occupant of the apartment.
He was an artist and a man of very marked characteristics. Seven
years later Hawthorne wrote as follows of him: "He is a plain, homely
Yankee, quite unpolished by his many years' residence in Italy. He
talks ungrammatically; walks with a strange, awkward gait and stooping
shoulders; is altogether unpicturesque, but wins one's confidence
by his very lack of grace. It is not often that we see an artist
so entirely free from affectation in his aspect and deportment.
His pictures were views of Swiss and Italian scenery, and were most
beautiful and true. One of them, a moonlight picture, was really
magical--the moon shining so brightly that it seemed to throw a
light even beyond the limits of the picture; and yet his sunrises and
sunsets, and noontides too, were nowise inferior to this, although
their excellence required somewhat longer study to be fully
appreciated."

After this introduction by our sweet and quaint romancer, the reader
will hardly need be told that the two strangers stood in the presence
of America's now illustrious artist, George L. Brown. But one seeing
him then, as he stood almost scowling at the two strangers, would
hardly have idealized him into the artist whose pencil has done so
much of late years to give American art a distinctive name through his
poetical delineations of the rare, sun-tinted atmosphere that hovers
over Italian landscapes. However, our apology for him must be that the
day was raw and blustering, and that he had no sooner caught sight
of the men through his window, as they hesitatingly entered the door,
than his suspicions were aroused.

The Italian acted as spokesman, and inquired if there were any rooms
to let in the building. Brown, thinking this the easiest way of
ridding himself of the visitors, went in search of the landlord, who
came, and after a moment's conversation the whole party entered the
studio, much to its owner's displeasure.

The cicerone did most of the talking, though now and then the other
made a remark or two in broken Italian. But this was only for the
first few moments. He soon became oblivious of all save art, of which
one could see at a glance he was passionately fond. One of Mr. Brown's
pictures--a large one he was then engaged on--particularly attracted
his attention. He drew closer and closer to the canvas, examining it
with a minuteness that showed the connoisseur, and finally remarked:
"It is very fine in color, sir, and t