He was certainly an unconventional guest in a country house.  My father had rented a deer-forest on a long lease from Cluny Macpherson, and had built a large house there, on Loch Laggan.  As that was before the days of railways, the interior of the house at Ardverikie was necessarily very plain, and the rooms were merely whitewashed.  Landseer complained that the glare of the whitewash in the dining-room hurt his eyes, and without saying a word to any one, he one day produced his colours, mounted a pair of steps, and proceeded to rough-in a design in charcoal on the white walls.  He worked away until he had completely covered the walls with frescoes in colour.  The originals of some of his best-known engravings, “The Sanctuary,” “The Challenge,” “The Monarch of the Glen,” made their first appearance on the walls of the dining-room at Ardverikie.  The house was unfortunately destroyed by fire some years later, and Landseer’s frescoes perished with it.

At another time, my father leased for two years a large house in the Midlands.  The dining-hall of this house was hung with hideously wooden full-length portraits of the family owning it.  Landseer declared that these monstrous pictures took away his appetite, so without any permission he one day mounted a ladder, put in high-lights with white chalk over the oils, made the dull eyes sparkle, and gave some semblance of life to these forlorn effigies.  Pleased with his success, he then brightened up the flesh tints with red chalk, and put some drawing into the faces.  To complete his work, he rubbed blacks into the backgrounds with charcoal.  The result was so excellent that we let it remain.  At the conclusion of my father’s tenancy, the family to whom the place belonged were perfectly furious at the disrespect with which their cherished portraits had been treated, for it was a traditional article of faith with them that they were priceless works of art.

Towards the end of his life Landseer became hopelessly insane and, during his periods of violence a dangerous homicidal maniac.  Such an affection, however, had my father and mother for the friend of their younger days, that they still had him to stay with us in Kent for long periods.  He had necessarily to bring a large retinue with him:  his own trained mental attendant; Dr. Tuke, a very celebrated alienist in his day; and, above all, Mrs. Pritchard.  The case of Mrs. Pritchard is such an instance of devoted friendship as to be worth recording.  She was an elderly widow of small means, Landseer’s neighbour in St. John’s Wood; a little dried-up, shrivelled old woman.  The two became firm allies, and when Landseer’s reason became hopelessly deranged, Mrs. Pritchard devoted her whole life to looking after her afflicted friend.  In spite of her scanty means, she refused to accept any salary, and Landseer was like wax in her hands.  In his most violent moods when the keeper and Dr. Tuke both failed to quiet him, Mrs. Pritchard had only to hold up her