Haydon was little more than a boy in years when he left home in May, 1804, and plunged into the uncertain depths of London life. He had an introduction to Northcote, a Devonshire man like himself, but jealous, spiteful, and unwilling to help a struggling beginner, And he was fortunate in attracting the notice of Fuseli, Keeper of the Royal Academy, who liked him, and helped him to master the rudiments of his profession.
Haydon admired the effects of London smoke.
"By Code," said Fuseli to him one day, "it's like the smoke of the Israelites making bricks." "It is grand," retorted B. R., "for it is the smoke of a people who would have made the Egyptians make bricks for them."
He became friendly with Wilkie, then a raw, red-headed Scotch lad, who had made a hit, and taken the town by storm with his " Village Politicians."
David Wilkie was canny about money. One day he was showing his fellow pupils some drawing-paper he was using. "Why, Wilkie!" exclaimed Haydon, "where did you get this? Bring us a quire to-morrow." He promised that he would. The next day, and the day after, no drawing-paper. When remonstrated with, David quietly excused himself, "Weel, weel, jest give me the money first, and ye'll be sure to hae the paper."
When thus starting as a painter, a hint was given to Haydon, by this success of Wilkie, what was the line that he should pursue, what was the style of picture that would appeal to the public. But he was too obstinate to take the hint. His idea was the High Art, heroic subjects from mythology or classic history, or from the Old Testament, on huge canvases—themes that interested few, and of a size that few could buy.
