trate. Miss Hawkins elevates him into a person of vast importance, the friend and counsellor of mi nisters. A large part of the beginning of the second volume is devoted to several ladies of easy virtue who figured before the public gaze some half a century ago. Miss H. appears to be aufait at their domestic histories, and has given us a great many piquant anecdotes relating to them. Our readers will excuse us for skipping lightly over this perilous ground. of her brother Henry. Sir John was a dull well- Miss Lowe, of Locks, in Derbyshire. The journey was meaning man, just fit for the post of a police magis-real, as was the adventure with the person described as Count Basset.' In the latter part of her life, the lady used to speak very frankly on the subject of her impru dence and her escape from the consequences of it; and doing so, long after her marriage, when Cibber was at her table, she soon after saw herself represented on the stage. -a breach of hospitality and good faith never forgiven by her family. "When I had written this, I was very much at a loss to make it consistent with what I knew to be fact, that it was Vanburgh who wrote the Journey to London; but a little trouble of search and enquiry set the matter right. Vanburgh had not completed the play when he died. Cibber took it up, and united with it that perfectly irrelative part, The Provoked Husband.' And whoever examines the Dramatis Personæ of both, will find the difference so great, as to allow the credit of this perfidious deed to rest with Cibber. Foote was guilty of the same sort of offence against society, in his farce of The Author,' in which he caricatures a gentleman who had received him as his guest. "The Lady Grace' of The Provoked Husband' was Lady Betty Cecil, afterwards Lady Elizabeth Chaplin. She was of th Exeter family, and had been a beauty; but the small-pox had rendered her plain, a misfortune which she bore with such meritorious submission, as to procure her universal love and esteem." From the account of the riots of 1780, the magisterial charge of Sir John Hawkins, and the rather tedious notice of Count Jarnac, we likewise avoid making any quotations. The miscellaneous anecdotes which follow, will however furnish something to amuse: "Charles Yorke told this fact. His father, Lord Hardwicke, was in the Court of Chancery when Lord Cowper was hearing a cause, in which Richard Cromwell had some concern. The counsel made very free and unhandsome use of his name, which offending the good feeling of the Chancellor, who knew that Cromwell must be in court and at that time a very old man, he looked round, and said,|| Is Mr. Cromwell in court?' On his being pointed out to him in the crowd, he very benignly said, Mr. Cromwell,|| I fear you are very incommodiously placed where you are, pray come and take a seat on the bench by me.' Of course, no more hard speechss were uttered against him. Bulstrode Whitelocke, then at the bar, said to Mr. Yorke, This day so many years ago, I saw my father carry the great seal before that man through Westminster Hall.' "The eccentric Mrs. T-, having settled herself in a sort of paramount situation in a bathing-place on the Kentish coast, where she had built a house, sent an invitaHouse.' tion to a Mr. Bogg to dine, and dated it'T-Mr. Bogg, a very plain old-fashioned man, who saw the folly of this flourish, wrote an answer, and, perhaps for the first time in his life rejoicing in his name, dated his reply in the same form. "A strolling company performing Cato at Camberwell, were sadly at a loss for a gown for Cato to die in. Mr. Crespigny, (afterwards Sir Claude), who was present, said, Send to my house for my plaid night-gown.' This was done, and Cato died thus equipped. "When Alderman Gill died, his wife ordered the undertaker to inform the court of Aldermen of the event. He wrote to this effect, I am desired to inform the court of Aldermen, Mr. Alderman Gill died last night, by order of Mrs. Gill. "In proof of the wretched weakness of Lord Nelson, by which, with the best disposition possible, he was led to his ruin, Dr. F said, that he had seen him almost writh ing with disquiet, when surrounded on board his own ship, by foreign attendants; he hated them all, and stuck firmly to his Yorkshire valet, who was called Aaron. But even this fellow had the mastery. One day, after dinner, Lord Nelson chafed very much at having a common glass rummer put before him, instead of his own silver cup; and said petulantly to Aaron, I will have my silver cup; I will not have this glass.' At the same time he pushed the glass from him. Aaron made no reply at the moment, but taking up the glass, he set it down, with an air fit only for giving check-mate, on the spot from which Lord Nelson had driven it; saying, Take that to-day; the silver cup to-morrow.' Lord Nelson submitted. 6 "The Miss Jenny' of the Journey to London' was 6 6 29 With a long pamphlet on Parliamentary Reform, which we confess not to have read, the volume ends, We have already expressed our opinion of Miss Hawkins, as an author, it now remains for our readers to express theirs. ARTISTICAL SCRAPS. To the Editor of the Somerset House Gazette. SITTING in a coffee-house, and amusing myself with some two dozen of prawns, by way of dessert, and taking your paper of last Saturday carefully out of my pocket, clean and carefully folded, just as I had purchased it from William Wetton's, opposite St. Dunstan's church, and opening the pages with the cheese knife, what may you suppose was the first object of my search? My own article, says you. Good! Why old gentleman you are a witch. Upon my life, said I inwardly, these artistical aberrations of mine look very pretty in print, and I sipped my wine, with that smile of self-adulation, which seemed to say, ipse, here's to you! Why in the name of wonder, do you not print more of this sort of ware? for doubtless, you have a weekly budget of correspondence from idlers like myself, who peering about in the little bays and creeks of art, pick up a thousand scraps, that would set up in type as invitingly to the reader's eye as my careless contributions. It is the easiest thing in the world to write-if men would only try. Now for a touch at Wilson: would that I could boast his touch. "He has sometimes been considered as an imitator of Claude," says mine authority, the reverend gentleman of the old school, quoting the authority of another. "But neither his composition nor expression justify that notion: his style is truly his own, formed on an accurate study of the best models of his art; the pictures of those artists who most accurately represent the grandeur and sublimity of nature? not those of Claude alone, but those of Salvator Rosa, and more especially of Gaspar Poussin." So says Professor Edwards. I like little Edwards for all his perspective. He has staunchly defended Wilson against the giant Reynolds; but as for Claude, and Salvator, and Gasper Poussin, it is all fiddlestick! I do not use this elegant figure however, in allusion to the professor's performance on the fiddle, for on my conscience, that instrument came across my fancy, purely an after-thought, although John Hoppner so smartly said, that he fiddled like a painter, and painted like a fiddler. No--the exclamation meant only an ejaculation to this effect. That Wilson saw nature only through his own eyes. Claude was original, Salvator was original, Poussin was original, and so was old Dick Wilson. The composition represents a young woman sitting at an old fashioned, rimmed, round table, with a handkerchief carelessly thrown over her head, awaking, after reading a novel or romance, which may be inferred from four volumes lying upon the table. Richardson's works we may suppose, for her dress is of his day. I should not neglect interleaved folios. to tell you that I discovered this in one of old Mr. Sayer's Wishing to purchase a book that delighted me when a boy, Chatelaine's Etchings of Views in the Vicinity of London, published at Sayers's in Fleet-street, I got into a hackney chariot and drove thither, and to my shame be it recorded, helped to block up that busy thoroughiare, by keeping it waiting on my constitutional absence, during the time that the giants, with their ponderous clubs, beat St. Dunstan's bells no less than thirteen quarters. OLD THOMAS OVERTON, Look you, Mr. Editor, he painted portraits, and acquired thereby the art of imitating with truth, what he saw before him. Every portrait painter, if the organization of his optics be not defective, becomes a prime colourist. The same power that enabled Wilson to give the rich tones and harmony discoverable in the human face, he applied to the scenery of inanimate nature. And hence it was, I would wager my reputation against a hog's hair tool, that the first landscape he painted in Italy, that region of the grand and picturesque, was as true in tone, as the most accomplished of his future works. The scenery was alike open to him, as to these his glorious predecessors; and he did as they did-painted what he saw, and dashed away according to his own perceptions of nature and art. Never was pure daylight hit off with intensity of tone, so marvellously as by him. That was his mighty point, and I swear by the eagle of Jupiter, and the owl of Minerva, that he caught the inspiration from nature alone. Claude, Rosa, and Gaspar! Fiddle-de-dee. Had Wil-proprietor, attained to the same through his father, who is son lived first, ten to one but your book-makers, scrib-industry. Among the graphic archives of these premises, now living in rural retirement, enjoying the fruits of his blers, critics and commentators, would have imposed upon might be collected much desultory matter for a chit chat us that they studied their art through him! Was a well known publisher in Fleet-street, residing there some eighty or ninety years ago, and onward to the last reign. At his death, Mr. Robert Sayer purchased his stock in trade, and with it his connexion. Overton was a friend of Hogarth's, and joint publisher of several of his prints. The elder Mr. Laurie, the mezzotinto engraver, succesceeded to the business, and Mr. R. H. Laurie, the present sor to Sayer, with whom he served his apprenticeship, suc Now I am upon this theme, my old friend Mr. Hard-history of the arts. castle, let me prose a little longer, although I would not wear your reader's patience absolutely thread-bare. First then, to begin again, Wilson is not like Claude in sweetness of touch. Secondly he is not like Salvator in bold expression; and thirdly, he is not to be compared with Gaspar, in classic severity of composition. His art is quite of the English school-entirely his own, and his added name, though last, will not be least among the illustrious four of never dying fame. Postscript. I do not like his rocks-I do not like his trees-I do not like his figures. Yet I honour his genius, and worship his pictures only on this side of idolatry. Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again. Addenda to Postscript. Not, Mr. Editor, that we want another Wilson; his style, though great and mighty, was sufficiently eccentric: one comet of his vast magnitude will suffice in the hemisphere of art. His genius stole fire enough to supply succeeding suns, who though to zealot eyes they dazzle less, yet maintain order in their sphere with celestial harmony. MORE SCRAPS.-There is a portrait by Richard Wilson, in the possession of Mr. ** which I remember to have seen some years ago. The impression on my memory is, that it was painted with a broad, masterly touch, and with a good eye to colour. I shall some day Deo volente, stretch my course to the house wherein it hung, and endeavour to trace it out. Should I obtain another view of it, you shall have the full benefit of the discovery. Meanwhile, let me inform you, for the amusement of those of your readers, who seek such gossip, that lately looking over some old portfolios, I pounced upon a mezzotinto print, from a picture by Richard Wilson, painted many years ago, and most probably before he went to Italy. The subject is entitled, THE SLEEPING BEAUTY, with this motto from Pope. LORD NELSON. The first engraving of the portrait of Nelson was published at this house, and engraved in mezzotinto by Mr. Robert Laurie. This was enlarged for the plate from a miniature painted at Leghorn, and lent to Mr. Laurie by the wife of our immortal hero. CRUIKSHANK. A small engraving, another portrait of Lord Nelson, which headed a printed sheet containing his life, for country circulation, and published here, is acknowledged to be the most faithful of all the resemblances that have issued from the press. This head, be it known, is a compilation from busts, pictures, and casual observation, (for he never sat to its author) by Cruikshank, the father of George of that name, the first of living caricaturists. This, you will say was a fortunate hit-it nevertheless is true. It is worthy of notice perhaps, Mr. Editor, to add, that this Mr. Cruikshank was the author of the greater part of those humourous designs, which for many years issued from the press of Messrs. Laurie and Whittle, illustrative of Dean Swift's, Joe Miller's, Tom Brown's, and other celebrated story-tellers, witty jibes and jokes. Hence we may readily infer that the sons, of living fame, Messrs. George and Robert, were early imbued with a taste for graphic drolling, for the discrimination of character, for points of humour, and for that mastery in their walk, which revives the fun and frolic of the days of yore. LORD HOWE. The first engraving of Lord Howe, Black Dick, as he was fondly designated by his jovial crew, was also engraved from a portrait, for which his lordship never sat, and engraved in mezzotinto by the said Robert Laurie. The picture was compiled from a sketch, if I am not mistaken, by a naval officer, and from description, at the instance of Admiral Braithwaite, by a foreign artist, named Meguignon. The engraving being finished, Mr. Laurie, one morning, waited upon Lady Howe at his lordship's breakfast hour, in May Fair. She thought it wondrous like, and promised to submit it to her noble spouse. Mr. Laurie waited in the breakfast parlour, when, with the grandeur of a man of war, in steered the mighty admiral, the print in his hand. "Well, brother," said his lordship, "how the devil did you contrive this. I never sat to a limner in my life. Who painted this picture-how the devil was it done-hey?" 66 the opera factions, so memorable in the reign of King "Thou tuneful scare-crow, and thou warbling bird, GEORGE BICKHAM. I cannot inform your lordship how some painters Black-horse in Cornhill. Used to design humorous subjects for Bowles, at the Many of the comical cuts, manage to obtain a likeness thus," replied the engraver, bowing respectfully, "but allow me to say, now that I have apprentices, grinning countrymen, properly so called, adcoloured so smartly, yet attracting the curiosity of gaping the honour to address myself to your lordship in person-miring sailors, watermen, porters, jocose shop-keepers, it is very like." "So it is-so it is," said his lordship; "Lady Howe says it is like-very like, and she ought to know. What is your name, Sir ?""Robert Laurie, my Lord." "Well then Mr. Robert Laurie, I thank you for your civility, and you are a dd clever fellow." SIGNS. and such like connoisseurs, at the old shop front near the north porch of St. Paul's, are by master Bickham, who was one of the well-known lively clubists of this punch-drinking period. JEMMY WORSDALE Was second to none for striking invention. Sawney in the B-g House, a piece of delectable humour, which went was ascribed to this wag. The State of the Nation in a condition, was also fathered upon his invention. This not over delicate print, in common with the other, wanting neither comment nor glossary, made a mint of money for the publisher. Talking of signs Mr. Ephraim, Corregio's, Hans Hol-off like wild fire, as old Carrington Bowles told Mr. Wilkes, bein's, Catton's, Wales, &c. as you are an older man by many years than your humble scribe, (I say it with deference to you grey hairs) pray did you ever in your rambles about the back streets of Westminster, I mean in the neighbourhood of the abbey, fall in with the sign of the "THREE JOHNS?' If you did, perhaps you can inform me, in a corner of one of your columns, how it came there, by whom it was painted, and at what period it was erected. It is two or three years since I saw it, and if I mistake not, it was over an ale-house door, in Bennet-street, at the back of Broadway, and near Queen's Square: certainly, in one of the streets immediately contiguous to that well known spot. The sign represents, sitting at an oblong table, in the middle, and in front, John Wilkes. At one end, Sir John Glynn, (sergeant at law) and at the other the Rev. John Horne Tooke. A bold re-publican this ale-house-keeper, one should think, to hoist this sign, almost under the very nose of parliament; but, this is the glorious land of liberty, There is a mezzotinto print of this sign, drawn and engraved by Richard Houston, and published, Feb. 6, 1769. Now whether the drawing is from the sign, or the sign from the drawing, if you cannot tell-farther enquiry may be vain. Pray, Sir, do oblige me with your opinion upon the subject. HUMOUROUS DESIGNERS AND CARICATURISTS. OLD GOUPY caricatured Mynheer Handel, seated at the organ, with a hog's-head under his wig, surrounded by hams, turkies, geese, and capons, such as Grinlin Gibbons carved all over the royal eating-room at Windsor; Goupy was a dab at graphic satire. Lady Burlington, the wife of the great amateur architect, was famous for this species of lampoon. With her lively pencil, and the assistance of Monsieur Goupy, she used to amuse herself, and a select few, by ridiculing certain of her particular friends. Indeed, it was suspected, that she did not spare her elegant complimenter, Mr. Alexander Pope. A rare print, said to be designed by this fine lady, and etched by Goupy, describes Farinelli, Cuzzoni, and Count Heidegger (the ugly.). The two first warbling a duet; Heidegger sitting behind, uttering the following lines. You recollect of course, that her ladyship headed one of Like enough, you will say, Mr. Editor, for that art, which is low and grovelling, so that it be humourous, whether in this age or in that, is sure to pick up a world of patrons, among the vulgar little, and among the vulgar great. WILSON. Z. Every scrap from the magic pencil of this master is now sought by the trade in all the holes and corners of the dirtiest broker's shop in every dirty street. We have seen half a score copies at least, within as many days, which the cunning of certain low dealers would impose upon the unwary, for undoubted originals by Wilson. To each of these is attached some barefaced falsehood, in the shape of the pedigree of the picture. Lately conversing upon this subject with the lively author of the little poem of Frank Hayman and the Porter,† and holding council upon a dubious Wilson, we picked up the following anecdote, which was told to the narrator, by Peters himself. It is necessary to premise, that this gentleman, an R. A. quitted the profession of painting, took priests orders, and died a vicar of the English church. painted, was desirous of having two landscapes executed A lady of rank, said Mr. Peters, whose portrait I had for her, by some native artist. I immediately thought of my friend Wilson, poor fellow, I knew he had but little to do. I expressed to her ladyship my opinion of his abilities, and she begged me to accompany her to his lodgings. This I wished to evade to afford Wilson notice, and that he might borrow some one of his pictures that was more finished than the loose manner in which he was then dashing away. But no, my lady would go and see a specimen of his style on the instant. Away we drove in her car • Count Heidegger enlisted, at one time, as a private soldier in the guards, for a protection from foreign persecution. Mr. Taylor, of the "Sun." riage, knocked at the door, and found Wilson at his easel in his old morning gown. My lady had been talking of high finishing all the way on our journey, and I was in a fever lest old Dick's classic daubing might not suit her taste: but as the fates would have it, she was mightily pleased with the few slight things she saw, and no less captivated by the conversation of master Richard. The interview ended in her ladyship's giving him a commission to paint two landscapes, to be finished in his best manner, and so forth, and the painter with great courtesy saw her ladyship to the street door. As I was handing her into her chariot, Wilson caught my eye, and very significantly beckoned my return. I pretended an engagement, and the lady was driven home alone. Knocking at the door again, and running up to his room, poor Wilson thanked me for my kindness, and after a pause, with distress in his countenance, candidly told me, that he was so reduced, that he could not procure canvas and colours to execute the commission. I was rather shocked than surprised. "My worthy friend, what will serve your || need?" said I. "Ten pounds would set me up again," said Wilson. "I have not so much about me-but I will procure it for you, and return in half an hour." Such were the depressed circumstances of this great painter. Sir, I began to ponder on the fate of an artist. What! thought I, is this to be the reward of years of study! I am a portrait painter it is true, but only of second rate talent. I will leave painting, and take to the church. "And so he did," said our friend, who told us the story, "and died possessed of good property." SIGN PAINTINGS.-GEORGE MORLAND. To the Editor of the Somerset House Gazette. As you have noticed in your work certain sign boards that have been painted by several eminent artists, perhaps this relation of the discovery of another curiosity in that way may be acceptable to your pages. "But you will sell it, friend," said I. "No, but I won't," he replied. "I would not take any money for it. I must have a sign, you know." "Should you have an offer of ten guineas for it, how then, my friend?""Egad," said he, rubbing his hands," it should go, and with all my heart." The painting, about a yard in length, and of a proportionate height, is done on canvas, strained upon something like an old shutter, which has two staples at the back, suited to hooks for its occasional suspension on the booth front in the hosts eratic business at fairs and races. The scene I found to be a portrait of the neighbouring cricket-green called Laleham Borough, and contains thirteen cricketers in full play, dressed in white,-one arbiter in red and one in blue, besides four spectators, seated two by two on chairs. The picture is greatly cracked in the reticulated way of paint when much exposed to the sun; but the colours are pure, and the landscape in a very pleasing tone, and in perfect harmony. The figures are done as if with the greatest ease, and the mechanism of Moreland's pencil, and his process of painting, is clearly obvious in its decided touches,-and in the gradations of the whites particularly. From the landlord George Try, I learned that about fortyfive years ago (at which time he thought the building of Chertsey Bridge was in progress, and I think so too), the sign of the public house was the Walnut Tree, and kept by an eccentric of the name of Yalden-that a famous painter lodged some time in the house, and painted the walls of a room there all over with landscapes; but which being papered, the damps had long ago destroyedthem-that he painted the sign also, and which pleased the landlord so much from the cricketing, and other amateur company which its fame brought to the house, that he changed the name of his sign from its old designation to that of The Cricketers. At present there is a swing sign exposed at the front of the house, both faces of which are evidently copied from the portable sign within. It cannot be supposed that this freak of the pencil is a work of high art; yet it certainly contains proof of Morland's extraordinary talent, and it should seem that he even took some pains with it, for there are marks of his having painted out and recomposed, at least one figure, at the left corner of the subject. J. B. P. ANECDOTES OF WILSON, COLLECTED BY MR. FIELD. Of another class was the satire of Zoffani, in his picture of the Royal Academy, in which he introduced portraits of all the academicians, and a no very favourable one of Wilson, with a pot of porter by him. Wilson accordingly treated it in a different way, by taking a stick, and swearing he would give Zoffani a sound thrashing; and he would have kept his word, if Zoffani had not prudently painted it out. Having walked from Laleham to Chertsey Bridge last week, for the purpose of meeting the coach on its way to London, and arriving somewhat before its usual time of passing, I was amusing myself by sketching from the summit of the bridge the interesting scenery before me, when a brisk shower made it needful to obtain shelter. There is on the Surrey side and at the foot of the bridge, a small public house, that seems conveniently situated as an accommodation to the disciples of old Isaac Walton, and from the evidence of an immense fish that is painted on the wall of the entrance passage, there is reason to believe that some successful sport was formerly had in that quarter. Into this house I made my way, and seated myself in a small parlour on the right, when my attention was caught by a Crickett Match, painted in a style that was familiar to I immediately knew it to be from the pencil of George Sir William Beechey, as he himself has informed me, Morland, and at this instant the landlady entered, "Pray, having on one occasion invited Wilson to dine; before he my good lady," said I, "can you tell me who painted that consented, he thus sounded his way. You have some picture ?" No, that I can't," said she, "but my hus-daughters, Mr. Beechey?' 'Yes, Sir.' 'Well, do they band can-it was done by somebody a great while ago, draw? All the young ladies learn to draw now.'No, though I should know his name if I heard it-he was a great Sir, they are musical.' This was very well; his rough London painter, I believe, but it an't good for much now- honesty dreaded an exhibition of performances in his art, it must be brushed up a bit, it wants new doing like." On which might place him in the dilemma of praising untruly, the appearance of the landlord, I asked if he would part or condemning offensively; and the heart cannot but apwith it."Oh! Lord, no,' said he, "it is my sign, Sir, plaud his motive. Sir Joshua, with more gentlemanly and has been the sign of this house, as I may say, for a humanity and less rigid morality, got out of the dilemma on matter of forty years. I always takes it with my booth such occasions, by uniformly saying, Very pretty! very when I sells beer and other matters, at Egham Races, and pretty!' Hard, indeed, and frequent are those cases, in Staines Races, and at Cricket Matches, and such like." which a man cannot make his conscience comport truly me. 6 : with his humanity; hence we may often pardon the weakness, while we condemn the motive; something is to be conceded to the imperfection of our nature. At other times of his visiting Sir W. Beechey, which he frequently did of an evening, he would rarely take any thing more than a sandwich, without wine or ardent spirit; but if a tankard of porter, with a toast in it, were placed before him, it was irresistible, and he would partake of it when he had refused every thing else, but not to excess. On these occasions he said very little. Sir William thinks the portrait by Mengs must have been very like him, when younger. Afterwards his nose grew very large, and that and his chin very red, so much so, as to attract notice in the street, to avoid which, he walked with a handkerchief to his face. His lips were thin and compressed. him, and a rising generation ready to strew flowers, and sing a requiem to his remains. A few shillings purchased, in Drury Lane, all the implements and relics of the art and property of this inestimable artist. CAXTON, THE PRINTER. THOMAS FULLER, 1662. BALE beginneth very coldly in his commendation, by whom he is charactered "Vir non omnino stupidus, aut ignavia torpers,' but we understand the language of his Liptote, the rather because he praises his diligence and learning. He had most of his education beyond the seas. living thirty years in the court of Margaret, Duchess of conclude him an Anti-Lancastrian in his affection. He continued Polychronicon (beginning where Trevisa ended) unto the end of King Edward the Fourth, with good judgment and fidelity. And yet when he writeth (lib. ult. cap. 10) that King Richard the Second left in his treasury, money and jewels to the value of seven hundred thousand pounds, I cannot credit him, it is so contrary to the received character of that king's riotous prodigality. Caxton carefully collected and printed all Chaucer's works, and on many accounts deserved well of posterity, when he died in the year 1486." Mr. Newman, the colourman, recollects him well, and supplied him with pencils and brushes; but of these very few were sufficient; for the mechanism of Wilson's paint-Burgundy, sister to King Edward the Fourth, whence I ing was extremely simple, and his colours few. With these, and one pencil only, he painted standing, made a touch or two, and then walked to the window to refresh his eye, which was extremely delicate, and critically nice for colour. I have this account of his painting principally from Sir William Beechey, who has often seen him paint, and to whom he was particularly attached during the latter years of his life, Sir William, with his wonted good humour, not only described by words, but acted his manner at the easel. . In painting he frequently receded from his picture to view it, and he one day drew Sir William Beechey by the arm to the further corner of the room, observing, This is where you should view a painting, with your eyes, and not with your nose.' And there, indeed,' said Sir William, the effect was prodigious;' for at this time his sight and touch were declining, and he painted coarsely. He did not, however, paint from feeling only, he had principles which actuated his hand to the last, which he would not communicate; they were to be sought, like those of nature, in his practice, and from his performances. He was taciturn and sententious, and though not of gentle speech or demeanor, and although disappointed and soured in mind, he did not indulge in calumny, nor question the dispensations of Providence; which denotes in him a natural benevolence of heart. He had a clear and confident presentiment that posterity would do him justice, and often told Sir W. Beechey he would live to see when Barret's pictures (which were then in high esteem) would fetch nothing, and that great prices would be given for his own. Sir William says he thinks he might have starved, if the situation of librarian to the Royal Academy, to which he did honour by his education and abilities, had not been conferred upon him. It was worth about fifty pounds per annum, and his manner of living was very poor, and not at all beyond it. Previously to his finally leaving London, which took place in consequence of the death of his brother, who left him an estate, on which it turned out there was a lead mine, he went to take leave of Sir William, and though he was in pretty good spirits at the prospect of comfort before him, his faculties and health were much impaired, and he put his hands on each side of his back, in which he suffered at the time, and, with a shake of the head, said, very expressively, Oh, these back settlements of mine!" 6 He was anxious and in haste to get into the country, but the journey proved an effort beyond his age and infirmities, which, aided, perhaps, by the sudden burst of the warm radiance of his setting sun upon the gloom of his past day, was too much for him, and he lived only to enjoy the satisfaction (for such all men feel it) of laying his bones in his native country with the decencies of affluence about ARCHBISHOP WILLIAM NICHOLSON, 1714. WILLIAM CAXTON was a menial servant, for thirty years together, to Margaret Duchess of Burgundy, (sister to our King Edward IV.) in Flanders. He afterwards returned into England; where finding as he says, an imperfect history (began by one of the monks of St. Alban's, says John Pits, very unadvisedly) he continued it English, giving it only the Latin title of Fructus Temporum. How small a portion of this work is owing to this author, has been observed before; but he now usually bears the name of the whole, which begins with the first inhabiting of this Island, and ends (the last year of Edward IV.) A. D. 1483. The opportunities he had of being acquainted with the court transactions of his own time, would encourage his readers to hope for great matters from him; but his fancy seems to have led him into an undertaking above his strength. JOHN BAGFORd, 1714. WILLIAM CAXTON took to the art and crafte of printing right well, altho' to his great expense of time and charges of money. Our Caxton was of ripe wit, and quick of apprehension in all he undertook; I mean in all the books he then translated into English, as may be seen by the prefaces he then put forth in print. He was so industrious a man, that the like has not been seen in this our kingdom, to be the translator and printer of so many books with his own hands. DR. CONYERS MIDDLETON, 1737. WHOEVER turns over Caxton's printed works must contract a respect for him, and be convinced that he preserved the same character through life, of an honest, modest man; greatly industrious to do good to his country, to the best of his abilities, by spreading among the people such books as he thought useful to religion and good manners, which were chiefly translated from the French. |