took turns to nurse the sick man through nights
of fever, contributed out of their slender means to help him through his
difficulty. Max, who loves fine dresses and the carnival so, gave up
a costume and a carriage so as to help Paul, when he sold his picture
(through the agency of Pietro, with whom he had quarrelled, and who
recommended him to a patron), gave a third of the money back to Max, and
took another third portion to Lazaro, with his poor wife and children,
who had not got a single order all that winter--and so the story went
on. I have heard Clive tell of two noble young Americans who came to
Europe to study their art; of whom the one fell sick, whilst the other
supported his penniless comrade, and out of sixpence a day absolutely
kept but a penny for himself, giving the rest to his sick companion. "I
should like to have known that good Samaritan, Sir," our Colonel said,
twirling his mustachios, when we saw him again, and his son told him
that story.

J. J., in his steady silent way, worked on every day, and for many hours
every day. When Clive entered their studio of a morning, he found J. J.
there, and there he left him. When the Life Academy was over, at night,
and Clive went out to his soirees, J. J. lighted his lamp and continued
his happy labour. He did not care for the brawling supper-parties of his
comrades; liked better to stay at home than to go into the world, and
was seldom abroad of a night except during the illness of Luigi before
mentioned, when J. J. spent constant evenings at the other's bedside. J.
J. was fortunate as well as skilful: people in the world took a liking
to the modest young man, and he had more than one order for pictures.
The Artists' Club, at the Lepre, set him down as close with his money;
but a year after he left Rome, Lazaro and his wife, who still remained
there, told a different tale. Clive Newcome, when he heard of their
distress, gave them something--as much as he could spare; but J. J. gave
more, and Clive was as eager in acknowledging and admiring his friend's
generosity as he was in speaking of his genius. His was a fortunate
organisation indeed. Study was his chief amusement. Self-denial came
easily to him. Pleasure, or what is generally called so, had little
charm for him. His ordinary companions were pure and sweet thoughts; his
out-door enjoyment the contemplation of natural beauty; for recreation,
the hundred pleasant dexterities and manipulations of his craft