Figures that are cast in bronze are done differently. The bust or figure is prepared in exactly the same manner in plaster of Paris, an exact model of what is wanted, and this has to be sent to the art foundry to be cast. That is not the work of the sculptor himself, but of the bronze-workers, and as bronze fetches from seventy to ninety pounds per ton, and it takes two or three tons to make a large figure, it is easily seen that five hundred pounds is quite an ordinary bill for casting a single figure at a foundry. The huge figure of the late Duke of Devonshire (now in Whitehall) and I occupied the studio at the same time. The greatest sculptor England ever produced, to my mind, was the versatile Alfred Gilbert. He was also one of the strangest personalities. He was both a genius and wayward. A genius as a sculptor, and wayward as regards the world. Never, never, in all my experience, have I known a stranger personality. For years I saw a good deal of him. He often came and dined, preferably alone, for dress-clothes irritated him, and humanity in the aggregate bored him. I do not believe Gilbert knew what time or method meant. He slid through life. Sometimes he slipped into the right niche, sometimes he glided into the wrong one—but he was a genius by temperament, a genius oft-times in execution. He turned up on the wrong day to dinner, or failed to come on the right one. In fact, he was the most delightful, irresponsible, brilliant, irresistible human creature I have ever come across. His life was full of trouble, yet all those who really knew him loved him, and their hearts went out to him and condoned his muddles as the escapades of a boy. Gilbert created the Clarence Memorial at Windsor, and if he had never done anything else, that would have been enough to stamp him as a genius. He designed the wonderful iron gates at Eaton Hall, and his work in metals and precious stones was unsurpassed. He practically revived the work of Albrecht Dürer and Benvenuto Cellini in this country.