the floor to give way-I fancied Fuseli himself to be a giant.

I heard his footsteps, and saw a little bony hand slide round the edge of the door, followed by a little whiteheaded lion-faced man in an old flannel dressing gown, tied round his waist with a piece of rope, and upon his head the bottom of Mrs. Fuseli's work-basket. "Well, well," thought I, "I am a match for you at any rate, if bewitching is tried;" but all apprehension vanished on his saying, in the mildest and kindest way, "Well, Mr. Haydon, I have heard a great deal of you from Mr. Hoare. Where are your drawings" In a fright I gave him the wrong book, with a sketch of some men pushing a cask into a grocer's shop. Fuseli smiled, and said, "By Gode de fellow does his business at least with eneargy." I was gratified at his being pleased in spite of my mistake.

"You are studying anatomy: you are right. Shew me some drawings. I am keeper of de Academy, and hope to see you dere de first nights." I went away, feeling happy that my bones were whole and my breathing uninterrupted.

My incessant application was soon perceived by Fuseli, who, coming in one day when I was at work and all the other students were away, walked up to me and said in the mildest voice, "Why, when de devil do you dine ?" and invited me to go back with him to dinner. Here I saw his sketches, the sublimity of which I deny. Evil was in him. He knew full well that he was wrong as to truth of imitation, and he kept palliating it under the excuse of "the grand style." He said a subject should interest, astonish, or move: if it did none of these it was worth "noding by Gode." He had a strong Swiss accent, and a guttural energetic diction. This was not affectation in him. He swore roundly, a habit

which he told me he had contracted from Dr. Armstrong. He was about five feet five inches high, had a compact little form, stood firmly at his easel, painted with his left hand, never held his palette upon his thumb, but kept it upon his stone, and, being very nearsighted, and too vain to wear glasses, used to dab his beastly brush into the oil, and, sweeping round the palette in the dark, take up a great lump of white, red, or blue, as it might be, and plaster it over a shoulder or face. Sometimes, in his blindness, he would put a hideous smear of Prussian blue in his flesh, and then; perhaps discovering his mistake, take a bit of red to deaden it, and then, prying close in, turn round to me and say, "By Gode, dat's a fine purple! it's vary like Corregio, by Gode!" And then, all of a sudden, he would burst out with a quotation from Homer, Tasso, Dante, Ovid, Virgil, or perhaps the Niebelungen, and thunder round some with "Paint dat!" I found him the most grotesque mixture of literature, art, scepticism, indelicacy, profanity, and kindness. He put me in mind of Archimago in Spenser. Weak minds he destroyed. They mistook his wit for reason, his indelicacy for breeding, his swearing for manliness, and his infidelity for strength of mind; but he was accomplished in elegant literature, and had the art of inspiring young minds with high and grand views. I told him that I would never paint portraits, but devote myself to high art. "Keep to dat," said Fuseli, looking fiercely at me, "I will, sir." We were more intimate from that hour. He should have checked me, and pointed out that portrait was useful as practice, if kept subordinate; but that I was not to allow myself to be seduced by the money that it brought in from making high art my predominant object. This would have been more sensible.

We next note the small beginnings of a greater man than Haydon.

When the Academy closed in August, Wilkie followed me to the door, and invited me to breakfast, saying, in a broad Scotch accent, "Whare d'ye stay ?" I went to his room rather earlier than the hour named, and, to my utter astonishment, found Wilkie sitting stark naked on the side of his bed, drawing himself by help of the looking-glass. "My God, Wilkie," said I, "where are we to breakfast?" Without any apology, or attention to my important question, he replied "It's jest copital practice!" I left him, and strolled for an hour over the fields where is now the Regent's Park. When I returned I rallied him on his " copital practice," and I shall certainly never forget his red hair, his long lanky figure reflected in the glass, and Wilkie, with portcrayon and paper, making a beautiful study. He shewed me his wonderful picture of the "Fair," painted at nineteen, before he had ever seen a Teniers. The colour was bad, but the grouping beautiful, and the figures full of expression. But at that time I was too big with "high art" to feel its perfections, and perhaps had a feeling akin to contempt for a young man with any talent who stooped himself to such things.

Wilkie went on with his "copital practice," and very soon astonished the town with his

VILLAGE POLITICIANS.

During the progress of the picture his employer called and said towards its conclusion, "What am I to pay you for this picture, Mr. Wilkie ?"

Wilkie, timid and trembling, said, "I hope your Lordship will not think fifteen guineas too much." "Fifteen guineas!" replied his Lordship, "why, that is rather too much you had better consult your friends, Mr. Wilkie."

"Fifteen guineas!" I said when I heard it, "a hundred and fifty guineas is not too much. Don't you let him have it, my dear Wilkie." Everybody was of the same opinion. In the mean time his Lordship had heard the picture talked about. Suddenly in he popped upon Wilkie, looked, admired, and said, "I believe, Mr. Wilkie, that I owe you fifteen guineas: I will give you a cheque." "No," replied Wilkie, "your Lordship told me to consult my friends, as you thought it too much. I have done so, and they agree that it is too little." "Oh, but I considered it a bargain," said Lord Mansfield, rising and leaving the room. On the hanging day the Academicians were so delighted that they hung it on the chimney, the best place for a fine picture. On the private day there was a crowd about it, and at the dinner Angerstein took the Prince up to see it.

On the Sunday (the next day) I read in the news:— "A young man, by the name of Wilkie, a Scotchman, has a very extraordinary work." I was in the clouds, hurried over my breakfast, rushed away, met Jackson, who joined me, and we both bolted into Wilkie's room. I roared out, "Wilkie, my boy, your name's in the paper!" "Is it rea-al-ly," said David. I read the puff. We huzzaed, and, taking hands, all three danced round the table until we were tired. By those who remember the tone of Wilkie's "rea-al-ly" this will be relished. Eastlake told me that Calcott said once to

Wilkie, "Do you not know that every one complains of your continual rea-al-ly ?" Wilkie mused a moment, looked at Calcott, and drawled out, "Do they rea-al-ly!" "You must leave it off." "I will rea-al-ly." "For heaven's sake, don't keep repeating it," said Calcott, it annoys me." Wilkie looked, smiled, and in the most unconscious manner said, “Rea-al-ly !”"

Jackson, he, and I, made an appointment to go together to the Exhibition the next day: Wilkie was to call on me at 49 Carey Street.

Ah! these unalloyed moments never come twice: our joy was the joy of three friends, pure from all base passions, one of whom had proved a great genius, and we felt as if it reflected honour on our choice of each other.

Wilkie called accordingly, looking bewildered with his success. Seguier and Jackson met us at Somerset House, and, paying our money, we mounted the steps, Wilkie and I arm in arm, Seguier and Jackson following us. I walked straight to the picture, but there was no getting in sideways or edgeways. Wilkie, pale as death, kept saying, "Dear, dear, its jest wonderful!"

After enjoying the triumph, which was complete, we left the Academy and went to dinner, Seguier saying to me, "I suppose you'll astonish us next."

We dined at John O'Groat's," Rupert Street, and, going home with Wilkie, we found his table covered with cards of people of fashion, people of no fashion, and people of every fashion.

The rush was tremendous. Wilkie became drunk with success, and very idle.

Next year Haydon produced his "Flight into Egypt," which, as he says, took him six months to paint, and "was a wonderful first picture."

THE FIRST HANGING.

For days I wandered about in hopeless misery. I could not eat nor drink. I lost my relish for every thing. I could not sleep, I could not paint. Called on one friend after another, affecting gaiety; bored Fuseli, who, being keeper, saw what was daily doing by the Committee, until at last one morning, when, after a timid knock, I opened the door at the usual "Come in," Fuseli turned suddenly round with his lion-head, the white hair glistening as the light quivered down upon it from the top of his high window, and roared out, "Wale, is it you? For your comfort den you are hung, be Gode, and d-d well too, though not in chains yet." "Where, sir, for God's sake p❞ "Ah! dat is a sacrate; but you are in the great room. Dey were all pleased. Northcote tried to hurt you, but dey would not listen. He said 'Fye, zure I see Wilkie's hand dere.' 'Come, come,' said Westall, 'dat's too bad, even for you!" "Wilkie's hand!" replied I, "good heavens,

what malice! I would as soon let Wilkie feed me with a pap-spoon as touch a picture of mine." But what petty malignity!" "Wale, wale," said Fuseli, "I told him (Northcote) 'You are his townsman, hang him wale.' When I came back whayre de deyvil do you tink he was hanging you? Be Gode, above de whole lengts and small figures about eight inches. "Why,' said I, 'you are sending him to haven before his time. Take him down, take him down, dat is shameful!'"

And so down I was taken and hung on the right of the entrance door in the old great room at Somerset House, which, for a first picture by a young student, was a very good situation, and obtained me great honour.

The original of the mother in Wilkie's

"Blind Fiddler" was a sort of Madame Roland in her way. The picture of artist life in Rathbone Place is better grouped than the" Reform Banquet."

LIZZY AND HER ARTISTS.

There never was a group of young men so various and characteristic, with Lizzy, the only woman among us, giving a zest and intensity to our thoughts and our

arguments. First was David Wilkie-Scotch, argumentative, unclassical, prudent, poor, and simple, but kindled by a steady flame of genius. Then Du Fresne -thoughtless, gay, highly educated, speaking French and Italian with the most perfect accent, reading Virgil and Horace, quoting Shakspeare or Milton, believing in high art, glorying in the antique, hating modern academies, and relishing music like a Mozart. In perfect contrast came George Callender-timid, quiet, unobtrusive, but withal well read. Then Dr. Millingena Whig devotee, mad at a Westminster election, raving out a speech of Fox's, adoring Sheridan, and hating Pitt. Last of all, thou not least in our dear love, came B. R. Haydon-energetic, fiercely ambitious, full of grand ideas and romantic hopes, believing the world too little for his art, trusting all, fearing none, and pouring forth his thoughts in vigorous language; while Liz, making tea at the table, completed the group. My tea was so good and my cups so large, that they always used to say, "We'll have tea at Haydon's in the grand style."

An attractive girl on the second floor of a house full of young men is in rather a dangerous position, and what with Du Fresne's fascinating conversation, Will

Allan's anecdote, Dr. Millingen's furious admiration of Charles Fox, George Callender's sound sense and quiet humour, Wilkie's genius, and B. R. Haydon's high views and energy of argument, poor Lizzy was so fascinated that she positively forswore her sex, and became as much a young man in mind as if she too were going to be a student in art, divinity, or medicine.

She attached herself to the party, made tea for them, marketed for them, carved for them, went to the play with them, read Shakspeare with them, and on one occasion I found her studying, with an expression of profound bewilderment, "Reid on the Human Mind." To men of fashion there will be no doubt as to what her position must have been with these young men, but they are wrong in this case. Suspicion followed suspicion, but she cared not. She had more pleasure in listening to a dispute on art between Wilkie and me, or a political battle between M'Claggan and Callender, or an account of the beheading of Marie Antoinette from Du Fresne (who used to declare that he saw it, and flung his red cap in the air), than in making love or having love made to her. Her position was anomalous, but I fully believe it was innocent. She was a girl with a man's mind-one of those women we sometimes meet who destroy their fair fame by placing themselves in masculine society, with what is perfect innocence in them, but could not be innocence in any woman brought up to nurse those delicacies of feeling which are among the most delightful attributes of the sex.

Liz was as interesting a girl as you would wish to see, and very likely to make a strong impression on any one that knew her. However, I kept clear, and she ultimately married the Frenchman.

one.

But all this time our historical painter is proceeding with his second work. Lord Mulgrave had commissioned him to paint an historical picture, and "Dentatus" was the work which was to astonish the world and to demonstrate Haydon's supremacy in the regions of high art. Alas! "Dentatus" was a failure: as Haydon thought, because the Hanging Committee placed it in the ante-room; as every one else thought, simply because it was a failure. It is amusing

to read the indomitable confidence of the man

—his utter incapacity of imagining the possibility that he could be less than an Apelles.

LORD MULGRAVE AND DENTATUS.

Lord Mulgrave immediately sent me 160 guineas, saying that, notwithstanding the injustice the picture had met with, his opinion was unaltered. He subsequently sent me 50 guineas more. And yet dear Lord Mulgrave, in spite of his belief that his sincere opinion was unaltered, began at last to fancy that " Dentatus" would not have been placed where it was had it really deserved a better place. He did not possess knowledge sufficient to defend his opinions; and when he heard the picture abused by the Academicians in society, he felt his faith in its merits waver.

Wilkie and I continued frequently to dine at his Lordship's table, but there was certainly a distant coolness to me, as if he had been imposed upon. Wilkie's picture made as much noise as ever, and now he was the great object of attraction, where before I had been the lion. The old story in high life.

Before "Dentatus" made his début at the Academy I used to be listened to as if I was an oracle, and poor Wilkie scarcely noticed: now it was his turn, and I was almost forgotten. Now he was frequently invited without me. Jackson was not there at all, because Lord Mulgrave had parted from him in a pet. These are the caprices and anxieties inseparable from introduction to the company of a class who are ambitious of the éclat of discovering genius, but whose hearts are seldom truly engaged for it. They esteem it no longer when public caprice, or private malignity and professional envy, can excite a suspicion that my Lord has been hasty, and made a mistake.

People of fashion were ashamed to acknowledge that they had ever seen either the picture or the painter. My painting-room was deserted. I felt like a marked man. How completely the Academicians knew that class whose professions of regard and interest I had credited like a child! Here was a work, the principles of which I could do nothing but develope for the remainder of my life; in which a visible and resolute attempt had been made to unite colour, expression, handling, light, shadow, and heroic form, and to correct the habitual slovenliness of the English in drawing, based upon an anatomical knowledge of the figure, wanting till now in English art, for West and Barry had but superficial knowledge; the first picture which had appeared uniting the idea and the life under the influence and guidance of the divine productions of Phidias, seen for the first time in Europe, and painted by the first artist ever permitted to draw from those remains; and this picture was ruined in reputation through the pernicious power of professional men, embodied by Royalty for the advancement of works of this very description. I, the sincere, devoted artist, was treated like a culprit, deserted like a leper, abused like a felon, and ridiculed as if my pretensions were the delusions of a madman. Yet these delusions were founded on common sense and incessant industry, on

Haydon's position in public estimation was now pretty well settled. By vociferous pretension, and by gigantic masses of canvas, he sometimes startled the world out of its fixed

opinion for a moment; but the factitious excitement always passed away, and the historical painter was again left alone in his selfidolatry.

His father had now maintained him for six years, for Haydon scorned to relieve his sire by stooping to paint portraits. A letter now arrived, telling him that he must reckon no longer upon remittances from home. Haydon quarrels with his patron Sir George Beaumont, sets to work upon a large picture," Macbeth," and borrows money.

It is quite wonderful to mark what success he had in borrowing.

MACBETH UPON CREDIT.

I pursued my ardent course day after day and hour after hour. There was a friend who came forward nobly to the extent of his power. He is a humble man, though connected with one who has made noise enough-John Hunt, the brother of Leigh, as noble a specimen of a human being as ever I met in my life: of him I borrowed 301. This had carried me on with my mouldings and castings of the negro. Peter Cleghorn, a friend of Wilkie's and mine, lent me 301. more. I called my landlord, and explained to him my situation, and asked him to wait till Macbeth was done. He said, "You paid me when your father supported you, and I see no reason not to believe you will do so when you can support yourself."

Again

How could I submit who had told the students that failure should stimulate and not depress? Contempti ble! How bear my own reflections-how the reflections of others, knowing I deserved them? Something instantly circulated through me like an essence of fire, and, striding with wider steps, I determined to bear all-not to yield one particle of my designs-to go at once for my model-to begin to-morrow, and to make the most of my actual situation. "Well done!" said the God within, and instantly I was invincible. I went to the house where I had always dined, intending to dine without paying for that day. I thought the servants did not offer me the same attention. I thought I perceived the company examine me. I thought the meat was worse. My heart sunk as I said falteringly, "I will pay you to-morrow." The girl smiled, and seemed interested. As I was escaping with a sort of lurking horror, she said, "Mr. Haydon, Mr. Haydon, my master wishes to see you." My God!" thought I, "it is to tell me he can't trust." In I walked like a culprit. "Sir, I beg your pardon, but I see by the papers you have been ill-used: I hope you won't be angry; I mean no offence; but-you won't be offended-I just wish to say, as you have dined here many years, and always paid, if it would be a convenience during your present work to dine here till it is done-you know-so that you may

46

not be obliged to spend your money here, when you may want it." I was going to say " You need be under no apprehension-hem! for a dinner." My heart really filled. told him I would take his offer. The good man's forehead was perspiring, and he seemed quite relieved. From that hour the servants, who were pretty girls, eyed me with a lustrous regret, and redoubled their attentions. The honest wife said if I was ever ill she would send me broth, or any such little luxury; and the children used to cling round my knees, and ask me to draw a face. "Now," said I, as I walked home with an elastic step, "now for my landlord." I called up Perkins and laid my desperate case before him.

He was quite affected. I said, "Perkins, I'll leave you if you wish it, but it will be a pity, will it not, not to finish such a beginning ?" Perkins looked at the rubbing in, and muttered, "It's a grand thing: how long will it be before it is done, sir ?" "Two years." "What! two years more and no rent ?" "Not a shilling." He rubbed his chin, and muttered, "I should not like you to go-it's hard for both of us; but what I say is this, you always paid me when you could, and why should you not again when you are able ?" That's what I say.""Well, sir, here is my hand "--and a great fat one it was-"I'll give you two years more, and if this does not sell "-affecting to look severe-" why then, sir, we'll consider what is to be done; so don't fret, but work."

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These good folk took Haydon at his own estimation, and thought they were the humble cause of immortal works. Perhaps the following reflection, which occurs in the diary, will explain how Haydon obtained his influence over his butchers, bakers, and landlords.

When you find people inclined to treat you with respect, never check it from modesty, but rather increase it by a quiet unassuming air of conscious worth.

He seems to have been at the lowest point, both in money, credit, and popularity, when he fell in love and got married. The lady was evidently much too amiable and too yielding for Haydon.

On the 18th of March 1822 he reviews his position after a fruitless application for money to his munificent patron, Sir G. Phillips.

"I left his house," he says, "braced to an intensity of feeling I have not experienced for years. I called immediately on some turbulent creditors, and laid open the hopeless nature of my situation. Having relieved my mind, I walked furiously home, borne along by the wings of my own ardent aspirations. I never felt happier, more elevated, more confident. I walked in to my dear wife, kissed her, and then to my picture, which looked awful and grand. Good God!' I thought, 'can the painter of that face tremble? can he be in difficulty?' It looked like a delusion."

Here is one of a hundred similar scenes.

MASTER AND PUPIL.

Just as I was beginning the head of Lazarus, I was arrested by Smith the colourman in Piccadilly, with whom I had dealt for fifteen years. The sheriff's officer said, "I am glad, Mr. Haydon, you do not deny yourself: Sir Thomas Lawrence makes a point never to be denied." I arranged the affair as rapidly as I could, for no time was to be lost, and wrote to my old land

lord for bail. The officer took it, and appointed to meet him in the evening, and then I set to work. For a few minutes my mind, hurt and wounded, struggled to regain its power. At last, in scrawling about the brush, I gave an expression to the eye of Lazarus. I instantly got interested, and before two I had hit it. My pupil, Bewick, sat for it, and as he had not sold his exquisite picture of Jacob, looked quite thin and anx ious enough for such a head. "I hope you get your food regularly,' said I. He did not answer. By degrees his cheeks reddened, and his eyes filled, but he subdued his feelings. This is an illustration of the state of historical painting in England. A master and his pupil-the one without a pound, and the other without bread.

The reader nauseates at the repetition of money miseries so entirely induced by the man's own recklessness.

DEALINGS WITH THE SHERIFF.

Nov. 12-Out the whole day on business, and settled every thing. Come home to relieve dear Mary's anxiety. Just as I was beginning to finish the right hand corner, in came a man with," Sir, I have an execution against you;' and in walked another sedatelooking little fellow, and took his seat. I was astonished, for I had paid part of this very matter in the morning. I told the man to be civil and quiet, and left him in charge of old Sammons, who was frightened as a child, and pale as death. I then ran up stairs, kissed dearest Mary, and told her the exact truth. With the courage of a heroine, she bade me "never mind," and assured me she would not be uneasy. Tired as I was, I sallied forth, again telling the little Cerebus that I hoped he knew how to behave. These people are proud of being thought capable of appreciating gentle manly behaviour. I find this is the weakness of all sheriff's officers. I went to my creditor, a miserable knew my wife was near her confinement, and told him apothecary. I asked him if this was manly, when he to come to the attorney with me. He consented, evidently ashamed. Away we went to the attorney, who had assured me in the morning nothing of the sort

should happen, as he had not given the writ to an

officer. He now declared the man had exceeded his instructions, and wrote a letter to him, which I took. The man declared he had not, and as I was going away with a release, he said, “I hope, Mr. Haydon, you will give me an order to see your picture when it comes out." I rushed to dear Mary, and found my little sedate man, with his cheeks rosy over my paintingroom fire, quite lost in contemplating Lazarus. He congratulated me on getting rid of the matter; assured me he thought it all a trick of the attorney's; and hoped when the picture came out I would let him bring his wife. In the interim some ladies and gentlemen had called to see the picture, and he intimated to me he knew how to behave. Dearest Mary, quite overcome infant, wept on my shoulder, and pressed her cheeks to with joy at seeing me again, twned about me like an my face and lips, as if she grew on my form. My heart beat violently; but, pained as I was, I declare to God no lovers can know the depth of their passion unless they have such checks and anxieties as these. A diffi culty conquered, an anxiety subdued, doubles love; and the soul, after a temporary suspension of its feelings from an intense occupation of a different_sort, expands with a fulness no language can convey. Dearest love, may I live to conquer these paltry creatures, and see thee in comfort and tranquillity!

In the midst of all this he becomes a father.

MORE GRAPHIC THAN DELICATE.

At night, December 12th-Never to my dying day

shall I forget the dull, throttled scream of agony that preceded the birth, and the infant's cry that announced its completion. Tatham the architect, a worthy man, was in the painting-room; and Mrs. Tatham, who had had fourteen children, was with my dearest Mary. I had been sitting on the stairs listening to the moaning of my dearest love, when all of a sudden a dreadful dreary outcry, as of passionate, dull, and throttled agony, and then a dead silence as if from exhaustion, and then a peaked cry as of a little helpless being who felt the air, and anticipated the anxieties, and bewailed the destiny of inexorable humanity. I rushed into the ante-chamber. Mrs. Tatham came out and said, "It is a boy." I offered to go in, and was forbidden. I went down into the painting-room and burst into tears. This is very characteristic―

THE KEY TO HAYDON'S " DIFFICULTIES." Dearest Mary and I were so set agog by Richmond, that I said as we awoke, "Let us go to Windsor." She agreed, and away we went with barely money enough, but full of spirits. We got there at six, dined at the "White Swan," evidently the remains of an ancient inn, and sallied forth to the Castle, so full of spirits, that we laughed at an odd-shaped stone, or any thing that would excuse a jest. The "White Swan" became so full and noisy we went to the "White Hart," a clean neat inn, and were in comfort. We went to Eton, and sat and lounged in the shade of its classical play-ground. Our money lasted well; but unfortunately a barber, who shaved me, as he was lathering so praised his Windsor soap, that I, victim as I was, took six cakes, spent four shillings out of the regular course, and thus crippled our resources. The great thing was now, whether we should pay the inn bill, or pay our fare to town, and leave part of the bill to be sent. Mary was for paying the bill and part of the fare, and paying the rest when we arrived. We did this, and I was reduced to sixpence when we took our places on the top. Before the coach set off I took out the sixpence as if I had 501. in my pocket, and said, "Porter, here's sixpence for you;" flinging it so that it rang on the pavement. The porter, unused to such a present for looking after luggage, bowed and thanked me so much, that all the passengers saw it; and, without sixpence in my pocket, got as much respect all the way home as if I had 100%. And so is this, which closely followsSeptember 30th-Out all day to battle with creditors: some I conquered, and some held out.

Haydon held West in much contempt as "a skilful sign painter." Yet he was indebted to the steady old quaker for many a kindness. The Americans are carefully buying up West's pictures; but it will be a long time before Plymouth will erect a Haydon gallery.

WEST.

While I was drawing there (the Elgin marbles) West came in, and, seeing me, said with surprise, "Hah, hah, Mr. Haydon, you are admitted, are you? I hope you and I can keep a secret." That very day after he came down with large canvases, and without at all entering into the principles of these divine things, hastily made compositions from Greek history, putting in the Theseus, the Ilyssus, and others of the figures, and restoring defective parts; that is, he did that which he could do easily, and which he did not need to learn how to do, and avoided doing that which he could only do with difficulty, and which he was in great need of learning how to do.

While I was in this state, the picture (Solomon) began to make a noise. West called, and was affected to

tears at the mother. He said there were points in the picture equal to any thing in the art. But," said this good old man, "get into better air: you will never recover with this eternal anxiety before you. Have you any resources ?" "They are exhausted."-"Do you want money ?" "Indeed I do."-" So do I," said he : "they have stopped my income from the King: but Fauntleroy is now arranging an advance, and if I succeed, my young friend, you sball hear. Don't be cast down such a work must not be allowed to be forgotten." This was noble of West.

Such is the lot of high art in England. West, whose Wolfe had immortalized his name and his country, President of the Academy, cut off suddenly from his means of existence to help to make up 10,000l. a-year for the Duke of York-without a guinea-I without a shilling: Hilton helping me on the one hand, and the venerable old President promising to do so on the other if his banker helped him.

I

In the course of that day down came from West 151. I hope this will be read some day throughout Europe. hope it will shew the great nations, France, Germany, Russia, Spain, and Italy, how England encourages high art-in what condition it leaves its professors, young and old. Whilst I write this I have been eight years without a commission from the nobility; and of the thirty-nine years I have been a historical painter, thirty-two have been without an order of any kind. King, perhaps worse. Hilton could have told a tale as sad; West, but for the brated old man, who had been taught to rely on his inAt eighty years of age this celecome from the King as long as he lived, had had it, by the hatred of Queen Charlotte, taken from him.

I took a survey of my liabilities, and found myself eleven hundred pounds in debt-four hundred pounds to my landlord, forty-nine pounds to "John O'Groat's," Rupert Street, and so on. As I tottered down the Haymarket I leaned on a post and said, "What shall I do if it do not sell ?" "Order another canvas," said the voice within, and begin a greater work." "So I will," I inwardly replied, and thenceforth lost all despondence.

And yet the public did not deceive him, although Wordsworth and Miss Mitford fed his vanity with foolish verses. We hope Miss

Mitford has the grace to be ashamed—

Of those master spirits thou Art one-a greater never wreathed his brow With laurels gathered in the field of Fame. Such flatterers, or fun-pokers, have much to answer for when they deal with morbid egotists. The public held no such language.

THE HAYDON MASTERPIECES.

September 5th-Saw elder Reinagle, a nice old fellow. He remembered Sir Joshua using so much asphaltum that it dropped on the floor. Reinagle said he thought me infamously used, and wondered I had not gone mad or died. "Where is your Solomon,' Mr. Haydon ?" "Hung up in a grocer's shop.' 'Where your' Jerusalem'p" In a wareroom in Holborn."-"Where your 'Lazarus'?" "In an upholsterer's shop in Mount Street."-"Where your Macbeth 'p" "In Chancery."-"Your Pharaoh'?" "In an attic, pledged."-"My God! and your Crucifixion'?" "In a hay-loft."-"And Silenus p" "Sold for half-price." Such was the conversation, at which the little man "Shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff."

Yet notwithstanding all this Haydon continued to agitate for Government commissions for the furtherance of "high art ;" and when