mount his steps and paint again. How he ever contrived to paint a head
or limb in proportion is a mystery to me, for it is clear that he had
lost his natural sight in boyhood. He is, as he said, the first blind
man who ever successfully painted pictures.'

Unfortunately, Haydon's self-denial in painting portraits was not well
rewarded, for commissions were few, and the clouds began to gather
again. One of his sitters had to be appealed to for money for coals,
and if such appeals were frequent, the scarcity of sitters was hardly
surprising. On one occasion he pawned all his books, except a few old
favourites, for three pounds, and entries like the following are of
almost daily occurrence in the Journal:--'Obliged to go out in the
rain, I left my room with no coals in it, and no money to buy any....
Not a shilling in the world. Sold nothing, and not likely to. Baker
called, and was insolent. If he were to stop the supplies, God knows
what would become of my children! Landlord called--kind and sorry.
Butcher called, respectful, but disappointed. Tailor good--humoured,
and willing to wait.... Walked about the town. I was so full of grief,
I could not have concealed it at home.'

In the midst of all his harassing anxieties, Haydon was untiring in
his efforts to obtain employment of the heroic kind that his soul
craved. He had begun to realise that he had small chance of disposing
of huge historical pictures to private patrons, and that his only hope
rested with the Government. Even while confined in prison he had
persuaded Brougham to present a petition to the House of Commons
setting forth the desirability of appointing a Committee to inquire
into the state of national art, and by a regular distribution of a
small portion of the public funds, to give public encouragement to the
professors of historical painting. No sooner did he regain his freedom