Still he worked on patiently, never losing faith or hope, because he
never lost the love of his Art, or the enjoyment of pursuing it,
irrespective of results, however disheartening. Like most other men of
his slight intellectual caliber, the works he produced were various, if
nothing else. He tried the florid style, and the severe style; he was
by turns devotional, allegorical, historical, sentimental, humorous. At
one time, he abandoned figure-painting altogether, and took to
landscape; now producing conventional studies from Nature,--and now,
again, reveling in poetical compositions, which might have hung
undetected in many a collection as doubtful specimens of Berghem or
Claude.

But whatever department of painting Valentine tried to excel in, the
same unhappy destiny seemed always in reserve for each completed
effort. For years and years his pictures pleaded hard for admission at
the Academy doors, and were invariably (and not unfairly, it must be
confessed) refused even the worst places on the walls of the Exhibition
rooms. Season after season he still bravely struggled on, never
depressed, never hopeless while he was before his easel, until at last
the day of reward--how long and painfully wrought for!--actually
arrived. A small picture of a very insignificant subject--being only a
kitchen "interior," with a sleek cat on a dresser, stealing milk from
the tea-tray during the servant's absence--was benevolently marked
"doubtful" by the Hanging Committee; was thereupon kept in reserve, in
case it might happen to fit any forgotten place near the floor--did fit
such a place--and was really hung up, as Mr. Blyth's little unit of a
contribution to the one thousand and odd works exhibited to the public,
that year, by the Royal Academy.