step was to inquire for a plaster-shop, where he bought the Laocooen
and other casts, and then, having unpacked his Albinus, he was hard at
work before nine next morning drawing from the round, and breathing
aspirations for High Art, and defiance to all opposition. 'For three
months,' he tells us, 'I saw nothing but my books, my casts, and my
drawings. My enthusiasm was immense, my devotion for study that of a
martyr. I rose when I woke, at three or four, drew at anatomy till
eight, in chalks from casts from nine till one, and from half-past two
till five--then walked, dined, and to anatomy again from seven till
ten or eleven. I was resolute to be a great painter, to honour my
country, and to rescue the Art from that stigma of incapacity that was
impressed upon it.

After some months of solitary study, Haydon bethought him of a letter
of introduction that had been given him to Prince Hoare, who was
something of a critic, having himself failed as an artist. Hoare
good-naturedly encouraged the youth in his ambitions, and gave him
introductions to Northcote, Opie, and Fuseli.

To Northcote, who was a Plymouth man, Haydon went first, and he gives
a curious account of his interview with his distinguished
fellow-countryman, who also had once cherished aspirations after high
art. Northcote, a little wizened old man, with a broad Devonshire
accent, exclaimed on hearing that his young visitor intended to be a
historical painter: 'Heestorical painter! why, ye'll starve with a
bundle of straw under yeer head.' As for anatomy, he declared that it
was no use. 'Sir Joshua didn't know it; why should you want to know
what he didn't? Michael Angelo! What's he to do here? You must paint
portraits here.' 'I won't,' said young Haydon, clenching his teeth,
and he marched off to Opie. He found a coarse-looking, intellectual