in a flowing garment painted with thick Prussian blue, a corner of which is thrown over her head, like a stiff hood. So decidedly unprepossessing is she, that one is tempted to think her disappearance might not be an irreparable affliction to her lord, though the poet constrains him to exclaim:
"Alas! I lost Creusa—hard to tell
If by her fatal destiny she fell,
Or weary sate, or wandered with affright;
But she was lost forever from my sight."
The faults of my painting in those days, which arose from laying on the colors too thickly, came from incorrect teaching, and were afterwards remedied by more skilful instruction in softening the shades. Still, in its most unscientific state, my pencil was a source of almost daily pleasure. Landscapes and flowers from nature were its chosen themes. Of these the drawing was always accurate, and sometimes spirited, but the coat of water-colors often too heavy, for want of a few simple rules.
Committing passages from the poets to memory, was a systematic exercise. Cowper and Goldsmith were among the first chosen for that purpose. The melody of the latter won both the ear and heart; and "The Deserted Village," or "The Traveller," were voicelessly repeated, after retiring at night, if sleep,
"Like parting summer's lingering bloom delay'd."
