ought it impossible that he could have had an homoeopathic
proportion of vanity--of personal vanity at least; but it turned out
otherwise. He was described as a greasy bilious man, with a peculiarly
conventicle aspect--that is, one that affects a union of gravity and love.
"Well, sir," said the painter, "that will do--I think I have been very
fortunate in your likeness." The man looks at it, and says nothing, puts
on an expression of disappointment. "What! don't you think it like, sir?"
says the artist. "Why--ye-ee-s, it is li-i-ke--but----" "But what sir?--I
think it exactly like. I wish you would tell me where it is not like?"
"Why, I'd rather you should find it out yourself. Have the goodness to
look at me."--And here my friend the painter declared, that he put on a
most detestably affected grin of amiability.--"Well, sir, upon my word, I
don't see any fault at all; it seems to me as like as it can be; I wish
you'd be so good as to tell me what you mean." "Oh, sir, I'd rather
not--I'd rather you should find it out yourself--look again." "I can't see
any difference, sir; so if you don't tell me, it can't be altered." "Well
then, with reluctance, if I must tell you, I don't think you have given my
_sweet expression about the eyes_." Oh, Eusebius, Eusebius, what a mock
you would have made of that man; you would have flouted his vanity about
his ears for him gloriously; I would have given a crown to have had him
sit to you, and you should have let me be by, to attend your colours. How
we would have bedaubed the fellow before he had left the room, with his
sweet eyes! But there, your patient painter must endure all that, and not
give a hint that he disagrees in the opinion: or if he speak his mind on
the occasion, he may as well quit the town, for under the influence of
those sweet eyes, nor man, woman, nor child, will come to sit to him. And
consider, Eusebius, their misery in having such sitters at all. They are
not Apollos, and Venuses, nor Adonises, that knock at painters' doors. Not
one in a hundred has even a tolerably pleasant face. I certainly once knew
a rough-dealing artist, who told a gentleman very plainly--"Sir, I do not
paint remarkably ugly people." But he came to no good. Not but that a
clever fellow might do something of this kind with management, with good
effect; get the reputation of being a painter of "beauties," with a little
skill, make beauties of every body, and stoutly maintain that he never
will ha