He was subject to fits of despondency, and during the continuance of such moods he sat with his beloved book on entomology upon his knee--touched now and then the breakfast cup with his lips, and seemed resolutely bent on being unhappy. In periods such as these it was difficult to rouse him, and even dangerous. Mrs. Fuseli on such occasions ventured to become his monitress. "I know him well," she said one morning to a friend who found him in one of his dark moods, "he will not come to himself till he is put into a passion--the storm then clears off, and the man looks out serene." "Oh no," said her visitor, "let him alone for a while--he will soon think rightly." He was spared till next morning--he came to the breakfast table in the same mood of mind. "Now I must try what I can do," said his wife to the same friend whom she had consulted the day before; she now began to reason with her husband, and soothe and persuade him; he answered only by a forbidding look and a shrug of the shoulder. She then boldly snatched away his book, and dauntlessly abode the storm. The storm was not long in coming--his own fiend rises up not more furiously from the side of Eve than did the painter. He glared on his friend and on his wife--uttered a deep imprecation--rushed up stairs and strode about his room in great agitation. In a little while his steps grew more regular--he soon opened the door, and descended to his labors all smiles and good humor. Fuseli's method of curing his wife's anger was not less original and characteristic. She was a spirited woman, and one day, when she had wrought herself into a towering passion, her sarcastic husband said, "Sophia, my love, why don't you swear? You don't know how much it would ease your mind." FUSELI'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE, HIS SARCASTIC DISPOSITION, AND QUICK TEMPER.