tudio and see
"Keppel." There were a good many pictures displayed there, but "Keppel"
was placed in a small room, set apart, rightly focused, properly draped,
and lighted only by candles, that stood in silver candle-sticks, and
which were solemnly snuffed by a detailed marine, six foot three, in a
red coat, with a formidable hanger at his side. Only a few persons were
admitted at a time and on entering the room all you saw was the valiant
form of the doughty Commodore, the sea-mist in his face and the wild
winds blowing his locks. The big marine on guard in the shadow added the
last realistic touch, and the gentlemen visitors removed their hats and
the ladies talked in whispers--they all expected Keppel to speak, and
they wished to hear what he would say.

It is a great thing to paint a beautiful picture, but 't is a more
difficult feat to hypnotize the public into accepting the fact.

The live Keppel was pointed out on the street as the man who had had his
picture taken.

Now, people do not have portraits painted simply because they want
portraits painted: they want these portraits shown and admired.

To have Reynolds paint your portrait might prove a repetition of the
Keppel--who knows!

Sitters came and a secretary in livery took their names and made
appointments, as is done today in the office of a prosperous dentist.

Joshua Reynolds was young and strong, and he worked while it was called
the day. He worked from sunrise until sunset.

That first year in London he produced one hundred twenty portraits,
besides painting various other pictures. This he could not have done
without the assistance of a most loyal helper.

This helper was Giuseppe Marchi.

There are a half-dozen biographies of Reynolds, and from Boswell,
Walpole and Burney, Gossips-in-Ordinary, we have vivid glimpses into his
life and habits. Then we have his own journal, and hundreds of letters;
but nowhere do we get a frank statement of the assistance rendered him by
Giuseppe Marchi.

When Reynolds was in Rome, aged twenty-one, he fell in with a
tatterdemalion, who proffered his service as guide. Rome is full of such
specimens, and the type is one that has not changed in five hundred
years.

Reynolds tossed the lad a copper, and the ragged one showed his fine
white teeth in a gladsome grin and proffered information. He clung to the
visitor all that afternoon, and the next morning when Reynolds started
out with his sketching-outfit, the you