were easily carried, and after walking twelve
miles, I breakfasted at a cottage on the roadside,
for which I paid a shilling. This lasted me all
day; and after crossing the Moffat hills, a
romantic and wild mountainous district, I
reached, in the evening, a small inn called the
Bield, thirty-six miles from Dumfries. Next
morning I started very early, breakfasted at an
inn called Noble House, and by mid-day reached
Edinburgh, having walked seventy odd miles in
a day and a half."

Here he made two friends of no ordinary
stamp and no fleeting affection, James Ballantine,
the author of the book from which we
are quoting, who was engaged as his colour-
boy in 1822, and Clarkson Stanfield, the young
Irish sailor then lately injured in his feet by
what the Queen called a "lucky tumble" from
the mast-head, and engaged by Barrymore as
scene-painter to the small Pantheon Theatre.
They soon became fast and true friends, and
Roberts was as much astonished and delighted
at the scenery which Stanfield painted as was
all the world beside. He made true use of
this new friendship, profiting much by the works
and conversation of the sailor painter; for
Stanfield was before him in technical knowledge,
having not only seen the best specimens of scene-
painting in London, but knowing personally
many of the leading artists of the day, while
Roberts had fought his way alone, helped only
by his own industry, courage, perseverance,
and genius. It was at Stanfield's suggestion
that Roberts began to paint small pictures for
exhibition. The first that he sent was
rejected, while those of his friend were the town's
talk. However, he tried again, and the next
year sent three to the Exhibition, finding, to his
own naïvely expressed astonishment, that they
were all hung, and that two of them were sold
at fifty shillings each, the one to Baron Clerk-
Rattray, and the other to James Stewart, of
Dunearn. At this time he had forty shillings a week
salary, out of which he paid half-a-crown to his
colour boy; and this, together with chance
windfalls when he painted an occasional picture
or transparent window-blind, which he sold
cheap, had put him so far before the world as
to enable him to furnish a snug little house, and
live in comfort, if not in luxury. When, therefore,
he was advised to break up his home to
try his fortune in London, he was in no wise
inclined to follow the advice of his friend; but
fortune, looking black enough at the time,
turned him in spite of himself towards his
better fate, and he was engaged by Elliston as
scene-painter at Drury Lane—the engagement
to last for three years, and the salary to be five
guineas weekly for the first year, and six guineas
for the last two years. Here he made one of a trio
of which Stanfield and Marinari were the other
members; but Marinari soon got distanced by
the friends, and Roberts and Stanfield were
generally associated in all the important new
scenery. There was a fussy theatrical manager
in those days, who used to spoil good work by
meddling with the workers, but who could not
afford to quarrel with his two famous scene-
painters. Yet, to render assurance doubly
sure, the friends concocted a kind of mutual
comedy, persuading the manager that "each
was of the most violent and indomitable
temper, subject to fits of irrepressible rage that
went to any length of destructiveness, and
unrelenting if once aroused." Thus it came
about that the fussy manager was frightened of
his Frankensteins, and left them to work out
their art undisturbed.

In 1824 Roberts exhibited, for the first time
in London, at the British Institution, and also
at the opening exhibition at the Suffolk-street
Gallery. The picture at the British Institution
was a view of Dryburgh Abbey, and afterwards
engraved; and those at Suffolk-street were—
one, the East Front, and the other the South
Transept, of Melrose Abbey. They were bought
by Sir Felix Booth for the sum of twenty-five
guineas each—a large lump of money to the
rising scene-painter at that time! Another
picture—the West Front of Notre-Dame, Rouen—
also purchased by Sir Felix Booth for eighty
guineas, brought Roberts one of his best and
most valuable friends in Lord Northwick, who
wrote to him under cover to Stanfield,
proposing that he should paint him one of the same
size and subject, a little varied, and that
Stanfield should paint a companion picture of the
same size, both to be exhibited together next
season. It was a highly characteristic letter,
generous, thoughtful, and delicate; and when
pay-time came, that crucial test of a man's real
nature, the generous words translated
themselves into corresponding deeds, and instead of
the hundred and forty pounds asked, Lord
Northwick gave the painter a cheque for two
hundred, and won his heart for life.

In 1826, Roberts left Drury Lane, and went
to Covent Garden at a salary of ten pounds a
week for a working day of six hours; and from
this time we find him painting pictures at ever-
increasing prices—in the autumn of 1827 painting,
with Stanfield, four pictures, each twenty-
seven feet by thirty-eight, for which they
received eight hundred pounds. It was a pleasant
manner of showing their personal friendship
and art-brotherliness. About this time
Stanfield abandoned scene-painting altogether, save
for kindly purposes and to assist private friends,
as when he painted a scene for Not so Bad as
We Seem, the play acted by authors and painters
in aid of the funds for the Guild of Literature
and Art; but we find him in 1827 painting a
panorama with Roberts, of which, however, we
hear no more.

Steadily rising, David Roberts next received
a commission to paint the grand staircase at
Stafford House; then was elected president of
the Society of British Artists, Suffolk-street
(1830); then helped in the creation of the
Garrick Club; and then, in the October of
1832, set out on his famous Spanish journey.
"I hope to leave in a fortnight from this date,"
he wrote to his friend Hay in September. "I
owe no man in England a shilling. I have
sufficient means to sustain me for twelve months.
I am burning to retrieve the time I have lost,