He would not go back--at least,
not yet. The men all wept when he took farewell of them. He was alone in
London; under the shadow of St. Paul's.
His next step was to take a lodging in an obscure first floor in
Burleigh Street, over a greengrocer's shop; and there he began to model
his grand statue of Milo. He had to take the roof off to let Milo's head
out. There Haydon found him, and was delighted with his genius. "I
went," he says, "to young Lough, the sculptor, who has just burst out,
and has produced a great effect. His Milo is really the most
extraordinary thing, considering all the circumstances, in modern
sculpture. It is another proof of the efficacy of inherent genius." [1]
That Lough must have been poor enough at this time, is evident from the
fact that, during the execution of his Milo, he did not eat meat for
three months; and when Peter Coxe found him out, he was tearing up his
shirt to make wet rags for his figure, to keep the clay moist. He had a
bushel and a half of coals during the whole winter; and he used to lie
down by the side of his clay model of the immortal figure, damp as it
was, and shiver for hours till he fell asleep.
[Footnote 1: Haydon's _Autobiography_, vol. ii., p, 155.]
Chantrey once said to Haydon, "When I have made money enough, I will
devote myself to high art.
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