In the meanwhile I had given up my room, and slept on a truckle-bed in the corner of the studio, where as I read myself to sleep at night, and when I awoke in the morning, that now useless bulk, the Genius of Muskegon, was ever present to my eyes.

Poor stone lady! born to be enthroned under the gilded, echoing dome of the new capitol, whither was she now to drift?
for what base purposes be ultimately broken up, like an unseaworthy ship?
and what should befall her ill-starred artificer, standing, with his thousand francs, on the threshold of a life so hard as that of the unbefriended sculptor?
It was a subject often and earnestly debated by myself and Pinkerton.
In his opinion, I should instantly discard my profession.

"Just drop it, here and now," he would say.

"Come back home with me, and let's throw our whole soul into business.

I have the capital; you bring the culture.
Dodd & Pinkerton--I never saw a better name for an advertisement; and you can't think, Loudon, how much depends upon a name." On my side, I would admit that a sculptor should possess one of three things--capital, influence, or an energy only to be qualified as hellish.