 right himself,

even with the very tool for which they seemed so to despise him.
To effect this, he painted a picture to which was annexed this explanation.
A sovereign prince, in a certain country, had built a palace; to decorate which various potentates contributed many costly presents. One, among the rest, sent a collection of pictures, all the works of eminent artists. That these might be distributed in advantageous situations, the prince sent for the heads of the royal academy, to perform that task as their judgment should direct them.
After fixing several according to their distinction, which indeed gave but little trouble, for they were all, as it appeared, labelled, they came to one about which they could not find this mark of distinction, and therefore, concluding that the picture was of no value, they condemned it to be placed in the temple of Cloacina.
Our hero's picture represented the academecians marching with the picture, in solemn procession, to put the above sentence in execution. The most active among them were those with whom he had

the greatest reason to be offended, and the likenesses were so strong, that it was impossible to mistake them. But, to crown the joke, he introduced a portrait of himself, in the foreground, holding up the label they had vainly searched for:—on which was written GUIDO.
This picture he exhibited in an auction room, hired for the purpose; and, for a time, it actually drew away the company from the exhibition of the artists.
He became immediately known, and might have had some practice at portrait painting; but, finding it impossible to make people handsome enough, he forewent this most servile of all mental drudgery, and declared altogether for pieces of thought and fancy, in which he found his genius more gratified. These however nobody understood, and they remained unsold. A picture dealer or two offered to treat for them, provided he would smoak them, and varnish them repeatedly, till they were all over cracks; for, in that case, they would give them new names, and pass them upon the public: especially if there were a few holes burnt in the drapery, or an eye poked out of the principal figure.

This kind of servile imposition, however, our hero did not chuse to submit to, and his pictures went unsold.
Charles had become slightly acquainted with a young artist, who appeared very anxious that he should push his fortune, and informed him there was but one way, which was portrait painting—Charles told him he had practised it without success.
'Ay
