"A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; But yet an angel, too, and bright With something of celestial light:" and then, to it he set _con furore_, grasping palette and brushes as Jove might his thunder-bolts, and painting up his study with consummate art and science, often in dead silence only broken by "A little more to the right." As for the Duchess, when she was off duty, that is, when Sebastian was getting his picture together, and bringing the separate parts well up at the same time--as nature creates her works--she would dabble a little in the arts herself, and pore over a few inches of paper, working as if for her bread; with now and then a modest appeal,--"Is this altogether ill-done? Is this a trifle better? Just put in a touch or two." O, delightful art of painting! Who can pursue you and not be happy? Those artists who have known envy, jealousy, and malice, have not loved you for yourself, but for ends far below you; for you are infinitely calming! The true painter knows no rivalry but with nature, no master but truth, no mistress but purity, no reward but success. As Garibaldi, king of men, said last year, "When God puts you in the way of doing a good thing, _do it_, and hold your tongue." "Do you think," said Giulia, one day, "I might become a good painter, if I gave my mind to it?" "Certainly, if you gave your mind to it. But you never will! You are too rich to be a good painter. A certain degree of excellence you may attain, that will embellish your life and charm your leisure; but, to become really _great_, one must attack painting like any mechanical trade, and apply to it like an apprentice, not merely when the fancy inclines, but at all times, willing or unwilling." "Ah, that would never suit me," said the Duchess. "But, supposing I could leap over the apprenticeship, and become at once a great artist like Michael Angelo, I might have underlings to do all the rough work for me, and only do what was pleasant." "That is not Michael Angelo's way at all," said Sebastian. "He grinds his own colours, I promise you, and lays his own palette, as I myself do when at leisure. One thinks out many profitable thoughts at such times. And no one can prepare our colours to please us as we can ourselves. Though many of the early stages of sculpture are executed from the clay model by rule and plummet, yet I assure you Michael Angelo trusts it to no inferior workman, but does it himself. He is a great man! a truly great man! And one of his great achievements has been to sweep away the gold and purple backgrounds and other puerilities of the dark ages." Sebastian little thought art would ever make a _retrograde progress_ to pre-Raffaelitism. _Do_ we then, after all, move in a circle?