MR. GLADSTONE
sticky and in a state of drying. At the end of the sitting there appeared upon the canvas the head of a wrinkled old man that bore no resemblance to Mr. Gladstone. Yet it was finished: there was nothing more to be done to it. It reminded me of those minutely executed Italian paintings of old men carrying bottles of chianti wine. Its surface was shiny and its technique offensive to the eye. When I removed the protecting canvas on reaching the inn and looked at it there, and showed it to my wife, we both sadly admitted that it was a failure, an irredeemable failure.
In the early morning, on looking again at the head, it seemed to have degenerated still more by drying hard. Turning it to the wall, I breakfasted without appetite, and drove away with another canvas to try again. This time I selected Mr. Gladstone's writing attitude, and painted in a different style, using very little colour and no medium. The colours I used were ground in petroleum, and petroleum was my medium, when I used any. How the previous head had become so shiny puzzled me. Having been more successful with the writing portrait, I returned home in better spirits. Looking again at the first head, I suddenly remembered that cuttle-fish bone would rub down the surface of the paint and remove the objectionable gloss. The canvas on which it was painted was French twill and woven evenly, so I did not fear the removal of the paint in spots or blotches. Taking a little water and sprinkling it over the painting, I began to rub gently with the cuttle-fish, after having removed its hard and bony edges. Presently a semi-transparent film composed of particles of cuttle-fish and of paint, held in the water, covered the head like a veil. To my surprise and joy the colour as well as the texture of the face changed completely, and with the
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