ere's no fear; Nolly was never known to
bleed!" When Blake, a man infinitely more wild in conception than Fuseli
himself, showed him one of his strange productions, he said, "Now some
one has told you this is very fine." "Yes," said Blake, "the Virgin Mary
appeared to me and told me it was very fine; what can you say to that?"
"Say!" exclaimed Fuseli, "why nothing--only her ladyship has not an
immaculate taste."

Fuseli had aided Northcote and Opie in obtaining admission to the
Academy, and when he desired some station for himself, he naturally
expected their assistance--they voted against him, and next morning went
together to his house to offer an explanation. He saw them coming--he
opened the door as they were scraping their shoes, and said, "Come
in--come in--for the love of heaven come in, else you will ruin me
entirely." "How so?" cried Opie "Marry, thus," replied the other, "my
neighbors over the way will see you, and say, 'Fuseli's _done_,--for
there's a bum bailiff,'" he looked at Opie, "'going to seize his person;
and a little Jew broker,'" he looked at Northcote, "'going to take his
furniture,--so come in I tell you--come in!'"

FUSELI'S RETORTS.

One day, during varnishing time in the exhibition, an eminent portrait
painter was at work on the hand of one of his pictures; he turned to the
Keeper, who was near him, and said, "Fuseli, Michael Angelo never
painted such a hand." "No, by Pluto," retorted the other, "but you have,
_many_!"

He had an inherent dislike to Opie; and some one, to please Fuseli,
said, in allusion to the low characters in the historical pictures of
the Death of James I. of Scotland, and the Murder of David Rizzio, that
Opie could paint nothing but vulgarity and dirt. "If he paints nothing
but _dirt_," said Fuseli, "he paints it like an angel."

One day, a painter who had been a student during the keepership of
Wilton, called and said, "The students, sir, don't draw so well now as
they did under Joe Wilton." "Very true," replied Fuseli, "anybody may
draw here, let them draw ever so bad--_you_ may draw here, if you
please!"

During the exhibition of his Milton Gallery, a visitor accosted him,
mistaking him for the keeper--"Those paintings, sir, are from Paradise
Lost I hear, and Paradise Lost was written by Milton. I have never read
the poem, but I shall do it now." "I would not advise you, sir," said
the sarcastic artist, "you will find it an exceedingly tough job!"

A person w