be sorry you lost any fair chance by my absence.

You heard from me no doubt yesterday.

Care of Mrs. Walker,
Nealinmore, Glen Columbkille,
Co. Donegal.
15th.

I have got your note, in regard to which I feel some little embarrassment. I am, as you know, always pleased when it is in my power to be of any use to you, and I should therefore wish to help you in this matter concerning which you write. I own, however, to having some hesitation in asking this favour of Mr. Hodgson, because I fear that the granting of it would be a source of a good deal of inconvenience to him, and he might, out of his old friendship, be put in an awkward position; he would be equally loth to say "yes" or "no." The picture hangs in his dining-room, and cannot possibly be moved. The copy would be a lengthy affair, for there is an enormous amount of work in the group you speak of, and you would have, therefore, to be established for a long time in a room which is in daily use by the family. I do not at all say that he might not grant the favour you ask, but I own I feel that I cannot, discreetly, ask it of him. I am sure you will not misinterpret my declining, and I shall be very sincerely glad if you yourself succeed in your direct appeal.

I trust you and yours are thriving, and that you have not suffered lately from your leg.

This is a wild, wind-swept corner of Ireland in which I am staying, and abounding in matter for studying, especially rock forms, but the inconstancy of the weather puts sketching almost out of the question.

This is a matter of comparative indifference to me, as I came here purposely for rest, and not for work.

Give my love to Nan and the chicks.—Sincerely yours,

Fred Leighton.

Do you know of any one who would do a life-size copy of a portrait of the Queen in robes for the sum of £100? I have been asked to inquire. It is, I believe, for Chelsea Hospital. In former days it might have been worth your while; now it no longer is, it would not pay you; but you perhaps know of some less prosperous artist who would undertake it, and who would do it well—for of course that is expected.

2 Holland Park Road,
Kensington, W.
(Postmark, Mar. 9. 82.)

I am absolutely ashamed to rob you, but you offer me the drawing so kindly that I can't possibly refuse it; I am delighted with it, only you must let me give you a little drawing some day in return. With very best thanks.

2 Holland Park Road,
Kensington, W.,
12th February 1887.

Dear Johnnie,—I was very glad to get your letter giving so very satisfactory an account of yourself and your doings. I had already heard of your prosperity in a general way from Nan, who came to see me before starting, but who told me also how lonely you felt. It must have been a great joy to you to see her again, and it will be a still greater when you see the (fourteen?) youngsters about you once more; you will, like everybody who crosses the water, bring back a very pleasant recollection of American kindness and hospitality, and, I am glad to think, also a good pocketful of money. I hope it will bring you luck here. I am glad that Mr. Marquand has made you welcome to his house, which I understand is very beautiful. I know his Vandyke well; it belonged to an acquaintance of mine, Lord Methuen, who has a number of beautiful things at Corsham. It is one of the finest I know, and stands quite in the front rank of Vandykes. The Turner also I know, a rare favourite of mine. But of the Rembrandt I know nothing. I am glad, too, you thought my "ceiling" looked well. I hope he has introduced a little gold in the rafters to bind the paintings to the ceiling itself. Give my love to Nan, and believe me, with all good wishes, sincerely yours,

Fred Leighton.

Please remember me to the Marquands and to your friends the Osbornes.

Thursday, July 24th, 1856.

Went on Monday to Hatchford with Leighton, and passed all Tuesday with him and Mrs. Sartoris on St. George's Hills. The day was enchanting, and the Hills in their greatest beauty.

London, Wednesday, 1856.

As my stay in London is drawing to a close, and nobody writes to me, I must write to somebody. I am happy to say (for I know it will interest you) that my "Pan" and "Venus" are admired as much as I could wish, so that I am not without hopes of selling one of them at Manchester. Gibson was quite delighted with them; I am, however, bound to say he knows nothing about it. The sketches of my "Orpheus" I have sold to White for £25, which comes "unkimmon" handy, as this place is ruinous. I have made the acquaintance of Rossetti, one of the originators of the pre-Raphaelite movement. He is apparently a remarkably agreeable and interesting man. Hunt also I like much. My plans are these: on Monday next I leave London, and shall spend a small week between the Cartwrights and (perhaps) the Grotes, after which on or before the 12th I shall be with you in Bath, where I shall remain until the 16th, on which day I shall come up by the early train to town, where I shall meet H. Greville, stay long enough to get my passport in order, and then be off double quick to Italy. I am longing to get to work again; I am doing nothing whatever except Henry's dog, which takes up what little time I have. Will you tell Papa that I went to the shop he recommended, and got a splendid Shakespeare ready bound in eight volumes for three guineas!

Translation.]

9 Circus, Bath,
August 2, 1856.

My very dear Friend,—In about ten days I expect, on my way to Italy, whither I go on a short student journey, to pass through Frankfurt or Cologne, according as you are in one or the other, exclusively in order to take my dear master once more by the hand; and if you are at the moment in Frankfurt, I might even spend two or three days in the old Bokaga, and even draw a composition as in the old times. Do, dear friend, send me a line by return of post in order that I may make arrangements.

The rest verbally—I have sadly forgotten my German.

Hoping to meet very soon, dear master.—Think of your pupil,

Fred Leighton.

Translation.]

Bath. 9 Circus
(later).

My very dear Master,—I have just received your dear lines, and hasten to say that nothing could be more delightful to me than to travel with you again, if only for a few days.

I had intended to go viâ Milan for the sake of quickness, but I will go direct through the Tyrol to Venice.

If all goes well, I will arrive in Frankfurt on the 23rd of this month; does that fit in with your plans?

How delighted I am to see you again, my good Master!

To our speedy meeting!—Your grateful pupil,

Fred Leighton.

I would rather remember that you will receive these lines in the Eternal City, that you are with our friend Rico, and that you are settling to work with renewed vitality and a pocketful of studies. In Cornelius, besides much that is stubborn, you will find so much that is admirable, and so much truly artistic greatness, that you will soon love him, for he is also of a truly childlike disposition, and much too good for Berlin, for which reason he has left the place. You lucky men who have crossed the Tiber—the Vatican of St. Peter, the Courts of St. Onofrio, the Villa Pamfili—where in the world is there anything like them? Where is there a town in which every stone has greater, more splendid things to tell us of every period? Where is there a place where the artist could soar higher than in Rome? Forget that you are practically in an island, and study your Rome; it is invaluable for one's whole life, which is otherwise so commonplace and so small. Your youth and courage—"the sparrow among the beans" ("Triton among the minnows")—need not be injured thereby; but, dear friend, you must become a man, and there is nothing great in the world that has been achieved except by taking pains. Addio, carissimo; greet Rico and the friends most heartily. My wife reciprocates your friendly greetings, and I remain, your devoted friend,

Steinle.

Frankfurt, Brauseler Hof,
August 24.

Dearest Mamma,—Being at last in Frankfurt, and having seen Steinle and his works, and, en revanche, shown him mine, I sit down to write to you. You will, I am sure, be glad to hear that he was much pleased with my drawings, that he liked the compositions, and what is more, gave me good advice about them. He also suggested to me to paint the little "Venus" rising out of the sea (from Anacreon), of which I have already made a sketch. My studies he seemed to think excellent; I gave him three of them; I was so charmed to see his dear face again, looking just the same as he always did, and when he showed me what he had been doing, I fairly set up the pipes. He took me in the afternoon to the Guaitas, who have a series of drawings by him from Clemens Brentano's poems; they are perfectly exquisite; the richness and variety of his imagination is something marvellous. Mr. Guaita, who is about to have them photographed for his friends, has kindly promised me a copy. To-morrow morning I am off for the Lake of Constance, whence through the Finstermünz to Meran, where I and Steinle part, though not till I have stayed there two or three days. To-day I shall go to Mr. Bolton and to Madame Beving to deliver your letter. Altogether Frankfurt has improved in appearance; it looks much more like a capital than it did formerly; new shops have sprung up, old ones are improved, and the whole town looks gay and busy; all this does not prevent it from being highly antipathetic to me, which is, I daresay, in some measure attributable to the hideous jargon that one hears wherever one turns. I have seen Gogel and Koch, who were both very civil, the former asking me to dine with him, which, however, I could not do, being already engaged to Steinle. And you, dearest Mamma, how are you? and Papa and the girls? Tell me all about them—write Venice p. restante.

God bless you, dear Mamma. Remember the boy.

I have had such a letter from Henry (Mr. Henry Greville); there never was anything like the tenderness of it—you would have been just enchanted.

Venice, September 6.

I believe I told you in my last letter that I was going to spend a few days at Meran with Steinle. Now when I got there I found the place so beautiful and so healthy, and so rich in subjects for "my pencil," that I stayed a week, and this accounts for my being rather behindhand with this letter.

Steinle and I had rooms at a sort of hydropathic boarding-house, with splendid accommodation for bathing in the coldest possible mountain water, a convenience of which I availed myself daily to my great enjoyment.

I lived comme les poules. I was up at daybreak and a good bit before the sun (who takes a long time before he gets his nose into a valley) and went to bed very shortly after sunset; I worked and walked and ate and slept, that was my simple bill of fare. My good Steinle and myself got on, as of course, capitally. He is most affectionate and kind, and I have derived a good deal of artistic advantage from his intercourse even in that short time.

By-the-bye, before I left Frankfurt I received through H. Greville a letter from Mr. Harrison, secretary to Col. Phipps, asking me to go to the Palace to look at the canvas of the "Cimabue," which appeared to be defective in some parts; though what on earth can be the matter with it I don't know; at the same time I got another saying, that as I was not in England, there would be no necessity for me to make a special journey to England on that account, and merely wishing to know when I expected to return. I sent an appropriate answer, which I submitted to Henry Greville, and now am waiting for further instructions from Harrison here in Venice.

How I revelled in the first really Italian bit, the lake of Lugano! What an exquisite little picture it is with its villas and terraces, its cypresses and its oleanders, and the little town itself too! stretching its cool arcades along the blue margin of the water; a lovely drive along the lake took me to that of Como, and from thence I went by rail to Milan; stayed a day, went to the Scala, performance so bad I was obliged to leave the house, and now I am for a week in Venice gliding along in lazy gondolas, winking up at grey palaces and glittering domes. I suppose you won't leave Italy this time without seeing Venice once more, and feeding your eyes again on Titian and Bonifazio, Veronese and Tintoretto. By-the-bye, I am doing a sketch from a superb Bonifazio in the Academy here; yesterday I painted hard for six hours, so you see it is not all boats, and now I must close. I will write to you again from Florence, and I hope with a better pen. God bless you, Mammy, give my love to all from your loving boy.

Florence, Hôtel du Nord,
25th September 1856.

About my pictures[67] I have heard (for Henry makes the Ellesmeres keep him au courant, which of course is very convenient for me) that they are pretty well hung, but that the "Romeo" is not seen very well owing to a defect in the lighting of the room. Lady E. said the "Pan" and "Venus" seemed to be very well painted, or something, but Lord Brackley thought them improper! Henry, of course, was furious at their prudishness. I don't for the life of me know where to have them sent to, nor can I know for the next three weeks about, as I must write to consult Henry and get his answer and then write to you, but surely there is time. You have, of course, received the letter in which I tell you that I must go to England at the beginning of November to see about my picture, but you need not be afraid about my having to do it over again; that would be a good joke; no artist ever yet was responsible prospectively for what might happen to his picture; but it will be a frightful bore in the expense line coming back from Italy fairly swept out as I shall be. Were you so kind as to pay the rent for me as I asked you?

Translation.]

Florence, 28th September.

My very dear Friend,—Well may you say that the Meran post is tardy, for I only received your dear letter of the 13th three days ago. Meanwhile you have probably long since received mine, in which I thanked you heartily for the beautiful coat received in Venice.

I have already stayed here in Florence eight days, and though I have not worked very arduously, I have yet thoroughly enjoyed myself, and also, I hope, learned something from the lovely things that I am seeing again here; meanwhile there remains much for me to see in the two days that I have still to stay, amongst others the Capella of Benozzo Gozzoli in the Palazzo Riccardi, a work which I love excessively. To see the old Florentine school again is a thing which always enchants me anew, for one can never be sated with seeing the noble sweetness, the childlike simplicity, allied with high manly feeling, which breathes in it. But I speak to you of plain things which you know far better than I. I am quite eager to see the new drawings at Fabiola, and I am much excited about those at Cologne; but the gods alone know when I shall see them.

On Wednesday I go to Rome, where I hope to see Rico; if only I could take you with me, dear master! Meanwhile I beg you to remember me most kindly to Madame Steinle, and yourself believe in the love of your grateful pupil,

Fred Leighton.

P.S.—My stay in Rome will (alas!) only be very short, for I am unexpectedly obliged to go soon to London, confound it!—instead of a month, ten days! Povero me!

Florence, 11th October 1856.

Dearest Mammy,—I wonder whether you are coming to Florence, and, if so, how long you are going to stay. I suppose you will go to the Hôtel du Nord as in old times—I go there invariably, and write now from my own particular room. I wrote to you last from Venice, where I spent ten days in a very satisfactory manner between work and flânerie of an artistic description—indeed I flâned this time with more advantage than hitherto, for I went more closely than I had yet done into the architecture of Venice, studying the different masters, their different styles and relative merit; I need not say that I found this extremely interesting. Fred Cockerell, a young architect friend of mine, was there with Villers Lister, another very nice boy, a London acquaintance of mine. We were a great deal together, and they accompanied me to Padua, where I left them doing Giotto, which I would most willingly have done myself if I had not been hard pressed for time. In the painting line I only made one sketch, a Bonifazio of the first water, which will figure very satisfactorily on my studio wall; it took me a good deal of time, and is on the whole, I think, very fair. In Florence I have had one or two great disappointments which have rather diminished my enjoyment of this loveliest place. I expected confidently to find both Browning and his wife and Lyons. Neither of them are here, the former not having yet returned from the North, and the latter having been called home to see his father, who is very ailing. I have seen the Fenzis, who received me with their wonted cordiality, and am going to-day to call on the Maquays. I am here too short a time to work, beyond a pencil sketch or two, and am off for dear old Rome on Friday morning as ever is. I shall stay there till I find a studio, which I hope won't be long, and shall then rush off to Cervara in the mountains to paint.

Good-bye, Mammikins. Give my best love to all, and believe me your loving boy,

Fred.

Aynhoe, September 26, 1856.

My dear Leighton,—Truly was I delighted with your letter, so that in spite of my "nature to" I gulped my huff, though I was like to choke; but self-interest is a wonderful smoothener, and as I want you to do something for me I mean to behave myself. Leighton, by the squints which you shot over my park from your outspread umbrella, by those you are hereafter to shoot, by Tokay cup and venison hash—by anything you like, I want you to belumber yourself with some ripe stone pinecones, and a hundred cork acorns. I have found a true legitimate stone pine about forty to fifty feet high on my property, and as for the cork trees you have seen the one in my garden, and therefore, I do not see why I should not have a lot in the park. They can only be raised from acorns. Now, if you could take steps to get me these things—God! I don't know what I would not do for you, and how would we enjoy it in years to come to watch the growth of our trees. It is a national object. You may have some difficulty in getting the acorns and cones; Pantaleone or Erhardt might perhaps mention to you some gardener who would procure them. You know probably the trees would get to be called L. pines and Leighton oaks, which is one way to immortality if Orpheus and Eurydices won't help you. I wrote to Mason about the pines; by all means make him answer, the exertion will do him good, he wants exercise, and therefore don't get on with his work. My God! when I came in at twelve to-day he was not up!

How I envy you at Rome when I think of it; how would I enjoy being there, and yet I can't help thinking of ——'s death at the same time. Remember me to little Cornhill and every Roman who remembers me. Write Poste Restante, Paris. I go there, I believe, next week, but where I shall be the winter ——? Forster is in the Westminster—be d——d to it for stale wine that it is. As for Mason, make him write, and believe me, yours affectionately,

W.C.C.

Rome, October 14, 1856.

Dearest Mamma,—I have delayed writing to you for a few days in the hope of finding a letter from you in answer to my last; however, as the posts here are frightfully irregular, and I think it very possible your answer may have been lost, I wait no longer. I enclose two little criticisms on my "Romeo" and "Venus," which will I think please Papa and you, and which were sent me through Mrs. Sartoris by Henry Greville.[68] There is, however, not the remotest chance of my selling them at Manchester, and I am considering where to show them next. I am trying here in Rome (where I shall stay till the end of October) to make up by rigid economy for the expense inevitably incurred by living at inns all the way here. I can't tell you what a delight it was to me to see this dear old place again. Everything is so unaltered since I left it, that I felt on returning exactly as if I was coming home from a drive instead of a lengthened absence. The frescoes which I knew so well were as new to me again from their colossal grandeur, and I wished I could spend a month or so exclusively copying in the Sixtina. My picture, though not well seen, is not particularly badly hung, but it can only be seen from a distance, so that the expressions are almost entirely lost; it does not look so well as in my studio. The Pre-Raphaelites are very striking, full of talent and industry, but unpleasant to the eye. Meanwhile they have the day. Colnaghi told me that he thought he could sell "Romeo" if I made the price four hundred, and said I could do it without derogating, as it went through his, a dealer's, hands. I consulted Henry and Mrs. S., who strongly advised me to follow his advice. I have done so. May it bring me luck. If the remarks you quote, dear Mamma, are meant to apply to my relation with Mrs. Sartoris, I can only say, that as I have derived from her more moral improvement and refinement (you know it), and from her circle more intellectual advantage than from all my other acquaintances put together twice over, I can't join with Mrs. Whatshername in apprehending "a great number of inconveniences."

The "Romeo," which had the best place in the Exhibition, has been sold for £400, which to me represents £360 after deduction of percentage. They have in a most slovenly way sold my picture for pounds though marked guineas, they want to know if I claimed the difference; as they have behaved without sufficient égard about other things also, I have directed the secretary in England to say that I should like the error to be rectified, though I do not wish the sale to be cancelled on that account if it be too late. I don't want to miss the money of course, but I have no idea of such negligence on their part.

You see, dear Mamma, that my little pension to Lud has become, for this year at least, so easy that I have scarcely any merit left.

19 Queen Street, Mayfair.

Dearest Mamma,—Having arrived in London, and been to the Palace to see my picture, I hasten both to tell you the result of my inspection and to answer your very kind letter to Paris which, like an ass that I am, I have neglected to bring with me. The damage to my picture is trifling and easily remediable, having arisen in no way from the precarious nature of paint or varnish, but from a faulty canvas, and probable rough usage in moving. I shall set all right in a few days; the holes or raw places are in the sky, and luckily not near the faces. I have not yet seen Colonel Phipps, and am waiting for further instructions; the Court I shall of course not see, as it is at Windsor.

I don't remember whether I told you that I got an invitation from Manchester to exhibit next spring, and having nothing to send but "Cimabue," have respectfully applied to the Queen through Colonel Phipps to obtain it of her for that occasion.

I am truly sorry not to see you all but as you say, I can't afford it; indeed, I write now partly to ask Papa to send me some money, the £50 he gave me in the middle of August when I started are not only gone, but scarcely took me back to Paris, and but for Petre, whom I met coming back from Naples, and who lent me a trifle with most friendly alacrity, I should have been frightfully pinched; the first part of my journey being all travelling, and hotel life was very dear. In Rome, however, I lived for nothing, and sailed from Civita Vecchia to Marseilles "before the mast," a thing I will never do again if I can help it, but which enabled me just to get home to Paris within a few francs of the £50. Meanwhile I have no hesitation in saying that I never spent three months more profitably or more agreeably. I suppose Papa kindly paid my last quarter as I asked him, but not having received your letter I don't in reality know.

P. Delaroche is dead, I am sorry to say. Going through Paris I went to see Rob. Fleury, who with characteristic kindness put me up to several dodges in picture-restoring with a reference to "Cimabue"—invaluable information.

Translation.]

21 Rue Pigale, 1st December.

Dear Friend and Master,—I read with real distress the sad news of your severe loss, but sincere and deep as is my sympathy, I pass on in silence, for in such an hour of trial there is but one comfort for you, and that not from man.

I should no doubt have come back to you from Rome in the beginning of October, but I had to go to England, where I spent three weeks, and am consequently now just established again in Paris. My Italian journey afforded me in every way the greatest pleasure and edification, and I seem now for the first to have grasped the greatness of the Campagna and the giant loftiness of Michael Angelo; still the dear old town, now as ever, is quite unchanged. The good Cornelius is so cheerful and friendly that it is a real pleasure; he has finished some works which have much beauty in the design, but, quite in confidence, they are nevertheless a trifle "solite cose," and much too weakly drawn: from a man who makes claims to style, one expects something more of solidity. Cornelius is a richly and powerfully endowed man, but he does the young generation no good; if young people would only look at work of Michael Angelo's! I except the sculptor Willig, he is a famous fellow, and also an agreeable man. I was glad to meet Gamba again, but unfortunately I did not see any work of his.

Dear Friend, in spite of all my efforts I could nowhere find the right garment for your composition, and learnt only after a long search what is properly the official dress; I learnt at last from the custodian of the Sixtina, who inquired from the head "Ceremoniere," that the cardinal in these days wears the Cappa Magna pavonazza, not the red.[69] The costume therefore is: purple undergarment, lace shirt (rochetto), cappa magna of violet cloth (those in the Charwache will wear no silk), black shoes, four-cornered hood, and gloves with the ring; I enclose a drawing of the real confessional in St. Peter's Church; I hope it may be of use to you. Dear master, how can you possibly excuse yourself for closing your letter with a word of true and wise advice! You know that I owe to you, and to no one else, the whole of my serious education, and am proud of it.

If you do not get the work at Cologne, it will be a downright infamy and a dirtiness without parallel; but I hope for the best.

How I should like to see your "Marriage at Cana."

Keep in remembrance your loving pupil,

Fred Leighton.

Translation.]

Saturday, 9th May 1857.

My dear Friend and Master,—Your letter, just received, has given me intense pleasure. Your constant and affectionate remembrance of a pupil who is under so many obligations to you, rejoices my heart. On this occasion, however, your letter was particularly welcome, because I had already begun to worry myself a little about your long silence, and was almost afraid you might imagine that I had not exerted myself sufficiently in the matter of your cardinal.

But first of all I offer my best congratulations on the completion of the Cologne affair, and on the splendid field which is offered to you also in Münster. At last you have work which is worthy of your abilities and your efforts, and will give them scope. With such employment I must not regret that I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you again in Paris. That I have not seen the "Marriage of Cana" is, I candidly confess, a source of regret to me; I know the design of the composition, and should have liked extremely to have seen how it has turned out. When shall I see one of your works again?

What shall I tell you about myself, my dear friend? I am getting on with my pictures, and have now got them all three into a fairly forward state of under-painting; completion, however, will only be reached in the course of next winter, for I intend to execute them with minute care. I have simplified my method of painting, and foresworn all tricks. I endeavour to advance from the beginning as much as possible, and equally try to mix the right tint, and slowly and carefully to put it on the right spot, and always with the model before me; what does not exactly suit has to be adapted; one can derive benefit from every head. Schwind says that he cannot work from models, they worry him! a splendid teacher for his pupils! nature worries every one at first, but one must so discipline oneself that, instead of checking and hindering, she shall illuminate and help, and solve all doubts. Has Schwind, with his splendid and varied gifts, ever been able to model a head with a brush? Those who place the brush behind the pencil, under the pretence that form is before all things, make a very great mistake. Form is certainly all important; one cannot study it enough; but the greater part of form falls within the province of the tabooed brush. The everlasting hobby of contour (which belongs to the drawing material) is first the place where the form comes in; what, however, reveals true knowledge of form, is a powerful, organic, refined finish of modelling, full of feeling and knowledge—and that is the affair of the brush (Pinsel).

You see I have again begun discoursing, my dear Master; you must excuse all this silly talk, and ascribe it to the pleasure I feel whenever I enjoy intercourse with you, even if only by letter. How much we have already talked over together!

And now adieu, dear Friend. Rest assured that you have not wasted your affection on an ungrateful man, and keep always in remembrance—Your faithful pupil,

Leighton.

Please remember me most kindly to your wife.

I do not know of any work of mine that has appeared in an illustrated paper—Louie has been dreaming.