such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful rural pieces,
with trees which might well tempt the wild birds to perch upon them: thou
needest not run to Rome, brother, where lives the old Mariolater, after
pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of England; nor
needest thou even go to London, the big city, in search of a master, for
thou hast one at home in the old East Anglian town who can instruct thee
whilst thou needest instruction. Better stay at home, brother, at least
for a season, and toil and strive 'midst groanings and despondency till
thou hast attained excellence even as he has done--the little dark man
with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name will one day be
considered the chief ornament of the old town, and whose works will at no
distant period rank among the proudest pictures of England--and England
against the world!--thy master, my brother, thy, at present, all too
little considered master--Crome.

CHAPTER XXII.

But to proceed with my own story: I now ceased all at once to take much
pleasure in the pursuits which formerly interested me, I yawned over Ab
Gwilym; even as I now in my mind's eye perceive the reader yawning over
the present pages. What was the cause of this? Constitutional
lassitude, or a desire for novelty? Both it is probable had some
influence in the matter, but I rather think that the latter feeling was
predominant. The parting words of my brother had sunk into my mind. He
had talked of travelling in strange regions and seeing strange and
wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to work and drew pictures of
adventures wild and fantastic, and I thought what a fine thing it must be
to travel, and I wished that my father would give me his blessing, and
the same sum that he had given my brother, and bid me go forth into the
world; always forgetting that I had neither talents nor energies at this
period which would enable me to make any successful figure on its stage.

And then I again sought up the book which had so captivated me in my
infancy, and I read it through; and I sought up others of a similar
character, and in seeking for them I met books also of adventure, but by
no means of a harmless description, lives of wicked and lawless men,
Murray and Latroon--books of singular power, but of coarse and prurient
imagination--books at one time highly in vogue; now deservedly forgotten,
and most difficult to be found.

And when I had gone