rom that in which he has since obtained pre-eminence so
confessed. Among the picturesque material of his native place, the forms
of its shipping had not been neglected, though there was probably less
in the order of Plymouth dockyard to catch the eye of the boy, always
determined in its preference of purely picturesque arrangements, than
might have been afforded by the meanest fishing hamlet. But a strong and
lasting impression was made upon him by the wreck of the "Dutton" East
Indiaman on the rocks under the citadel; the crew were saved by the
personal courage and devotion of Sir Edward Pellew, afterwards Lord
Exmouth. The wreck held together for many hours under the cliff, rolling
to and fro as the surges struck her. Haydon and Prout sat on the crags
together and watched her vanish fragment by fragment into the gnashing
foam. Both were equally awe-struck at the time; both, on the morrow,
resolved to paint their first pictures; both failed; but Haydon, always
incapable of acknowledging and remaining loyal to the majesty of what he
had seen, lost himself in vulgar thunder and lightning. Prout struggled
to some resemblance of the actual scene, and the effect upon his mind
was never effaced.

144. At the time of his first residence in London, he painted more
marines than anything else. But other work was in store for him. About
the year 1818, his health, which as we have seen had never been
vigorous, showed signs of increasing weakness, and a short trial of
continental air was recommended. The route by Havre to Rouen was chosen,
and Prout found himself, for the first time, in the grotesque labyrinths
of the Norman streets. There are few minds so apathetic as to receive no
impulse of new delight from their first acquaintance with continental
scenery and architecture; and Rouen was, of all the cities of France,
the richest in those objects with which the painter's mind had the
profoundest sympathy. It was other then than it is now; revolutionary
fury had indeed spent itself upon many of its noblest monuments, but the
interference of modern restoration or improvement was unknown. Better
the unloosed rage of the fiend than the scrabble of self-complacent
idiocy. The facade of the cathedral was as yet unencumbered by the
blocks of new stonework, never to be carved, by which it is now defaced;
the Church of St. Nicholas existed, (the last fragments of the niches of
its gateway were seen by the writer dashed upon the pavement in