Chapter IV: Part 4

Joshua Reynolds was born in July, 1723. His father, the Rev. Samuel Reynolds, was much esteemed for his urbane and benevolent disposition, and possessed much keen humour. At the early age of eight years, Joshua gave promise of that genius which in subsequent life gained him such eminence, and so well entitled him to be regarded as “the Founder of the British School of Painting.” It was in 1735, when the young artist was but eleven years of age, that he painted his first portrait, that of the Rev. Thomas Smart. This portrait is represented to have been painted from a drawing taken in church on the artist’s thumbnail. The celebrated portrait painter, Hudson, had Joshua for his articled pupil, with whom he received a premium of £120, and who soon displayed signs of his after excellence in the line of face painting. He started for Rome in the year 1749. Afterwards he visited Bologna, Genoa, Parma, Florence, and Venice, returning to and establishing himself in England in 1752. From this time Reynolds had abundant employment, and his celebrity advanced in proportion. Although since his return from his travels, Hudson, the former master of Reynolds, with many others, expressed the opinion that he did not paint so well as before he left England, they all candidly confessed within a very short time the error of their opinion. After enjoying a career of unusual success and prosperity, this eminent artist, after a long illness, died on the 23rd of February, 1792, in the 69th year of his age.

_ASTLEY._

John Astley was a fellow-pupil of Reynolds in the school of Hudson. They were also companions at Rome. Being very poor and proud, Astley suffered much through his sensitive temperament in trying to conceal from his companions his narrow circumstances. Being one of a party, which included Reynolds, on a country excursion, it was agreed through the heat of the weather to relieve themselves by walking without their coats. After much persuasion, poor Astley removed his coat with considerable reluctance, when it was discovered he had made the back of his waistcoat out of one of his own landscapes; and his coat being taken off, he displayed a foaming waterfall, which gave much mirth to his companions, though to the poor artist much pain.

_REYNOLDS ON ART._

Dr. Tucker, Dean of Gloucester, observed in the great artist’s hearing that a pin-maker was a more useful and valuable member of society than Raffaelle. “That,” retorted Reynolds, “is an observation of a very narrow mind,--a mind that is confined to the mere object of commerce,--that sees with a microscopic eye but a part of the great machine of the economy of life, and thinks that small part which he sees to be the whole. Commerce is the means, not the end, of happiness or pleasure; the end is a rational enjoyment by means of the arts and sciences.”

_JOHNSON’S PORTRAIT._

In 1775 Reynolds painted that portrait of Dr. Johnson which represents him as reading and near-sighted. This was very displeasing to Johnson, who, when he saw it, reproved Sir Joshua for painting him in that manner and attitude, saying, “It is not friendly to hand down to posterity the imperfections of any man.” But, on the contrary, Sir Joshua himself esteemed it a circumstance in nature to be remarked as characterizing the person represented, and therefore as giving additional value to the portrait. Of this circumstance, Mrs. Thrale says, “I observed that he would not be known by posterity for his defects only, let Sir Joshua do his worst;” and when she adverted to his own picture painted with the ear trumpet, and done in this year for Mr. Thrale, she records Johnson to have answered, “He may paint himself as deaf as he chooses, but I will not be _Blinking Sam_.”

_REYNOLDS’S SUNDAYS._

Sir Joshua was wont to say: “He will never make a painter, who looks for the Sunday with pleasure, as an idle day;” and his pocket journals form ample proof that it was his habit to receive sitters on Sundays as on other days. This much displeased Dr. Johnson; and Boswell says the doctor made three requests of Sir Joshua a short time before his death: one was to forgive him £30, which he had borrowed of Sir Joshua; another was that Sir Joshua would carefully read the Scriptures; and lastly, that he would abstain from using his pencil in future on the Sabbath-day.

_DR. JOHNSON._

“At the time when Sir Joshua resided in Newport Street, he, one afternoon, accompanied by his sister Frances, paid a visit to the Misses Cotterell, who lived much in the fashionable world. Johnson was also of the party on this tea visit, and at that time being very poor, he was, as might be expected, rather shabbily and slovenly apparelled. The maid-servant by accident attended at the door to let them in, but did not know Johnson, although he had been a frequent visitor at the house, he having always been attended by the man-servant. Johnson was the last of the three that came in, when the servant maid, seeing this uncouth and dirty figure of a man, and not conceiving he could be one of the company who came to visit her mistresses, laid hold of his coat just as he was going upstairs, and pulled him back again, saying, ‘You fellow, what is your business here? I suppose you intended to rob the house.’ This most unlucky accident threw poor Johnson into such a fit of shame and anger, that he roared out like a bull; for he could not immediately articulate, and was with difficulty at last able to utter, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’ Nor could he recover himself for the remainder of the evening from this mortifying circumstance.”

_GARRICK’S PLEASANTRY._

David Garrick sat many times to Reynolds for different portraits. At one of these sittings he gave a very lively account of his having sat once for his portrait to an indifferent painter, whom he wantonly teased; for when the artist had worked on the face till he had drawn it very correctly, as he saw it at the time, Garrick caught an opportunity, whilst the painter was not looking at him, totally to change his countenance and expression, when the poor painter patiently worked on to alter the picture, and make it like what he then saw; and when Garrick perceived that it was thus altered, he seized another opportunity, and changed his countenance to a third character, which when the poor tantalized artist perceived, he in a great rage, threw down his palette and pencils, saying he believed he was painting from the devil, and would do no more to the picture.

_DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH._

Reynolds took snuff so freely when painting, as to cause much inconvenience to some of his distinguished sitters. Northcote relates that when the artist was painting the large picture at Blenheim, of the Marlborough family, the duchess ordered a servant to bring a broom and sweep the snuff from off the carpet; but Reynolds desired the servant to let the snuff remain until he had finished the painting, observing that the dust raised by the broom would do more injury to his picture than the snuff could possibly do to the carpet.

_POPE._

Reynolds, when seventeen years old, saw Pope at an auction room. On the celebrated writer’s approach, those assembled made way and formed an avenue for him to pass through, which show of respect Pope acknowledged by bowing several times. He was about four feet six inches in height, was very humpbacked, wore a black coat, and had on a little sword. The artist describes him as having a fine eye, and a long, handsome nose; his mouth had those peculiar marks which are always found in the mouths of crooked persons; and the muscles which run across the cheek were so strongly marked as to appear like small cords.

_MICHAEL ANGELO._

Reynolds had so great admiration for the genius of M. Angelo, that he never lost an opportunity of doing justice to the great Italian’s merits. He thus expressed himself in his last discourse he delivered at the Royal Academy:--“I feel a self-congratulation in knowing myself capable of such sensations as he intended to excite; I reflect, not without vanity, that these discourses bear testimony of my admiration of that truly divine man; and I should desire that the last words which I should pronounce in this Academy, and from this place, might be the name of Michael Angelo.”

_REYNOLDS’S STUDY._

Allan Cunningham gives the following:--

“Sir Joshua’s study was octagonal, some twenty feet long, sixteen broad, and about fifteen feet high. The window was small and square, and the sill nine feet from the floor. His sitter’s chair moved on casters, and stood above the floor a foot and a half. He held his palettes by handles, and the sticks of his brushes were eighteen inches long. He wrought standing, and with great celerity. He rose early, breakfasted at nine, entered his study at ten, examined designs or touched unfinished portraits till eleven brought a sitter, painted till four, then dressed, and gave the evening to company.”

_DR. JOHNSON’S OPINION OF ARTISTS._

Before Johnson’s intimate acquaintance with Reynolds, he thus writes to his friend, Baretti;--“They (meaning the artists) please themselves much with the multitude of spectators, and imagine that the English school will rise in reputation. This exhibition has filled the heads of the artists and lovers of art,”--and further on he adds, “surely life, if it be not long, is tedious, since we are forced to call in the assistance of _so many trifles_ to rid us of our time,--of that time which never can return!” When Dr. Johnson became acquainted and intimate with Reynolds, he was induced to alter the above opinion, and to highly esteem the virtues and talents of Sir Joshua, as well as to admire the Art he professed; for on the third exhibition of the works of modern artists, Johnson wrote an apologetical advertisement for the catalogue, at which time the artists ventured upon the bold experiment of charging one shilling admittance each person, which has remained the customary charge for admission to exhibitions of art to the present time.

_REYNOLDS’S DISCOURSES._

On one of the evenings when Sir Joshua delivered his discourses at the Academy, and when the audience was, as usual, numerous, and composed principally of the learned and great, the Earl of C----, who was present, came up to him, saying, “Sir Joshua, you read your discourse in so low a tone, that I could not distinguish one word you said.” To which the president with a smile replied, “That was to my advantage.”

_GARRICK’S PORTRAITS._

The artist had it long in contemplation to paint a picture of an extensive composition purposely to display the various powers of Garrick as an actor. The principal figure in the front was to have been a full length of Garrick, in his own proper habit, in the action of speaking a prologue, surrounded by groups of figures representing him in all the different characters, by personifying which he had gained some fame on the stage.

This scheme Sir Joshua described to Garrick at the time he was painting his portrait; and Garrick expressed great pleasure when he heard it, and seemed to enjoy the idea prodigiously, saying, “That will be the very thing I desire; the only way that I can indeed be handed down to posterity.”

_SIR JOSHUA’S GENEROSITY._

“What do you ask for this sketch?” said Sir Joshua to an old picture dealer, whose portfolio he was looking over. “Twenty guineas, your honour.” “Twenty pence, I suppose you mean?” “No, sir; it is true I would have taken twenty pence for it this morning; but if you think it worth looking at, all the world would think it worth buying.” Sir Joshua ordered him to send the sketch home, and gave him the twenty guineas.

_AN EPICURE’S ADVICE._

At a venison feast, Sir Joshua Reynolds addressed his conversation to one of the company who sat next to him, but to his great surprise could not get a single word in answer, until at length his silent neighbour, turning to him, said, “Mr. Reynolds, whenever you are at a venison feast, I advise you not to speak during dinner-time, as in endeavouring to answer your questions, I have just swallowed a fine piece of fat, entire, without tasting its flavour.”

_LORD MANSFIELD._

One day when Lord Mansfield was sitting, Sir Joshua Reynolds asked him his opinion, if he thought it was a likeness;--when his lordship replied that it was totally out of his power to judge of its degree of resemblance, as he had not seen his own face in any looking-glass during the last thirty years of his life; for his servant always dressed him and put on his wig, which therefore rendered it quite unnecessary for him to look at himself in a mirror.

_ROUBILIAC (LOUIS FRANCIS)._

Louis Francis Roubiliac was born at Lyons, in France, in the year 1695. By long residence in England, and the encouragement afforded for the development of his talents, he is claimed as forming one of the sculptors of the English School. His first public employment was obtained through the recommendation of Sir Edward Walpole. This was soon after followed by a commission to execute the monument of John, Duke of Argyle, which when finished, was the largest of Roubiliac’s works. The merits of this monument caused the sculptor to be patronized widely, and indeed to be more resorted to than any other in the profession. After an absence from England on the continent fer a few years,--where he had been to study some of the great works in sculpture,--he returned fully sensible of the simplicity and grandeur of the antique; for on beholding those of his own works, which had been so highly praised, he is said to have exclaimed, “Tobacco-pipes, by Jove!” Roubiliac died on the 11th January, 1762.

_GOLDSMITH._

Goldsmith had the habit of boasting that he could play on the German flute as well as most men; and at other times as well as any man living; but in truth he understood not the character in which music is written, and played on that instrument as many others do, merely by ear. Roubiliac once heard him play, and minding to put a trick upon him, pretended to be charmed with his performance, as also that he himself was skilled in the art, and entreated him to repeat the air that he might write it down. Goldsmith readily consenting, Roubiliac called for paper and scored thereon a few five-line staves, which having done, Goldsmith proceeded to play, and Roubiliac to write; but his writing was only such random notes on the lines and spaces, as any one might set down who had ever inspected a page of music. When they had both done, Roubiliac showed the paper to Goldsmith, who looked over it with seeming great attention, said it was very correct, and that if he had not seen him do it, he never could have believed his friend capable of writing music after him.

_ROUBILIAC’S HONESTY._

When a young man in the humble situation of a journeyman to a person of the name of Carter, Roubiliac had spent an evening at Vauxhall, and on his return towards home he picked up a pocket-book containing bank notes to a considerable amount, also some private papers of consequence to the owner. He immediately advertised the circumstance; a claimant soon appeared, who was so struck with the honest conduct and genius of Roubiliac, that he promised to befriend him in future. The owner of the pocket-book was Sir Edward Walpole; and the only present the honest and gentlemanly pride of the artist would allow him to receive was a fat buck annually.

_BERNINI._

On Roubiliac’s return from Rome he paid a visit to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and expressed himself in raptures on what he had seen on the continent,--on the exquisite beauty of the works of antiquity,--and the captivating and luxuriant splendour of Bernini. “It is natural to suppose,” said he, “that I was infinitely impatient till I had taken a survey of my own performances in Westminster Abbey; after having seen such a variety of excellence, and by G--, my own work looked to me meagre and starved as if made of nothing but tobacco-pipes.”

_LORD SHELBURNE._

Roubiliac being on a visit in Wiltshire, happened to take a walk in a churchyard on a Sunday morning, near Bowood, just as the congregation was coming out of church. Meeting with old Lord Shelburne, though perfect strangers to each other, they entered into conversation, which ended in an invitation to dinner. When the company were all assembled at table, Roubiliac discovered a fine antique bust of one of the Roman empresses which stood over a side-table. Whereupon running up to it with much enthusiasm, he exclaimed, “What an air! what a pretty mouth! what _tout ensemble_!” The company began to stare at one another for some time, and Roubiliac regained his seat; but instead of eating his dinner, or showing attention to anything about him, he every now and then burst out in fits of admiration in praise of the bust. The guests by this time concluding he was mad, began to retire one by one, till Lord Shelburne was almost left alone, This determined his lordship to be a little more particular, and he now, for the first time, asked him his name, “My name!” replied the other, “what, do you not know me then? my name is Roubiliac.” “I beg your pardon,” said his lordship; “I now feel that I should have known you.” Then calling on the company who had retired to the next room, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, you may come in; this is no absolute madman, this is M. Roubiliac, the greatest statuary of his day, and only occasionally mad in the admiration of his art.”

_DR. JOHNSON._

Roubiliac desired of Sir Joshua Reynolds that he would introduce him to Dr. Johnson, at the time when the doctor lived in Gough Square, Fleet Street. His object was to prevail on Johnson to write an epitaph for a monument on which Roubiliac was engaged for Westminster Abbey. Sir Joshua accordingly introduced him to the doctor, they being strangers to each other. Johnson received him with much civility, and took them up into a garret which he considered as his library, in which, besides his books all covered with dust, there was an old crazy deal table, and a still worse and older elbow chair, having only three legs. In this chair Johnson seated himself, after having with considerable dexterity and evident practice first drawn it up against the wall, which served to support it on that side on which the leg was deficient. He then took up his pen and demanded what they wanted him to write. On this Roubiliac, who was a true Frenchman, began a most bombastic and ridiculous harangue on what he thought should be the kind of epitaph most proper for the purpose, all which the doctor was to write down for him in correct language; when Johnson, who could not suffer any one to dictate to him, quickly interrupted him in an angry tone of voice, saying, “Come, come, sir, let us have no more of this bombastic, ridiculous rhodomontade, but let us know, in simple language, the name, character, and quality of the person whose epitaph you intend to have me write.”

_ROUBILIAC’S POETIC EFFUSIONS._

At the Exhibition of Works of Art, opened in May, 1764, the following appeared in the _St. James’s Chronicle_ from the pen of the sculptor:--

“Prétendu connoisseur qui sur l’antique glose,
Idolatrant le nom sans connoître la chose,
Vrai peste des beaux arts, sans goût, sans équité,
Quittez ce ton pedant, ce méprise affecté
Pour tout ce que le tems n’a pas encore gâté.

“Ne peus-tu pas, en admirant
Les maîtres de Grèce, et ceux de l’Italie,
Rendre justice également
A ceux qu’a nourris ta patrie?

“Vois ce salon, et tu perdras
Cette prévention injuste.
Et bien, étonné, conviendras
Qu’il ne faut pas qu’un Mécénas
Pour revoir le siècle d’Auguste.”

_RYLAND (WILLIAM WYNNE)._

William Wynne Ryland was born in London in the year 1732. He was placed at an early age under Ravenet, with whom he made much progress in the art. At the expiration of his apprenticeship he went over to Paris, and lived with Boucher between four and five years. On leaving Paris, he started for Rome, where he studied some time. On his return to England, where his fame had preceded him, he was welcomed and courted by all members of his profession. He was soon employed by the favourite minister, the Earl of Bute, and being introduced to their majesties, he was honoured by the appointment of Engraver to the King. To extricate himself from some embarrassments, he committed an extensive forgery upon the East India Company, for which he was tried and executed in the year 1783.

_MAGNANIMITY._

It is stated of this artist that while awaiting his trial he so conciliated the friendship of the governor of Bridewell that he not only had the liberty of the whole house and garden, but when the other prisoners were locked up of an evening, the governor used to take Ryland out with him. His friends concerted a plan by which he was to take advantage of this indulgence to effect his escape. But when this was mentioned to the prisoner he seemed much affected at the proposal. He protested that if he was at that moment to meet his punishment, he would embrace it with all its terrors rather than betray a confidence so humanely given. This resolution he adhered to, and ultimately preferred the risk of death to a breach of friendship.

_SELF-POSSESSION._

On the forgery being discovered, a reward of five hundred pounds was offered for his apprehension. Large placards mentioning this high reward, and giving a close description of his person, were posted all over the town. Ryland had secreted himself at a friend’s house in the neighbourhood of Wapping. Notwithstanding that the detectives were all alert, he would venture out after dark. In crossing Little Tower Hill, a stranger passed him, turned round, followed, and confronted him with, “You are the very man I want.” Ryland, looking him steadily in the face, calmly answered, “But you are mistaken in your man;” adding, “I have not the pleasure of knowing you.” The stranger, who really was looking for some other person, apologised for his mistake, and resumed his way.

_RED CHALK ENGRAVINGS._

“Ryland and Picot, a French engraver, who had learned from Demarteau, in Paris, the mode of stippling in what was termed the red chalk manner, had brought it over to England about the year 1770. Demarteau, who was himself an excellent draughtsman, confined his attempts to the clever chalk drawings and sketches by Boucher and Vanloo, of whose Academy figures he produced bold, mellow, and unrivalled imitations. Ryland and Picot made use of the stippling to produce elaborate prints from finished pictures. Like other easy novelties, it became immediately the fashion, and for a time gave currency to the languid elegance of Angelica Kauffman’s designs, who, in return, extolled the stippling to her courtly patrons. _Dilettanti_ lords and ladies, the connoisseurs of St. James’s and St. Giles’s, the town and country, clamoured in admiration of the ‘beautiful red prints.’ They became a favourite decoration everywhere from the palace to the lodging-house, and a sentimental swarm of sickly designs from incidents in favourite novels succeeded to the gentle, nerveless groups of Angelica.”--_European Magazine._

_TENIERS (DAVID), FATHER AND SON._

David Teniers was born at Antwerp in 1582. He studied under Rubens, and afterwards at Rome. On his return home he employed himself in painting small pictures of carousals, fairs, and rural scenes, which he executed in an admirable manner. He died in 1649. He had two sons, Abraham and David, who were both artists; the former excelled in the chiaroscuro, and expression of character. The younger, David, born at Antwerp in 1610, was called “the Ape of Painting,” from his facility in imitating any style. He was esteemed by several sovereigns, and the King of Spain erected a gallery on purpose for his pictures. His chief talent lay in landscape and conversations. He died in 1694.

_DAVID TENIERS THE YOUNGER, AT THE VILLAGE ALE HOUSE._

From Payne’s “Royal Dresden Gallery” we extract the following:--

“Let us follow our artist in one of his wanderings. He strolls from the time-honoured walls of Antwerp, towards a village situated on the Scheldt, and enters the ale-house, which has already furnished him with so many original sketches, and is not likely to fail on the present occasion. Four guests, attended by the toothless old servant of the house, are seated at a table of rough oak; but their discourse is of such a deeply interesting character that they take no notice whatever of either host, hostess, or guests.

“On the right of the table sits an old Scheldt fisherman with a dilapidated high crowned hat on his head, a decided countenance, which is shaded by an ample beard; his well used pipe of brown clay together with its accompanying bag of tobacco are stuck in his girdle like weapons of war. This man is called by the others Jan van Bierlich. On the other side of the table sits the son of the old boatman, a powerful looking fellow about thirty years old, with an open cast of countenance. He wears the old Flemish jacket without arms, and an old-fashioned head dress: this man’s name is Willen.

“In vain has the son importuned the father to permit him to marry the prettiest, but poorest, maiden of the village. The father of the bride, Mynheer Taaks, has taken his place opposite to the boatman; he is a mild looking man, with long brown hair. The fourth guest is Izak, a bearded son of Israel, and the negociator of the present affair.

“He has promised the bride Katerina to advance the necessary dowry, on condition the bridegroom will take the debt on himself. All three have consequently combined to persuade the boatman to take their view of the case. ‘I will give my Katerina two thousand golden florins!’ cries Taaks. ‘But I have not said Ja,’ replies the boatman. ‘Have you anything to say against the maiden?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ replies the boatman; ‘I like her very well if she has got money. But I object to you, Mynheer Taaks, because you are not able to drink a proper quantity of beer: do you think I am going to have a relation that will annoy me all the days of my life instead of being a comfort to me?’ Izak winked at Taaks. ‘As for that,’ said Taaks, ‘I believe I can drink more than you, Mynheer!’

“‘I should like to see you do that,’ said the boatman, drily. ‘But I will only drink on a proper understanding,--Is my daughter to marry your son, if I prove to be a good toper?’ ‘How can I tell what you call a good toper?’ cried Jan, ‘but I am willing to have one bout with you; and if you can drink a single glass more than I, I shall say you are a good fellow, and you may bring your daughter to my house to-morrow.’ He, however, whispered to Izak--‘Taaks will soon be under the table, and that alone will be well worth a hundred florins.’ The landlord brought beer and chalk; the topers emptied the glasses in good earnest, and scored each glass on the table beside them. At length the old boatman beckoned to Taaks, who was laughing heartily, but had for some time left off drinking, and was regarding him with an air that showed he was confident of victory. ‘The battle is over!’ cried Jan, ‘I can drink no more; we will not count the glasses.’ ‘Oh! Mynheer,’ cried Taaks, ‘I have got the most scores!’ Jan sprang on his feet, bent over the table, and compared his score carefully with that of his opponent. ‘What witchcraft is this?’ roared the boatman, clenching his fists, ‘you have not scored too much, because I have watched you the whole time, and I have as surely not scored too little, and yet you have drunk two more glasses than I? I who was never beaten at beer-drinking before!’ Willen, his son, reckoned the score after him, while the old servant, who saw the joke, glanced slily over his shoulder at the scene, while old Izak observed the comical fury of the old boatman with a very knowing look. The fact was, that Izak had secretly contrived to rub out part of old Jan’s score as soon as he had marked it down.

“Jan called the host as a witness; the host took the chalk, went to the doorpost, and began to reckon; but the rogue had been drawn into the plot, and he completed the joke, by making his reckoning agree with that of the others. Jan van Bierlich was compelled, as a man of his word, to strike his colours. Five minutes afterwards, Willen and the pretty Katerina were betrothed, and a few moments later David Teniers, the younger, returned to Antwerp, carrying in his pocket the sketch of this charming picture.”

_WEST (BENJAMIN), P.R.A._

Benjamin West was born in America, in the year 1738. It is said that his grandfather was one of those who accompanied the celebrated Penn to the young country. Like most of those who make their way in the art of painting, he very early displayed a strong inclination for drawing. After considerable difficulty in pecuniary matters, he was enabled, chiefly through his own industry, to visit Italy. He suffered several severe attacks of illness while in Italy, notwithstanding which his progress in the art was very rapid. He visited London in 1763. His pictures exhibited in Spring Gardens meeting with much favour, he resolved to fix his residence here in the country of his ancestors. The amount of professional work--chiefly historical--produced by this great artist is beyond all precedent. Of his many compositions the best are generally admitted to be those taken from Sacred History. And generally as an historical painter, it would be difficult to name his superior in the amount of his productions and artistic merit. He died in 1820, at the age of 82.

_LEIGH HUNT._

Among the large circle of the friends of Mr. West was the late Leigh Hunt, who thus expresses his warm attachment on the sale of the celebrated artist’s pictures:--

“It is a villainous thing to those who have known a man for years, and been intimate with the quiet inside of his house, privileged from intrusion, to see a sale of his goods going on upon the premises. It is often not to be helped, and what he himself wishes and enjoins; but still it is a villainous necessity,--a hard cut to some of one’s oldest and tenderest recollections. There is a sale of this kind now going on in the house we spoke of last week. We spoke of it then under an impulse not easy to be restrained, and not difficult to be allowed us; and we speak of it now under another. We were returning the day before yesterday from a house where we had been entertained with lively accounts of foreign countries and the present features of the time, when we saw the door in Newman Street standing wide open, and disclosing to every passenger a part of the gallery at the end of the hall. All our boyhood came over us, with the recollection of those who had accompanied us into that house. We hesitated whether we should go in, and see an auction taking place of the old quiet abstraction; but we do not easily suffer an unpleasant and vulgar association to overcome a greater one; and besides, how could we pass? Having passed the threshold, without the ceremony of the smiling old porter, we found a worthy person sitting at the door of the gallery, who, on hearing our name, seemed to have old times come upon him as much as ourselves, and was very warm in his services. We entered the gallery, which we had entered hundreds of times in childhood, by the side of a mother, who used to speak of the great persons and transactions in the pictures on each side of her with a hushing reverence, as if they were really present. But the pictures were not there--neither Cupid with his doves, nor Agrippina with the ashes of Germanicus, nor the Angel slaying the army of Sennacherib, nor Death on the Pale Horse, nor Jesus healing the Sick, nor the Deluge, nor Moses on the Mount, nor King Richard pardoning his brother John, nor the installation of the old Knights of the Garter, nor Greek and Italian stories, nor the landscapes of Windsor Forest, nor Sir Philip Sidney, mortally wounded, giving up the water to the dying Soldier. They used to cover the wall; but now there were only a few engravings. The busts and statues also were gone. But there was the graceful little piece of garden as usual, with its grass-plat and its clumps of lilac. They could not move the grass plat, even to sell it. Turning to the left, there was the privileged study which we used to enter between the Venus de Medicis and the Apollo of the Vatican. They were gone, like their mythology. Beauty and intellect were no longer waiting on each side of the door. Turning again, we found the longer part of the gallery like the other; and in the vista through another room, the auction was going on. We saw a throng of faces of business with their hats on, and heard the hard-hearted knocks of the hammer, in a room which used to hold the mild and solitary artist at his work, and which had never been entered but with quiet steps and a face of consideration. We did not stop a minute. In the room between this and the gallery, huddled up in a corner, were the busts and statues which had given us a hundred thoughts. Since the days when we first saw them, we have seen numbers like them, and many of more valuable materials; for though good of their kind, and of old standing, they are but common plaster. But the thoughts and the recollections belonged to no others, and it appeared sacrilege to see them in that state.

‘Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine:
* * * *
And each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat.’

“Into the parlour, which opens out of the hall and into the garden, we did not look. We scarcely know why; but we did not. In that parlour, we used to hear of our maternal ancestors, stout yet kind-hearted Englishmen, who set up their tents with Penn in the wilderness. And there we learnt to unite the love of freedom with that of the graces of life; for our host, though born a Quaker, and appointed a royal painter, and not so warm in his feelings as those about him, had all the natural amenity belonging to those graces, and never truly lost sight of that love of freedom. There we grew up acquainted with the divine humanities of Raphael. There we remember a large coloured print of the old Lion-Hunt of Rubens, in which the boldness of the action and the glow of colouring overcome the horror of the struggle. And there, long before we knew anything of Ariosto, we were as familiar as young playmates with the beautiful Angelica and Medoro, who helped to fill our life with love.

“May a blessing be upon that house, and upon all who know how to value the genius of it!”

_JOHN CONSTABLE._

Constable used to relate:--“Under some disappointment, I think it was the rejection at the Academy of a view of Flatford Mill, I carried a picture to Mr. West, who said: ‘Don’t be disheartened, young man, we shall hear of you again; you must have loved nature very much before you could have painted this.’ He then took a piece of chalk and showed me how I might improve the chiaroscuro by some additional touches of light between the stems and branches of the trees, saying; ‘Always remember, sir, that light and shadow _never stand still_,”--and added: ‘Whatever object you are painting, keep in mind its accidental appearance (unless in the subject there is some peculiar reason for the latter), and never be content until you have transferred that to canvas. In your skies, for instance, always aim at _brightness_, although there are states of the atmosphere in which the sky itself is not bright. I do not mean that you are not to paint solemn or lowering skies, but even in the darkest effects there should be brightness. Your darks should look like the darks of silver, not of lead or of slate.’”

_WILLIAM WOOLLET._

The following amusing anecdote is told of the engraver’s unexpected alterations in a plate. On bringing to Mr. West what he conceived to be a finished impression of one of his prints from an historical picture by the great painter, he inquired, with his usual mild deference, “If Mr. West thought that there was anything more to be done to the plate?” The painter, with a tone of affability and a smile of pleasure, while he surveyed the print, exclaimed: “More! Anything more, Mr. Woollet! No, sir, nothing,--nothing. It is excellent! admirable! only just suppose we take down these shadows, in the middle distance; a nothing,--a mere nothing!”--at the same time touching upon that part of the print with grey chalk, to lower it to the requisite tint;--“Nothing, Mr. Woollet! nothing at all! It is fine, very fine!--but perhaps we may throw a little more force into these near figures,”--heightening the shadows with black chalk,--“then, I think, all will be done!--Yes, all! nothing will remain; _only_, if we can contrive to keep those parts together:”--adding a faint wash of India ink. “There--there, now take it: Mr. Woollet take it; it would be overdoing it to hazard a single touch more! But stop!--stay! this reflection in the water;--a few touches, just to keep it quiet;--and the edges of these clouds a little more,--that is, I mean, a little less edgy,--more kept down. Good, very good!--There, now, Mr. Woollet, you shall not persuade me to give it another touch; you can make these few little alterations, any time at your leisure.” Woollet, who justly looked up to West as the father of the British School of Historical Painting, heard and saw all with thankful good humour, while West spoke and worked, and worked and spoke upon the proof; although the engraver was conscious that the suggested alterations would occupy a long time, and they actually delayed the publication some months, though with great advantage to the effect of the engraving.

_JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A._

“I remember once being at the Academy, when Sir Joshua wished to propose a monument to Dr. Johnson in St. Paul’s, and West got up and said that the King, he knew, was averse to anything of the kind, for he had been proposing a similar monument in Westminster Abbey for a man of the greatest genius and celebrity,--one whose works were in all the cabinets of the curious throughout Europe,--one whose name they would all hear with the greatest respect; and then it came out, after a long preamble, that he meant Woollet, who had engraved his ‘Death of Wolfe.’ I was provoked, and could not help exclaiming: ‘My God! What! do you put him upon a footing with such a man as Dr. Johnson,--one of the greatest philosophers and moralists that ever lived? We have thousands of engravers at any time!’ And there was such a burst of laughter at this,--Dance, who was a grave gentleman, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks; and Farrington, the painter, used afterwards to say to me, ‘Why don’t you speak in the Academy, and begin with “My God!” as you do sometimes?’”

_YOUTHFUL AMBITION._

West entertained very grand notions of Art and of its professors. He was about to ride with a school-fellow to a neighbouring plantation. “Here is the horse,” said the boy, “bridled and saddled, so come, get up behind me.” “Behind you!” said West; “I will ride behind nobody!” “Oh, very well,” said the other, “I will ride behind you; so mount.” He mounted, and away they rode. “This is the last ride I shall have for some time,” said the boy; “for I am, to-morrow, to be apprenticed to a tailor.” “A tailor!” exclaimed West; “you will surely never be a tailor!” “Indeed, but I shall,” returned the other; “it is a good trade. What do you intend to be, Ben?” “A painter!” “A painter!--Why, what sort of a trade is painter? I have never heard o’ it before.” “A painter,” said West, grandly, “is the companion of kings and emperors.” “You are surely mad,” said the other; “Why, they don’t have kings nor emperors in ’Merriky!” “Ah! but there are plenty in other parts of the world. But do you really mean to be a tailor?” “Indeed I do; there’s nothing more certain.” “Then you may ride alone,” said West, leaping down; “I will not ride with one who would be a tailor.”

_PERSEVERANCE IN ART._

Being subject to the gout, it attacked his right hand while he was painting his great picture of “Death on the Pale Horse;” but this did not check his ardour, for he proceeded with his left hand, and the whole was finished by himself without any assistance.

_WILKIE (SIR DAVID), R.A._

David Wilkie, the son of a Scotch minister, was born in 1785. His genius for the art in which he was destined to become so famous, was displayed even in his infancy, and led to his being sent to study in the Edinburgh Academy, where he had for his fellow-students Sir William Allen and John Burnet. At the age of nineteen his performances had attracted so much notice that he was confirmed in his professional career. He started for London, studied at the Academy, became an exhibitor, and so paved the way for his bright success of after-years. Among his intimate companions was Haydon,--another equally celebrated painter, though not equally successful, who relates the following:--

“When the Academy opened, Wilkie, who had gained admission as a probationer by means of a drawing from the Niobe, took his seat with his class. Something of his Edinburgh fame had preceded him: Jackson, at that time a student, seems to have seen as well as heard of him, for he wrote to me, then young and ardent, to hasten from Devonshire, for that a tall, pale, thin Scotsman had just come to study at the Academy, who had done something from Macbeth, of which report spoke highly. Touched with this, I came at once to London and went to the Academy. Wilkie, the most punctual of mankind, was there before me. We sat and drew in silence for some time; at length Wilkie rose, came and looked over my shoulder, said nothing, and resumed his seat. I rose, went and looked over his shoulder, said nothing, and resumed my seat. We saw enough to satisfy us of each other’s skill, and when the class broke up we went and dined together.”

The acquaintance thus begun ripened into a warm friendship, notwithstanding occasional disputes arising from a dissimilarity in taste of the two artists.

Haydon also relates the following:--

“Wilkie, who was always hospitable in his nature, invited me one morning to breakfast, soon after his arrival in London, I went accordingly to 8, Norton Street, and knocked at the door of his apartments; a voice said, ‘Come in.’ I opened the door and found, instead of the breakfast which I expected, the painter sitting partly naked and drawing from his left knee for a figure which he had on his easel. He was not at all moved, for nought moved Wilkie; and when I expressed some surprise at what he was about, he replied with a smile, ‘It’s capital practice, let me tell you.’”

About this time (1805), in a letter written by Wilkie to a fellow-student, occurs the following characteristic passage: “And I am convinced now that no picture can possess real merit unless it is a just representation of nature.”

On the sale of his first commission picture, “The Village Politicians,” he thus buoyantly concludes a letter to his father, “My ambition is got beyond all bounds, and I have the vanity to hope that Scotland will one day be proud to boast of your affectionate son,

“DAVID WILKIE.”

On the death of his father, he invited his mother and sister over from Scotland to live with him in London. In after-years, writing to a friend, he adds, “If I were desired to name the happiest hour of my life, I should say it was when I first saw my honoured mother and much loved sister sitting beside me while I was painting.”

Another scene, of a different description, at Wilkie’s house is worthy of insertion. Mr. Collins’s brother, Francis, possessed a remarkably retentive memory, which he was accustomed to use for the amusement of himself and others, in the following way. He learnt by heart a whole number of one of Dr. Johnson’s “Ramblers,” and used to cause considerable diversion to those in the secret, by repeating it all through to a new company in a conversational tone, as if it were the accidental product of his own fancy,--now addressing his flow of moral eloquence to one astonished auditor, and now to another. One day, when the two brothers were dining at Wilkie’s, it was determined to try the experiment upon their host. After dinner, accordingly, Mr. Collins paved the way for the coming speech, by leading the conversation imperceptibly to the subject of the paper in the “Rambler.” At the right moment Francis Collins began. As the first grand Johnsonian sentences struck upon his ear (uttered, it should be remembered, in the most elaborately careless and conversational manner,) Wilkie started at the high tone that the conversation had suddenly assumed, and looked vainly to his friend Collins for explanation, who, on _his_ part sat with his eyes respectfully fixed on his brother, all rapt attention to the eloquence that was dropping from his lips. Once or twice, with perfect mimicry of the conversational character he had assumed, Francis Collins hesitated, stammered, and paused, as if collecting his thronging ideas. At one or two of these intervals, Wilkie endeavoured to speak, to ask a moment for consideration; but the torrent of his guest’s eloquence was not to be delayed,--“it was too rapid to stay for any man,--away it went” like Mr. Shandy’s oratory before “My Uncle Toby,”--until at last it reached its destined close; and then Wilkie, who, as host, thought it his duty to break silence by the first compliment, exclaimed with the most perfect unconsciousness of the trick that had been played him, “Ay, ay, Mr. Francis; verra clever (though I did not understand it _all_),--verra clever!”

His friends relate of him (Wilkie) that he could draw before he could write. He recollected this himself, and spoke to me of an old woman who had in her cottage near his father’s manse a clean scoured wooden stool, on which she used to allow him to draw with a coarse carpenter’s pencil, and then scrub it out to be ready for another day.

Collins relates the following of Wilkie with whom he lived on terms of the closest intimacy.

“When Lord Mulgrave’s pictures were sold at Christie’s, Wilkie waited in the neighbourhood whilst I attended the sale. It was quite refreshing to see his joy when I returned with a list of the prices. The sketches produced more than five hundred per cent., the pictures three hundred. I recollect one,--a small, early picture, called ‘Sunday Morning’--I asked Wilkie what he thought of its fetching, as it did, a hundred and ten pounds, and whether Lord Mulgrave had not got it cheap enough?--‘Why, he gave me fifteen pounds for it!’ When I expressed my surprise that he should have given so small a sum for so clever a work, Wilkie, defending him, said:--‘Ah, but consider, as I was not known at that time, _it was a great risk_!’”

Dr. Chalmers was asked by Wilkie whether Principal Baird would preach before the King. (Now, Principal Baird had a sad way of crying in the pulpit.) “Why,” replied Chalmers, “if he does, it will be George Baird to George Rex, _greeting_!”

Wilkie died in the year 1841, aged 56 years.

“_LETTER OF INTRODUCTION._”

This picture was suggested by the reception which the artist himself experienced, it is said by Cunningham in his Life of Wilkie, from one of the small wits about town, Caleb Whiteford by name, discoverer of the “cross-readings” in newspapers, and who set up for a judge in art. Some one desirous to do a good turn to Wilkie, when he first came to town, gave him a note to Caleb, who, struck with his very youthful look, inquired how old he was. “Really now,” said the artist, with the hesitation he bestowed on most questions. “Ha!” exclaimed Caleb; “introduce a man to me who knows not how old he is!” and regarded him with that dubious look which is the chief charm of the picture. This was in his mind when he formed the resolution to paint the subject.

_COLLINS’S REMINISCENCES OF WILKIE._

“Wilkie was not quick in perceiving a joke, although he was always anxious to do so, and to recollect humorous stories, of which he was exceedingly fond. As instances, I recollect once when we were staying at Mr. Wells’s, at Redleaf, one morning at breakfast a very small puppy was running about under the table. ‘Dear me,’ said a lady, ‘how this creature teases me!’ I took it up and put it into my breast-pocket. Mr. Wells said, ‘That is a pretty nosegay.’--‘Yes,’ said I, ‘it is a _dog-rose_.’ Wilkie’s attention, sitting opposite, was called to his friend’s pun: but all in vain,--he could not be persuaded to see anything in it. I recollect trying once to explain to him, with the same want of success, Hogarth’s joke in putting the sign of the woman without a head, (‘The Good Woman’) under the window from whence the quarrelsome wife is throwing the dinner into the street.

“Chantrey and Wilkie were dining alone with me, when the former, in his great kindness for Wilkie, ventured, as he said, to take him to task for his constant use of the word ‘_relly_’ (really) when listening to any conversation in which he was interested. ‘Now, for instance,’ said Chantrey, ‘suppose I was giving you an account of any interesting matter, you would constantly say, ‘_Relly!_’ ‘_Relly!_’ exclaimed Wilkie immediately, with a look of the most perfect astonishment.”

_WILKIE’S ARREST AT CALAIS._

When returning from a short Continental tour in 1816, Wilkie became involved in a difficulty at Calais similar to that of Hogarth at the same place, as indicated by our great moral painter in his print of “Oh, the Roast Beef of Old England.” Wilkie, while busily engaged in making a sketch of the gate, was accosted by an officer of police, and taken before the mayor, who told the artist he could not be permitted to make drawings of any of the fortifitions, and courteously dismissed him. The observation was made in England that Wilkie sought his arrest on this occasion, wishing to re-enact the Hogarth incident: but his well-known unobtrusive manners and unaffected modesty completely vindicate him from such an accusation.

The following _naïve_ account of the arrest of Sir David Wilkie is told by him in a letter to his friend and travelling companion, Abraham Raimbach, the celebrated engraver of many of the artist’s pictures:--