MISS KITTY FISHER

We have all heard that when:

Lucy Locket lost her pocket
Kitty Fisher found it.

Probably both of these ladies have seemed as mythical as Tommy Tucker, Jack and Jill, or any other hero or heroine of Mother Goose. Perhaps they are mythical. But since so grave and serious an authority as the "Dictionary of National Biography" admits that some persons have connected Kitty Fisher, who found the pocket, with the real Kitty Fisher, whose portrait, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, is reproduced on the other side of this page, it does not pay to be too sceptical. Kitty Fisher was a celebrated person in her day, and it may have been her name which was slipped into the nursery rhyme.

She flourished — gaily — in London in the early years of the reign of King George III. She was a popular toast of the day, the subject of satires and poems. It is said that she was a daring horse-woman, and as witty as she was beautiful. She became Mrs. Norris, the wife of John Norris of Hempsted Manor, a member of Parliament for Rye. Her death in 1767 was rumored to have been caused by cosmetics but that is probably the slander of some envious person. At any rate, she died at Bath, and by her own request (not an unnatural one) was buried in her best dress.

Kitty Fisher knew many of the famous personages of her time. Once, says Fanny Burney, she went to call on Dr. Johnson, who, to his great regret, was out. You can read of this in Fanny Burney's (Mme. D'Arblay's) Diary and Letters. Once she was introduced to William Pitt. This was a joke contrived against the grave and elderly statesman by King George III. It happened at a review in Hyde Park, and the King and his courtiers fancied that to meet so sprightly a young lady would embarrass the Prime Minister. But Mr. Pitt paid her an elaborate compliment and went away, leaving her much pleased and flattered.

Sir Joshua Reynolds painted Kitty Fisher five times. This is said to be the best of the portraits, and the artist made two copies of it. Only one of them is in America; it came to the Library from the Lenox collection. The portrait itself should be seen, in order to appreciate its coloring, almost as delicate as the day when the pretty lady and her two doves posed for the famous artist.

Through Sir Joshua, Kitty Fisher not improbably knew his circle of famous friends, described in so many books. You will find all of

them-Dr. Johnson, Oliver Goldsmith, Edmund Burke, and David Garrick — in an entertaining novel called "The Jessamy Bride," by F. Frankfort Moore. Then, of course, there is Goldsmith's poem "Retaliation," — in which he so aptly describes them, as if in epitaphs. Of the painter he wrote:

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,

He has not left a wiser or better behind;

His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;

His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;

Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,

When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing:
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

Perhaps few read Goldsmith now. His "Vicar of Wakefield" is often a task for school-days, and seldom read thereafter. One of his comedies, "She Stoops to Conquer" is still popular whenever played. His poetry is "old fashioned," but some passages, like this from "The Deserted Village," can be enjoyed by those who do not think it necessary to admire only what is modern.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place;
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour:
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise...

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,

With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;

Even children followed with endearing wile,

And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.

His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest;

To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

A short and readable life of Goldsmith is the one by Austin Dobson. (Mr. Dobson has also written a life of Fanny Burney. Do you know

Miss Burney's novel, "Evelina," with its lively sketches of fashionable London?)

Two other epitaphs from "Retaliation," those on Garrick and on Burke, will suggest, perhaps, how interesting it may prove to look farther into the careers of the friends of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confest without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplastered with rouge his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
'Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turned and he varied full ten times a day:
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick,
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:

He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,

For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.

And here is Edmund Burke:

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat,
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote:
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit,
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;
For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient;
And too fond of the right, to pursue the expedient.
In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

Burke was a good friend of America, but is not a great favorite with the American school-boy, who of late years has had to study and dissect that formidable oration, the "Speech on Conciliation with America."

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There are lives of Garrick by Fitzgerald and Knight. There is the play ("David Garrick") by Robertson, in which he is supposed to figure as hero. Many books deal with Dr. Johnson, foremost among them is Boswell's biography. In whichever direction you turn, among the friends of Sir Joshua Reynolds, you find somebody significant, interesting.

THE CENTRAL BUILDING

N the other side of this page is a picture of the Central Building of The New York Public Library, at Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street. It was built by the City, to be maintained forever as a free library for all the people.

It contains the administrative offices of the whole public library system of the Boroughs of Manhattan, The Bronx, and Richmond. The forty-four Branch Libraries are part of that system. The Central Building also contains a collection of books for home use, a children's room, a library for the blind, and the headquarters of the travelling libraries.

The greater part of the building, however, is devoted to the work of the Reference Department. You-or any other person, whether or not a card-holder in one of the Branch Libraries - may use the resources of the Reference Department in the following ways:

You may read or study in the main reading room on the third floor, where there are seats for nearly eight hundred readers. There is a well selected library of about twenty-five thousand volumes, reference books and general literature, on open shelves around the walls of the room. You do not need any ticket nor other formality in order to use these books. Simply help yourself, and leave the books on the tables when you have finished. None of the books in the Reference Department may be taken out of the building.

If you wish other books than those in the main reading room, there is a collection of about a million volumes in the stacks. To obtain any of these you have to make out and sign a call-slip, handing it in at the desk.

On the main floor is an exhibition room for the display of pictures, prints, and rare books. These are changed from time to time. There are art galleries on the third floor.

If you are interested in current periodicals, newspapers, technology, patents, Slavonic, Jewish or Oriental literature, science, economics and public documents, art, American history, genealogy, music, or manuscripts, you will find a special room devoted to each of these subjects.

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

From an etching. Reproduced by courtesy of the artist, Will J. Quinlan