"Why, what was the matter?"

"The flies kept buzzing and biting, and sticking in the work. That's the
worst of out o' doors!"

"The flies! is that all? Swear the spiders in special constables next
time," cried Gatty. "We shall win the day;" and light shone into his
hazel eye.

"The world will not always put up with the humbugs of the brush, who, to
imitate Nature, turn their back on her. Paint an out o' door scene
indoors! I swear by the sun it's a lie! the one stupid, impudent lie that
glitters among the lies of vulgar art, like Satan among Belial, Mammon
and all those beggars.

"Now look here; the barren outlines of a scene must be looked at, to be
done; hence the sketching system slop-sellers of the Academy! but the
million delicacies of light, shade, and color can be trusted to memory,
can they?

"It's a lie big enough to shake the earth out of her course; if any part
of the work could be trusted to memory or imagination, it happens to be
the bare outlines, and they can't. The million subtleties of light and
color; learn them by heart, and say them off on canvas! the highest angel
in the sky must have his eye upon them, and look devilish sharp, too, or
he shan't paint them. I give him Charles Gatty's word for that."

"That's very eloquent, I call it," said Jones.

"Yes," said poor old Groove, "the lad will never make a painter."