I have read of him in Foxe's _Book of Martyrs_.'

'Well, I do not go straight forward up the flight of steps conducting
into the church, but I turn to the right, and, passing under the piazza,
find myself in a court of the huge bulky house; and then ascend various
staircases, and pass along various corridors and galleries, all of which
I could describe to you, though I have never seen them; at last a door is
unlocked, and we enter a room rather high, but not particularly large,
communicating with another room, into which, however, I do not go, though
there are noble things in that second room--immortal things, by immortal
artists; amongst others, a grand piece of Correggio; I do not enter it,
for the grand picture of the world is not there; but I stand still
immediately on entering the first room, and I look straight before me,
neither to the right nor left, though there are noble things both on the
right and left, for immediately before me at the farther end, hanging
against the wall, is a picture which arrests me, and I can see nothing
else, for that picture at the farther end hanging against the wall is the
picture of the world. . . .'

Yes, go thy way, young enthusiast, and, whether to London town or to old
Rome, may success attend thee; yet strange fears assail me and misgivings
on thy account. Thou canst not rest, thou say'st, till thou hast seen
the picture in the chamber at old Rome hanging over against the wall; ay,
and thus thou dost exemplify thy weakness--thy strength too, it may
be--for the one idea, fantastic yet lovely, which now possesses thee,
could only have originated in a genial and fervent brain. Well, go, if
thou must go; yet it perhaps were better for thee to bide in thy native
land, and there, with fear and trembling, with groanings, with straining
eyeballs, toil, drudge, slave, till thou hast made excellence thine own;
thou wilt scarcely acquire it by staring at the picture over against the
door in the high chamber of old Rome. Seekest thou inspiration? thou
needest it not, thou hast it already; and it was never yet found by
crossing the sea. What hast thou to do with old Rome, and thou an
Englishman? 'Did thy blood never glow at the mention of thy native
land?' as an artist merely? Yes, I trow, and with reason, for thy native
land need not grudge old Rome her 'pictures of the world'; she has
pictures of her own, 'pictures of England'; and is it a new thing to toss
up caps and shout--Engla