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174                           A  FEW   MEMORIES
ing I triumphantly asked him if he had not been shocked by what he had seen, and I commented upon the absolute lack of imagination in every canvas exhibited. " Some painters see," he answered ; " some feel; some imagine. The greatest do all. This one certainly seesT And that was the only criticism he made. He afterwards told me that this same artist—a foreigner—came to his studio and made many suggestions about his work. Watts's pictures have stamped themselves indelibly upon my mind, notably the great creation in which he represents Love as a rosy Cupid with radiant, outspread wings of rainbow hue, and flowers of gorgeous colors all about him, pleading with the pallid and inflexible figure of Death pushing aside the portal which he vainly tries to guard. Admirable, too, is the conception of Death, represented as a woman of serene and majestic beauty, who fulfils her inexorable mission with such apparent solicitude as to rob her of all the terrors which the conventional and ghastly figure suggests. To have given to the world an emblem so consoling is a work which cannot but inspire the deepest gratitude. This idea of Death, as a friend, came to the eminent artist when he was desperately ill, and when the calm, beautiful