Here Topaz became an historical pilferer; he arranged his hair like the powdered wig of a country priest, caught together the straggling hairs of his beard into a point, put on a high-peaked hat, dressed himself in a tight-fitting coat over which the ruffle of his shirt fell in folds, and, in short, tried to look as much as possible like a portrait of Van Dyck. Thus attired, with his portfolio under his arm, and colour-box in hand, he began to frequent the schools. But, alas! like so many apprentice artists, who are men with all their faculties fully developed, Topaz followed the empty dreams of his ambition, rather than the teaching of common sense. It was not long before he found this out. When the works of his master were not available, he had to begin with the bare canvas, and unaided lay in outline, form, light, shadow, and colour; when, in fact, instead of imitation, originality and talent were required, then, alas! good-bye to the visions of Topaz. It was no good his working, perspiring, worrying, knocking his head, tearing his beard. Pegasus, always restive, refused to carry him to the Helicon of fortune and renown. In plain English, he did nothing worth the materials wasted in its production: masters and pupils urged him to choose some other means of making a living. “Be a mason, or a shoemaker; your talent lies more in the direction of trade!” It was in truth a pity that Topaz—full-grown ape as he was—should have been the slave of his narrow pride and vanity. That he should have aspired to fill a grand, generous, imposing, humanlike roll. I have often heard him say he would follow the example of the men of the Middle Ages, study medicine among the Arabs; and then return to teach it to the Christians. His foolish ambition was to transmit, from cultured men to apes, the knowledge of art, and, by idealising his fellows in portraiture, to place them on the level of the Lords of Creation. His chagrin was as profound as his project had been visionary. Wounded by the dreadful fall his vanity had sustained, sulky, ashamed, discontented with the world and with himself, Topaz, losing his sleep, appetite, and vivacity, fell into a languishing illness {165} which threatened his life. Happily he had no physician, Nature fought out the battle for herself, and won.