"Would you allow him to make a sketch of you, Mr. Landor? He is exceedingly anxious to do so." "No; I do not wish my face to be public property. I detest this publicity that men now-a-days seem to be so fond of. There is a painting of me in England. D'Orsay, too, made a drawing of me" (I think he said drawing) "once when I was visiting Gore House,--a very good thing it was too,--and there is a bust executed by Gibson when I was in Rome. These are quite sufficient. I have often been urged to allow my portrait to be inserted in my books, but never would I give my consent." (Notwithstanding this assertion, it may be found in the "Last Fruit.") "It is a custom that I detest." "But, Mr. Landor, you had your photograph taken lately." "That was to oblige my good friend Browning, who has been so exceedingly kind and attentive to me. I could not refuse him." "But, Mr. Landor, this is entirely between ourselves. It does not concern the public in the least. My friend wants to make a study of your head, and I want the study." "O, the painting is for you, is it?" "Yes. I want to have something of you in oil colors." "Ah, to be sure! the old creature's complexion is so fresh and fair. Well, I'll tell you what I will do. Your friend may come, provided you come with him,--and act as chaperon!" This was said laughingly. "That I will do with pleasure." "But stop!" added Landor after a pause. "I must be taken without my beard!" "O no! Mr. Landor. That cannot be. Why, you will spoil the picture. You won't look like a patriarch without a beard." "I ordered my barber to come and shear me to-morrow. The weather is getting to be very warm, and a heavy beard is exceedingly uncomfortable. I _must_ be shaved to-morrow." "Pray countermand the order, dear Mr. Landor. Do retain your beard until the picture is completed. You will not be obliged to wait long. We shall all be so disappointed if you don't." "Well, well, I suppose I must submit." And thus the matter was amicably arranged, to our infinite satisfaction. Those sittings were very pleasant to the artist and his chaperon, and were not disagreeable, I think, to the model. Seated in his arm-chair, with his back to the window that the light might fall on the top of his head and form a sort of glory, Landor looked every inch a seer, and would entertain us with interesting though unseerlike recollections, while the artist was busy with his brush. Putting out his foot one day, he said, "Who could suppose that that ugly old foot had ever been good-looking? Yet they say it was once. When I was in Rome, an artist came to me, and asked to take a cast of my foot and leg." "Ah, Mr. Landor, you don't know how good-looking you might be now, if you would get a new suit of clothes and a nice pair of boots."