"What are these faint outlines of figures, with dashes of colouring here and there?" asked Elinor.
"Oh, those are mere fancies, made entirely for amusement. They are rude sketches of my own ideas of celebrated pictures that I have never seen, of course; only as exercises for idle moments—one way of practising attitudes of figures, and composition. I keep them more as a lesson of humility than anything else, for me to remember my own poor conceits when I see the originals, if that happy day ever come."
"I thought you gave yourself up entirely to landscapes,
Charlie—do you think seriously of pursuing both branches?" asked
Mr. Wyllys.
"No, sir; I give the preference to landscapes; I find, at least, that field quite wide enough. It seems scarcely possible to unite both, they are so different in character and detail, and require such a different course of study."
"That is the great point with you, my boy; you must not waste too much time upon the ideal portion of the art; you must remember that the most beautiful ideas in the world will be lost, if the execution is not in some measure worthy of them."
"I am so well aware of that, sir, that I have done nothing but study the practical part of my trade for the last three months, and I feel that it has been of service to me."
"There is water in all your sketches, I believe," said Elinor.
"You must be very partial to it."
"I am, indeed—it is a most delightful study—I should be afraid to tell you all the pleasure I have in painting water—you would laugh at me, if I once set off upon my hobby."
"Not at all; you have made me an honest admirer of every variety of lakes and rivers, since I have seen your pictures."
"When did you first take to water, Charlie?" asked Mr. Wyllys.