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