The rest of the visit may be described in Smith’s own words. “Stepping back to study the picture of the ‘Greenstall,’ I ask your pardon,’ said I, for I had trodden upon some one’s toes. ‘Sir, it is granted,’ replied a little, thick-set man, with a round face, arch look, and closely-curled wig, surmounted by a small three-cornered hat put very knowingly on one side, not unlike Hogarth’s head in his print of the ‘Gates of Calais.’ ‘You are an artist, I presume; I noticed you from the end of the gallery, when you first stepped back to look at my best picture. I painted all the objects in this room from nature and still life.’ ‘Your Greengrocer’s Shop,’ said I, ‘is inimitable; the drops of water on that savoy appear as if they had just fallen from the element. Van Huysum could not have pencilled them with greater delicacy.’ ‘What do you think,’ said he, ‘of my Butcher’s Shop?’ ‘Your pluck is bleeding fresh, and your sweetbread is in a clean plate.’ ‘How do you like my bull’s eye?’ ‘Why, it would be a most excellent one for Adams or Dollond to lecture upon. Your knuckle of veal is the finest I ever saw.’ ‘It’s young meat,’ replied he; ‘anyone who is a judge of meat can tell that from the blueness of its bone.’ ‘What a beautiful white you have used on the fat of that Southdown leg! or is it Bagshot?’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘my solitary visitor, it is Bagshot: and as for my white, that is the best Nottingham, which you or any artist can procure at Stone & Puncheon’s, in Bishopsgate Street Within.’ ‘Sir Joshua Reynolds,’ continued Mr. Keyse, ‘paid me two visits. On the second, he asked me what white I had used; and when I told him, he observed, ‘It’s very extraordinary, sir, how it keeps so bright. I use the same.’ ‘Not at all, sir,’ I rejoined: ‘the doors of this gallery are open day and night; and the admission of fresh air, together with the great expansion of light from the sashes above, will never suffer the white to turn yellow. Have you not observed, Sir Joshua, how white the posts and rails on the public roads are, though they have not been repainted for years; that arises from constant air and bleaching.’ ‘Come,’ said Mr. Keyse, putting his hand upon my shoulder, ‘the bell rings, not for prayers, nor for dinner, but for the song.’