Rome, with its fever in Summer and rheumatism and pneumonia in Winter, has sent many an artist to limbus.  Joshua Reynolds escaped the damp of the Vatican with nothing worse than a deafness that caused him to carry an ear-trumpet for the rest of his life.

But now he was back at Plymouth.  Lord Edgcumbe looked over the work he had brought and called into the ear-trumpet that a man who could paint like that was a fool to remain in a country town:  he should go to London and vanquish all such alleged artists as Hudson.

Keppel had gotten back to England, and he and Edgcumbe had arranged that Reynolds should pitch his tent in the heart of artistic London.  So a handsome suite of apartments was secured in Saint Martin’s Lane.

The first work undertaken seems to have been that full-length portrait of Commodore Keppel.  The picture shows the Commodore standing on a rocky shore, issuing orders to unseen hosts.  There is an energy, dash and heroism pictured in the work that at once caught the eye of the public.

“Have you seen Keppel’s portrait?” asked Edgcumbe of every one he met.

Invitations were sent out to call at Joshua Reynold’s studio and see “Keppel.”  There were a good many pictures displayed there, but “Keppel” was placed in a small room, set apart, rightly focused, properly draped, and lighted only by candles, that stood in silver candle-sticks, and which were solemnly snuffed by a detailed marine, six foot three, in a red coat, with a formidable hanger at his side.  Only a few persons were admitted at a time and on entering the room all you saw was the valiant form of the doughty Commodore, the sea-mist in his face and the wild winds blowing his locks.  The big marine on guard in the shadow added the last realistic touch, and the gentlemen visitors removed their hats and the ladies talked in whispers—­they all expected Keppel to speak, and they wished to hear what he would say.

It is a great thing to paint a beautiful picture, but ’t is a more difficult feat to hypnotize the public into accepting the fact.

The live Keppel was pointed out on the street as the man who had had his picture taken.

Now, people do not have portraits painted simply because they want portraits painted:  they want these portraits shown and admired.

To have Reynolds paint your portrait might prove a repetition of the Keppel—­who knows!

Sitters came and a secretary in livery took their names and made appointments, as is done today in the office of a prosperous dentist.

Joshua Reynolds was young and strong, and he worked while it was called the day.  He worked from sunrise until sunset.

That first year in London he produced one hundred twenty portraits, besides painting various other pictures.  This he could not have done without the assistance of a most loyal helper.

This helper was Giuseppe Marchi.

There are a half-dozen biographies of Reynolds, and from Boswell, Walpole and Burney, Gossips-in-Ordinary, we have vivid glimpses into his life and habits.  Then we have his own journal, and hundreds of letters; but nowhere do we get a frank statement of the assistance rendered him by Giuseppe Marchi.