Rosa."

The next day brought back the prince to the painter's gallery; who, on
entering, saluted Salvator with a jocose air, and added, "Well, Signor
Amico, how goes the market to-day? Have prices risen or fallen?"

"Four hundred scudi is the price to-day!" replied Salvator, with
affected calmness; when suddenly giving way to his natural impetuosity,
and no longer stifling his indignation, he burst forth: "The fact is,
your excellency shall not now obtain this picture from me at any price;
and yet so little do I value its merits, that I deem it worthy no better
fate than this;" and snatching the panel on which it was painted from
the wall, he flung it to the ground, and with his foot broke it into a
hundred pieces. His excellency made an unceremonious retreat, and
returned no more to the enraged painter's studio.

SALVATOR ROSA'S OPINION OF HIS OWN WORKS.

While a Roman nobleman was one day endeavoring to drive a hard bargain
with Salvator Rosa, he coolly interrupted him, saying that, till the
picture was finished, he himself did not know its value; "I never
bargain, sir, with my pencil; for it knows not the value of its own
labor before the work is finished. When the picture is done, I will let
you know what it costs, and you may then take it or not as you please."

SALVATOR ROSA'S BANDITTI.

There is an etching by Salvator Rosa, which seems so plainly to tell the
story of the wandering artist's captivity, that it merits a particular
description. In the midst of wild, rocky scenery, appears a group of
banditti, armed at all points, and with all sorts of arms; they are
lying in careless attitudes, but with fierce countenances, around a
youthful prisoner, who forms the foreground figure, and is seated on a
rock, with his languid limbs hanging over the precipice, which may be
supposed to yawn beneath. It is impossible to describe the despair
depicted in this figure: it is marked in his position, in the drooping
of his head, which his nerveless arms seem with difficulty to support,
and the little that may be seen of his face, over which, from his
recumbent attitude, his hair falls in luxuriant profusion. All is alike
destitute of energy and of hope, which the beings grouped around the
captive seem to have banished forever by some sentence recently
pronounced; yet there is one who watches over the fate of the young
victim: a woman stands immediately behind him, with her hand stretched
out, while her fore finger, r