Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 424 | Page 4

in its corporate capacity, assume the position of
universal lender of money on, or proprietor of, embarrassed estates; in
which case the 'ryot system' of India will, strangely enough, have found
domestication in Europe! Is this to be the next experiment?
A curious and saddening problem is the future of this great country.
'France,' said Robespierre in one of his moments of studied inspiration,
'has astonished all Europe with her prodigies of reason!' We are now
witnessing the development of several of these astonishing prodigies;
and the spectacle, to say the least of it, is instructive.

MY TRAVELLING COMPANION.
My picture was a failure. Partial friends had guaranteed its success; but
the Hanging Committee and the press are not composed of one's partial
friends. The Hanging Committee thrust me into the darkest corner of
the octagon-room, and the press ignored my existence--excepting in
one instance, when my critic dismissed me in a quarter of a line as a
'presumptuous dauber.' I was stunned with the blow, for I had counted
so securely on the L.200 at which my grand historical painting was
dog-cheap--not to speak of the deathless fame which it was to create for
me--that I felt like a mere wreck when my hopes were flung to the

ground, and the untasted cup dashed from my lips. I took to my bed,
and was seriously ill. The doctor bled me till I fainted, and then said,
that he had saved me from a brain-fever. That might be, but he very
nearly threw me into a consumption, only that I had a deep chest and a
good digestion. Pneumonic expansion and active chyle saved me from
an early tomb, yet I was too unhappy to be grateful.
But why did my picture fail? Surely it possessed all the elements of
success! It was grandly historical in subject, original in treatment, pure
in colouring; what, then, was wanting? This old warrior's head, of true
Saxon type, had all the majesty of Michael Angelo; that young figure,
all the radiant grace of Correggio; no Rembrandt shewed more severe
dignity than yon burnt umber monk in the corner; and Titian never
excelled the loveliness of this cobalt virgin in the foreground. Why did
it not succeed? The subject, too--the 'Finding of the Body of Harold by
Torch-light'--was sacred to all English hearts; and being conceived in
an entirely new and original manner, it was redeemed from the charge
of triteness and wearisomeness. The composition was pyramidal, the
apex being a torch borne aloft for the 'high light,' and the base shewing
some very novel effects of herbage and armour. But it failed. All my
skill, all my hope, my ceaseless endeavour, my burning visions, all--all
had failed; and I was only a poor, half-starved painter, in Great
Howland Street, whose landlady was daily abating in her respect, and
the butcher daily abating in his punctuality; whose garments were
getting threadbare, and his dinners hypothetical, and whose day-dreams
of fame and fortune had faded into the dull-gray of penury and
disappointment. I was broken-hearted, ill, hungry; so I accepted an
invitation from a friend, a rich manufacturer in Birmingham, to go
down to his house for the Christmas holidays. He had a pleasant place
in the midst of some ironworks, the blazing chimneys of which, he
assured me, would afford me some exquisite studies of 'light' effects.
By mistake, I went by the Express train, and so was thrown into the
society of a lady whose position would have rendered any acquaintance
with her impossible, excepting under such chance-conditions as the
present; and whose history, as I learned it afterwards, led me to reflect
much on the difference between the reality and the seeming of life.
She moved my envy. Yes--base, mean, low, unartistic, degrading as is
this passion, I felt it rise up like a snake in my breast when I saw that

feeble woman. She was splendidly dressed--wrapped in furs of the most
costly kind, trailing behind; her velvets and lace worth a countess's
dowry. She was attended by obsequious menials; surrounded by
luxuries; her compartment of the carriage was a perfect palace in all the
accessories which it was possible to collect in so small a space; and it
seemed as though 'Cleopatra's cup' would have been no impracticable
draught for her. She gave me more fully the impression of luxury, than
any person I had ever met with before; and I thought I had reason when
I envied her.
She was lifted into the carriage carefully; carefully swathed in her
splendid furs and lustrous velvets; and placed gently, like a wounded
bird, in her warm nest of down. But she moved languidly, and fretfully
thrust aside her servants' busy hands, indifferent to her comforts, and
annoyed by her very blessings. I