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THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 GEORGE ROMNEY, Esq. 
 
 He was famous in his profession ; 
 And it was his great right to be so. 
 
 Shakespeare- 
 
 Vittima della sua applicazionne, ci e stato rapito da questa vita, compsantb da tutti gli 
 spassionati, e molto invidiato da coloro, pe' quali il suo merito era un* offesa. Un arnicizia la 
 pill tenera, e la piupuraesige da me lagriine le piu sincere del pari, che il tristo e il pietoso 
 officio di spargere alcuni fiori su la sua tomba. L'Ombra dell Amico estinto mi avverte a uon 
 conicntarmi di fiori' ne di lagrime inulili, e a procurare di aderopiere i suoi desideri col rendere 
 utile laysua memoria. 
 
 Azara, vita di Mengs. 
 
 By WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq. 
 
 ejtc&estet: 
 
 PRINTED Ji Y W . MASO# t 
 
 FOR T. PAYNE, PALL-MALL, LONDON. 
 
 1809- 
 
GETTY CENTER LIBRARY 
 
TO 
 
 DANIEL BRAITHWAITE, Esq. 
 
 To you, my dear sir, whom Romney 
 used to call his earliest patron in the metropolis, toyou % 
 xvlwse kind exertions in his favor, and whose mild en- 
 dearing manners I have heard him so frequently recall 
 to his recollection xvith gratitude and delight, 1 feel 
 irresistibly induced to inscribe the volume, in which I 
 have endeavoured to honor his memory. 
 
 It is my wish, and persuasion, that my description 
 of the departed mortal, very singularly dear to us, may 
 be found to correspond exactly with those just and 
 tender ideas of his character, which an intimacy of 
 
2 
 
 many years has left engraven on your heart, and which 
 of course you must wish our country to entertain of a 
 man so truly entitled to her permanent regard. 
 
 One of the most pleasing employments of litera ture 
 is, that of ministering to friendship, and I seem to 
 render a tribute of affection more acceptable to the 
 friendly spirit of Romney, by thus uniting his name to 
 yours, while I testify the cordial esteem with which he 
 always spoke of your virtues : how sincerely we sympa- 
 thized on the subject, you will receive, I trust, not an 
 unwelcome proof in this public declaration, that 
 
 i am, dear sir, 
 Your very faithful friend* 
 
 W. Haylfj\ 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The Introduction and a considerable part of the following work, were 
 written in the year 1803 ; very soon after the decease of llomney. I 
 was eager to commemorate a very dear departed friend, and eminent 
 artist, according to his own wishes ; but the death of others, who had 
 also a strong interest in my heart, interrupted and suspended my task. 
 In preparing a book for publication in advanced life, the author runs 
 an imminent hazard, that before he can finish it, some of those eyes, 
 which he has been most anxious to gratify with a perusal of the com- 
 pleted performance, may be closed for ever. The severest tax on length 
 of life, is the continual loss of confidential companions- The disadvan- 
 tage arising from losses of that nature may be admitted perhaps as an ex- 
 cuse for several imperfections in the works of elderly writers. Assuredly 
 there would have been fewer deficiences in the present volume, had I 
 been so fortunate as to enjoy a gratification which, as the reader will 
 perceive, I had some hopes of receiving : I mean the gratification of ano- 
 ther visit from Colonel Romney* That gentleman (an affectionate bro- 
 ther of the artist) after his final return from the East Indies, where he 
 served with reputation, had kindly past a little time with me in my re- 
 tirement, and approving what I then read to him of this advancing 
 piece of biography, promised in the most friendly manner to examine 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 a large mass of his own papers, to collect and prepare for me, whatever 
 could tend to illustrate the life of his generous brother ; of whose kind- 
 ness and liberality to himself, and also to the younger artist of his fami- 
 ly, who painted, and died at Manchester, he spoke in terms of the most 
 cordial gratitude, and veneration. It was the purpose of the Colonel to 
 return to me with collected documents of various kinds ; but his servi- 
 ces abroad had undermined his health; and his letters from Bath 
 and Clifton, soon led me to apprehend, that he would hardly have 
 strength to accomplish any part of his benevolent design. This amia- 
 ble man is now sunk into the grave ; and I have reason to believe, that 
 he died without finding any of those long letters of cordiality and confi- 
 dence, written to him in India by the painter, which I hoped might 
 enable me to give more interest, and variety, to this history of my 
 friend ; and to remedy what appears to me its principal defect, namely 
 that it says too much of myself, in proportion to what it says of others ; 
 so that parts of it might rather be entitled, annals of friendship, than 
 the life of an artist. The decease of the Colonel has precluded me from 
 remedying the defect, that I perceived ; yet it has made me eager to 
 close, and deliver the volume to the public, lest death, which has repeat- 
 edly, and by some very unexpected and severe strokes, interrupted and 
 perplexed, the progress of this performance, should ultimately strike the 
 pen from the hand of the biographer, without allowing him to terminate 
 what he has so long regarded as a sacred duty of friendship. It is more 
 gratifying to the heart to suspend even an unfinished wreath of flowers 
 over the tomb of a friend, than to leave it utterly destitute of due deco- 
 ration. The impediments and delays that have inevitably occurred, in 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 preparing my own portion of the book, would have given me still grea- 
 ter uneasiness, had it not been necessary to wait also for the several en- 
 gravings which I regard as an essential part of the volume, since they 
 display in the most impressive manner the talents of the departed artist. 
 The female heads in particular, engraved by Miss Watson, will be 
 thought, I trust, to confirm very happily what has been said on the feli- 
 city of Romney's pencil in point of expression. The fertility of his 
 invention may be more exemplified in a future season, whenever my 
 friend, the son of the painter, who possesses in the north a choice col- 
 lection of his drawings, amounting to more than 550, and who certain- 
 ly is endowed with discernment, and taste, to decide judiciously on their 
 respective merits, can find opportunities of having a selection of them 
 etched, or engraved, as an appropriate monument of the most honora- 
 ble kind to the genius of his father. A zealous desire to promote the 
 renown of the artist gave rise, thirty years ago, to the first literary per- 
 formance, that I ventured to introduce to the public, the same desire, 
 rather heightened, than deprest, by the decease of him, in whose talents 
 and society I delighted, has now conducted me to the close of a publi- 
 cation, in which, as I am inclined to hope, the candid reader may feel 
 its various deficiencies compensated by the literary contributions, that it 
 will be found to contain, and by the spirit, which ought to characterize 
 ail the offerings devoted to departed merit, namely the simple spirit 
 of truth and affection. 
 
LIFE 
 
 O F 
 
 R O M N E Y. 
 
 I N observing how feelingly the honest Montaigne 
 expatiates on his felicity in having enjoyed, during 
 four years, a delightful intimacy with an accomplished 
 friend, I am led to reflect (and with sentiments of 
 gratitude to the Giver of every good) on a similar 
 blessing, that I was permitted to cherish and retain 
 for a period of much greater extent. It was my lot 
 to preserve for the fourth part of a century a confi- 
 dential intercourse with one of the most singular 
 and interesting mortals, who ever enlivened and 
 embellished human life by the successful cultivation 
 of extraordinary talents. I had the good fortune to 
 form an acquaintance with Romney, the celebrated 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 artist, soon after I had relinquished a house in London 
 for the purpose of settling on a rural spot, where 
 the scenery had various attractions for the eye of 
 a painter. The circumstance proved favorable to the 
 increase, and confirmation, of our early friendship. 
 Having persuaded the over-busied artist to consult his 
 own delicate health, and indulge himself in a few 
 holidays, for the sake of giving new vigor to his ten- 
 der nerves by breathing the salutary air of a village 
 in the South, I had the gratification of seeing him 
 induced by the beneficial and pleasant effects of such 
 relaxation to devote a part of every autumn to a scene, 
 that he fondly admired, and soon regarded as a secon- 
 dary home. In that scene I had, for many years, 
 the annual delight of perceiving, that the visit of my 
 friend never failed to refresh, and invigorate, his often- 
 exhausted health; and that his genius arose to bolder 
 exertions from the inspiriting influence of our united 
 and congenial studies, 
 
 " While art reflected image's to art." 
 
 In one of our socially studious mornings, many 
 
3 
 
 years ago, I began to write a brief series of memo- 
 randa, such particulars of his personal history, as he 
 wished me to collect from his own lips, in consequence 
 of his affectionate desire, that if I happened to survive 
 him, the life of the painter might be faithfully re- 
 corded by his most intimate friend. Subsequent years 
 of sickness, and sorrow, which impeded my literary 
 pursuits, rendered this a very improbable event; and 
 prevented my collecting other materials for a work so 
 tenderly suggested. It has however been the will of 
 Heaven to extend my mortal existence beyond that of 
 the great artist, whose studies I have so often exulted 
 to promote, and experience has taught me, that nothing 
 conduces more to soothe a feeling spirit under the loss 
 of a beloved, and lamented associate, than a resolu- 
 tion to exert all the faculties it retains, in a just and 
 generous endeavour to honor departed excellence by 
 the genuine records of truth, and affection. 
 
 The wish of a deceased friend, whose professional 
 merit was so eminent, would be alone sufficient to 
 
 b 2 
 
* 
 
 animate a biographer, but I have an additional mo- 
 tive to prepare a life of Romney ; a memorial of my 
 friend has appeared, which I could not peruse without 
 feelings of indignation; for tho' it bears the signature 
 of an author of great, and of deserved celebrity, it is 
 in truth a coarse misrepresentation of the man, whose 
 memory it is my duty, and my delight, to defend, as far 
 as justice can allow me to proceed in his defence. 
 
 I respect the talents, the reputation, and the age 
 of Mr. Cumberland; but the more worthy he is of 
 being respected, the more inclined he will be not only 
 to pardon, but to applaud, my zeal, in pointing out 
 the mistakes into which he has fallen, in his hasty 
 sketch of Romney's character exhibited in the Euro- 
 pean Magazine. He will, I hope, have the manly 
 candor to acknowledge those mistakes, and the more 
 readily as he declares, that he wrote his involuntary 
 memoir of our departed friend under feelings of mo- 
 dest reluctance ; persuaded, that he should not happily 
 accomplish an undertaking pressed upon him, and la- 
 menting that some intimates of the departed artist, 
 
5 
 
 whom he politely represents as possessing superior abi- 
 lities, and more leisure, to execute such an arduous 
 task, oblige him by their indolence to assume, what his 
 diffident spirit would have willingly declined. I know 
 not how far Mr. Cumberland might intend, that I 
 should take to myself any share of the compliment, or 
 the censure, contained in his remarkable inuendo 
 concerning the intimates of Romney: but having en- 
 joyed, for many years, a most confidential intercourse 
 with that memorable genius, and being invited by 
 himself to pay all the regard in my power to his 
 posthumous reputation, I feel it incumbent on me to 
 declare, that I am neither cold, nor indolent, in pre- 
 paring to discharge, what I consider as a sacred duty. 
 Indeed in advanced life, there is no occupation more 
 attractive than such affectionate study, as enables 
 a man to recall, and delineate, in the truest point 
 of view, the various endowments of persons worthy 
 of everlasting remembrance, whom it has been his 
 lot to know perfectly, to love, and to lose. The 
 society of a living friend is justly ranked among 
 the most valuable of human pleasures; but to vindi- 
 
6 
 
 cate, and promote, the just honor of the dead is a 
 delight of peculiar sweetness, and sanctity. Perhaps 
 every man, in contemplating the very best of his living* 
 friends, is occasionally hurt by some inequality of 
 character, some accidental asperity of humour, or 
 some of the numberless infirmities, " that flesh is heir 
 to," but in reviewing the meritorious mortal divested 
 of mortality, all painful remembrance of his imper- 
 fections is so absorbed, or softened, in the blaze of 
 his predominant merit, that genius, and virtue, then 
 produce their full, and unobstructed effect. The real 
 character of such a mortal, preserved in true appro- 
 priate praise, operates on his surviving friends as a 
 powerful medicine conveyed in a perfume. — In re- 
 galing* the sense it invigorates the heart. 
 
 I could wish, in describing Romney, to attain 
 that happy union of delicacy, and force, that graceful 
 fidelity of description, which so frequently attended his 
 pencil; but without indulging such an ambitious hope, 
 I may gratify my own heart, if I adhere to the simple 
 truth of resemblance so faithfully, as never to distort 
 
7 
 
 a feature in the character of my friend — a kind of infi- 
 delity, into which Mr. Cumberland has fallen, if I may 
 trust my own feelings, when he says of Romney, " con- 
 scious of his deficiency in point of education, he was 
 never seen at any of the tables of the great, Lord 
 Thurlow's excepted.' ' Do not these expressions seem 
 to intimate, that Romney was a low, vulgar being, 
 who had no relish for the enjoyments of highly po- 
 lished society? Very different were the sensations of 
 the painter. Had he been influenced by such feelings 
 as are imputed to him in those sarcastic words, he 
 would rather have avoided than have wished for a fa- 
 miliar intercourse with several persons distinguished 
 by their intellectual endowments. But on the con- 
 trary Romney had a high relish for the conversation 
 of those memorable departed scholars, Dr. Warton, 
 Gibbon, and Cowper. He felt nothing of painful or of 
 aukward constraint in their company. The remarkable 
 assertion of the memorialist, taking it as a mere mat- 
 ter of fact, is a palpable mistake, for the names of more 
 than three noblemen, not including Lord Thurlow, 
 might be mentioned, at whose tables Romney has been 
 
8 
 
 seen as a most welcome guest. He did not indeed 
 officiously make court to the nobility, because he had 
 observed, that those, who did so, have often become ob- 
 jects of ridicule like Mr. Blandish (in an excellent 
 comedy of General Burgoyne's) by a display of man- 
 ners fawning and fulsome, which to Romney were 
 peculiarly disgusting. Though he had not the ad- 
 vantages of a refined education, he had, to an uncom- 
 mon degree in his season of health, that real politeness, 
 and delicacy of behaviour, which is the result of very 
 quick perceptions, and of genuine benevolence. In 
 truth no man in polished society could be more per- 
 fectly free from that coarseness of character, which the 
 hasty account of his memorialist has been thought 
 to imply. 
 
 In my endeavour to form such a full and just re- 
 presentation of his life as he wished me to execute, I 
 consider it my duty to remark such expressions of Mr. 
 Cumberland, as have appeared to me, and to the relati- 
 ons of Romney, to cast a shade of unmerited obloquy 
 on the memory of our friend. It is a painful duty, and 
 
9 
 
 to counteract the pain it gives me, I eagerly seize this 
 occasion of declaring, that I shall also have the plea- 
 sure of citing some animated verses of the same ele- 
 gant author, which prove him to have the merit of 
 being the first poetical herald, who announced, and 
 recommended, the talents of the modest Romney to 
 the patronage of our country, 
 
 No friend to truth can think Mr. Cumberland 
 has passed the proper limits of friendship to the dead, 
 in saying " Romney had his failings." Perhaps none 
 of his intimates had such opportunities of perceiving, 
 or such peculiar cause to pity, and lament his fail- 
 ings, as I had. It is a moral question of great deli- 
 cacy, how far it may be incumbent on a confidential 
 biographer to display, or to conceal, the imperfections 
 of his departed friend: could the great artist himself 
 answer such a question from the tomb, I am confident 
 he would reply in the words of his favorite Shakespeare: 
 
 " Speak of me as I am: Nothing extenuate. 
 Nor set down aught in Malice." 
 
 c 
 
10 
 
 He had in truth very admirable powers, and very 
 singular infirmities of mind; and he had also such a 
 noble portion of genuine philanthropy, that I am per- 
 suaded, he would wish even those infirmities to be 
 recorded, as far as the record of them may be pro- 
 ductive of good to the great interests of human na- 
 ture, and by extending the knowledge of mental 
 weaknesses, advance the progress of mental discipline, 
 and improvement. 
 
 By having fortunately preserved a very extensive 
 collection of Romney's letters, I shall be enabled to 
 display, in his own words, his mind and heart to my 
 reader ; and I shall feel an honest pride in shewing 
 the world, that my friend, tho' he had never been 
 instructed in the languages of Greece and Rome, yet 
 possessed that simple, and powerful, eloquence, of na- 
 ture, which flows in abundance from a strong un- 
 derstanding, when it is united to exquisite tenderness 
 of heart. The extracts from his letters, which I shall 
 occasionally introduce, will illustrate, in the most 
 agreeable manner, the spirit of the painter, and the 
 
11 
 
 kindness of the friend. Let me now hasten to close 
 this introduction to my projected work by briefly 
 stating the scope of it. My ambition is to render my 
 readers as well acquainted with Romney, as I had the 
 happiness of being- myself, and for this reason, because 
 I feel a soothing internal conviction, that the result 
 of such acquaintance must be high admiration for the 
 genius of the artist, with a cordial affection for his 
 virtues, chequered and softened by tender compassion 
 for the foibles of the man. 
 
 George, the third child of John and Anne Romney, 
 was born the 26th of December, 1734, at Dalton in 
 Furness, a singular, and picturesque, tract of high 
 and low land in the county of Lancaster. John, his 
 father, was a native of the same place, and engaged 
 in various occupations, as a builder, a merchant, and 
 a farmer. He possessed, with great activity of mind, a 
 
 c2 
 
12 
 
 tender and a devout spirit. His residence was a little 
 patrimonial and freehold farm not far from Furness 
 Abbey. His only wife, Anne Simpson, was a native of 
 Cumberland, and of a genteel family. She produced 
 according to her son's account eleven children, ten 
 sons and a daughter. The eldest boy, William, was 
 apprenticed to a merchant in Lancaster, and died early. 
 George, the subject of this memoir, attended, for a 
 very few years, a school in the village of Dendron, but 
 was educated chiefly at home. He assisted his father 
 in superintending his workmen; and was consulted, in 
 all points, as a friend, by that affectionate parent, after 
 he had attained the age of twelve years. Having dis- 
 covered at that period a great passion for mechanics, 
 he employed himself in a variety of devices; particu- 
 larly in carving small figures in wood, to which he was 
 led by the ardor of early uninstructed genius. He was 
 enthusiastically fond of music, and passed much time 
 in various experiments to make violins of different 
 shapes and powers. In advanced life he took great 
 delight in recollecting the ingenious industry, that he 
 
13 
 
 exerted as a boy. He carefully preserved the favorite 
 violin of his own construction, and has been heard to 
 play upon it in the house, which he had filled with 
 the productions of his pencil ;— " a singular coinci- 
 dence of arts (as Mr. Cumberland has very justly obser- 
 ved) in the person of one man !*' 
 
 The fortunate incident, which led him to a 
 cultivation of the particular art, that he was destined 
 to profess, and to adorn, was simply this: In his youth 
 he observed a great singularity of countenance in a 
 stranger at church ; his parents, to whom he spoke of 
 it, desired him to describe the person — he seized a 
 pencil, and delineated the features from memory with 
 such a strength of resemblance, as amazed and de- 
 lighted, his affectionate parents. The applause, that 
 he received from this accidental performance, excited 
 him to draw with more serious application. 
 
 Mr. Cumberland has represented Romney in his 
 boyish days as a prodigy: " that an obscure, untutored 
 
14 
 
 child of nature (says that gentleman) who had never 
 seen, or heard any thing, that could elicit his genius, 
 or urge him to emulation, should at once become a 
 painter without a prototype, seems, in the instance of 
 Mr. Romney, a creation of his own!" 
 
 Had the account, which the memorialist has given 
 of the juvenile student been exactly true, he might 
 indeed have been contemplated with astonishment as 
 a kind of prodigy, but as a great moral poet has elo- 
 quently observed 
 
 " Nature well known, no prodigies remain" 
 
 Young Romney had an instructor, of whom Mr. 
 Cumberland appears not to have heard; an instructor 
 very different from the simple, good-natured, jour- 
 neyman cabinet-maker, who boarding with Romney's 
 father happened to lend a monthly magazine to his 
 son, and who, from that little act of good-nature, is 
 graciously styled by Mr. Cumberland " The uncon- 
 scious patron of the arts, and the founder of the 
 painter's fortune." 
 
15 
 
 The talents, and the ambition, of the young 
 artist were awakened, and cherished, by an intimate 
 friend of a more elevated and accomplished spirit ; a 
 person, whose memorable history Romney related to 
 me with affectionate minuteness, not without shedding 
 tears of gratitude, in describing his beneficial kind- 
 ness; and tears of pity, for his calamitous fate. The 
 anecdotes of a person important to the early life of 
 Romney appear so highly interesting, that I hasten 
 to transcribe them exactly from the book, in which I 
 had recorded them from the lips of my friend. 
 
 When the young draftsman had attained the age 
 of fifteen, there came to settle in his neighbourhood 
 a very remarkable character, who had great influence 
 on his future pursuits. 
 
 The name of this ingenious, but unfortunate, 
 man was John Williamson; he was a gentleman of 
 small fortune near Whitehaven in Cumberland, who 
 had passionately devoted himself to natural philoso- 
 phy, music, mechanics, and above all to the fascinating 
 
16 
 
 study of alchymy. This pursuit has been the ruin of 
 many an enthusiast, but it produced the ruin of this 
 amiable man in a manner so singular, that the parti- 
 culars of his miscarriage are worthy of being preserved 
 as a memento to future chemists, and the fair partners 
 of their fortune. 
 
 He had bestowed much time, trouble, and money, 
 on preparations for the grand experiment of making 
 gold. He drew nigh to the decisive hour ; and was 
 watching, with peculiar anxiety, his furnace, whose 
 fire he had kept, with the utmost regularity, for nine 
 months, when his wife requested him to attend some 
 of her company at the tea-table. Her persevering im- 
 portunity induced him, tho' with great reluctance, to 
 comply with her request. Never was conjugal com- 
 plaisance more unfortunate, except in the case of our 
 first parents. 
 
 While the projector was attending the ladies, his . 
 furnace blew up, and all his high-raised hopes were 
 utterly demolished by the explosion. 
 
17 
 
 In consequence of this event, he conceived an 
 antipathy against his wife, so vehement, that he could 
 not endure the idea of living with her again. These 
 sensations induced him to change his residence, and 
 to settle at Dalton. Among his various occupations 
 he had often amused himself with the pencil; his 
 drawings were sufficiently pleasing to excite the emu- 
 lation of young Romney, whose talents and industry 
 he particularly delighted to encourage, both in 
 drawing, and music. 
 
 Romney, to whom nature had given a heart as 
 easily moved to compassion, as she ever gave to any 
 mortal, of either sex, conceived the most tender pity 
 and regard for this unfortunate projector. The variety 
 of instruction, which he imparted to his young friend, 
 in the most benevolent and engaging manner, was not 
 only a constant source of beneficial amusement, but 
 inspired the grateful youth with such an esteem for his 
 instructor, that, I believe, the influence of that es- 
 teem gave a bias to the conduct of Romney in one 
 
 D 
 
18 
 
 extraordinary, and much to be regretted measure of 
 his early life. But of this in its proper place. In his 
 juvenile days our artist employed himself as chance di- 
 rected, in the house of his parents. His first situation 
 on leaving home was under the care of Mr. Wright 
 a friendly cabinet-maker of Lancaster, who informed 
 Mr. Robinson of Windermere, the worthy pupil of 
 our painter, that having observed in young Romney 
 a frequent habit of occupying his own time, and also 
 that of the workmen, his associates, in sketching such 
 attitudes from them, as particularly struck his fancy, 
 he suggested to his father the idea of making his son 
 a painter, and at the same time recommended a per- 
 son, from whom he imagined the youth might soon 
 acquire considerable knowledge of an art, to which 
 he had discovered so strong an inclination. This per- 
 son was a young travelling artist, who had then ac- 
 quired so much business in Kendal, that he wanted 
 a pupil. 
 
 The master, who was destined to be the chief 
 instructor of a disciple so illustrious, was himself but 
 
19 
 
 twenty-four years old, and had received no instruc- 
 tion, but what he derived from Richard Wright, a 
 painter of shipping at Liverpool, and from a year's 
 residence in Paris: but however imperfect the educa- 
 tion of this young artist might be, he was far from 
 deserving the very coarse appellation of an itinerant 
 dauber, too hastily applied to him by Mr. Cumberland. 
 That gentleman, who has said (if I remember right) 
 in verse 
 
 " What so thin, 
 So full of feeling, as a poet's skin?" 
 
 Would, I dare say, have corrected himself, and have 
 abstained from so rude an expression, had he been 
 aware, that it might give pain to a respectable brother 
 of the person so contemptuously described. A friend 
 of mine, who was himself educated as an artist, but 
 whom time and chance have settled in a different 
 profession, has recently informed me, that a brother of 
 Romney's master is now living in his neighbourhood, 
 
 d 2 
 
20 
 
 an amiable physician, who has expressed himself not 
 a little offended by seeing the coarsest of professional 
 names so unjustly applied to his relation. 
 
 The young master of Romney, whose name was 
 Steele, was a native of Egremont in Cumberland, and, 
 as Romney described him, eccentric in his talents, and 
 character, but far from wanting attractions, either 
 as an artist, or a companion : It certainly reflects 
 no disgrace on his discernment, in the former cha- 
 racter, that he sought instruction at Paris instead of 
 London, when painting in our island was sinking 
 into insipidity under the tame and heavy pencil of 
 Hudson; who, with all his defects, was at that time 
 considered as the first of his profession. Steele un- 
 doubtedly improved himself as a painter by his excur- 
 sion to France; and my friend, who related to me the 
 situation of his brother, declares he has seen pictures 
 executed by the master of Romney, that discover 
 sound principles of art. His social qualities, as his 
 . pupil has often said, were engaging to a great degree, 
 and conspired with a constitutional gaiety and indo- 
 
21 
 
 lence, to prevent his applying very assiduously to his 
 profession. By residing in Paris he had acquired a 
 passion for finery, and a general turn to expence, 
 which he could ill support by his customary employ- 
 ment of painting heads at four guineas a piece. He 
 hoped to improve his fortune by an advantageous 
 marriage. He had engaged the affections of a young 
 lady, and projected an elopement to Scotland with 
 her, tho' she was vigilantly guarded. This circum- 
 stance induced him to employ his young pupil in con- 
 ducting the delicate and private business of his love, 
 instead of confining him to the severer labors of the 
 pencil. In this anxious affair the vigilant and active 
 Romney contracted a violent fever, which had nearly 
 proved fatal to his life, and which, in its singular 
 consequences, had a very important effect upon all 
 his subsequent days. While his triumphant master 
 was consummating his nuptials in Scotland, the luck- 
 less disciple was suffering in Kendal the pains and 
 confinement of a severe illness, which arose from his 
 exertions in assisting the escape of the bride. 
 
22 
 
 The juvenile pupil, left desolate and sick in the 
 lodgings of his distant master, was attended by a young 
 woman of the house, whom he described as a person 
 of a compassionate character. The pity so natural to 
 a female attendant on a young lonely invalide, and 
 the gratitude of a lively convalescent, produced an 
 event, which can hardly surprize any person ac- 
 quainted with human nature, a precipitate marriage. 
 
 George Romney, the inexperienced apprentice 
 to a painter, himself of little experience, was married 
 in Kendal, to Mary Abbot of Kirkland, on the 14th 
 day of October, 1756. 
 
 There is a kind of rash repentance for an impru- 
 dent and irretrievable measure, which may be infi- 
 nitely more imprudent, and more injurious, than the 
 measure itself — such repentance was the great error 
 and infelicity in the life of my too apprehensive friend. 
 It is a maxim too prevalent in the world, and a maxim, 
 which, from its unfavorable influence on the great 
 interests of mankind, deserves the most zealous ani- 
 
23 
 
 mad version, that early marriage is a mill-stone round 
 the neck of an enterprising young man, who aspires 
 to make his fortune by the cultivation of his talents. 
 Perhaps it may lessen the influence of this ordinary, 
 but pernicious, maxim to observe, that Shakespeare 
 assigns it to one of his most ridiculous, and contemp- 
 tible characters : His Parolles says to the young Count 
 of Rousillon, 
 
 " A young man married is a man, that's marrd" 
 
 But the falsity of the maxim is most happily exempli- 
 fied in the personal history of this pre-eminent poet, 
 who ventured himself to marry so early, that he had 
 only completed his nineteenth year in the month pre- 
 ceding the birth of his eldest daughter, Susanna. There 
 is an excellent letter of the philosopher Franklin in 
 favor of early marriage ; it is still however too fre- 
 quently represented as a mill-stone round the neck of 
 a young man aspiring to eminence, and my readers 
 may be the more inclined to pity the juvenile Romney 
 for having acted under the distracting influence of such 
 
24 
 
 an idea, when they are informed, that, in a very mature 
 season of life, his great rival, Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 entertained the same erroneous apprehension. When 
 a young 1 student, of the highest hopes in our country, 
 waited on that illustrious President of the Academy, 
 and said "that he was preparing to pursuse his studies 
 in Italy, and that he was just married:" — " Married, 
 (exclaimed Sir Joshua) then you are ruined as an 
 artist." If the mildest, and most polite painter of 
 Europe could, by the influence of this pernicious idea, 
 be hurried into an expression so coarse, so cruel, and 
 as the event most happily proved, so utterly false, what 
 agony of spirit may we justly suppose the same idea 
 to have produced in the young married Romney, 
 whose consitutional character united the opposite ex- 
 tremes of the most apprehensive diffidence, and the 
 most aspiring ambition! He described his mental 
 sufferings on this occasion in terms, that might excite 
 compassion even in a flinty heart. 
 
 The terror of precluding himself from those dis- 
 tant honours, which he panted for in his profession, 
 
25 
 
 by appearing in the world as a young married man, 
 agitated the ambitious artist almost to distraction, and 
 made him resolve very soon after his marriage, as he 
 had no means of breaking the fetters, which he wildly 
 regarded as inimical to the improvement and exertion 
 of genius, to hide them as much as possible from his 
 troubled fancy. The return of his master from his 
 nuptial excursion, and his sudden removal from Kendal 
 to York, which took place in a few days after the 
 marriage of his apprentice, afforded a most seasonable 
 termination to this excruciating conflict in the mind 
 of Romney. 
 
 Being thus removed from the object of his inquie- 
 tude, he gradually recovered the powers of his ex- 
 traordinary mind, a mind of exquisite sensibility, and 
 of towering faculties, but unhappily distracted with 
 a tumultuary croud of amb.itious and apprehensive 
 conceits. 
 
 During a residence of nine months at York with 
 
 E 
 
26 
 
 his master, he devoted himself entirely to his art, and 
 he gratefully represented his young instructor as wil- 
 ling to instruct him to the utmost of his power. Mr. 
 Cumberland having heard, that the painter, Steele, 
 had acquired from his passion for dress and splendor 
 the sportive appellation of Count Steele, has thought 
 proper to enliven his narrative by representing the 
 young master of Romney as a farcical, envious, and 
 malevolent character. He may have authority for 
 doing so, of which I am not aware, but injustice to the 
 memory both of the master, and the disciple, I think 
 it incumbent on me to say, that Romney never re- 
 presented Steele to me as infected by that despi- 
 cable passion, a mean and malignant jealousy. Mr. 
 Cumberland represents the master of Romney as act- 
 ing towards his pupil under the influence of such a 
 jealousy, and supposes it to have arisen from an intui- 
 tive sagacity in the celebrated Sterne, then residing 
 at York, which led that penetrating genius to dis- 
 cover all the undisplayed talents of the disciple, and 
 to prefer him as already far superior to his master. 
 The ingenuous Romney gave me a very different ac- 
 
27 
 
 count of the little acquaintance he had with the fas- 
 cinating author of Tristram Shandy. It arose simply 
 from the circumstance of Sterne's sitting to Steele 
 for his portrait, and according to Romney's account 
 of it, proceeded no farther than to such common 
 civility, as every discerning and good-natured man, 
 in sitting to a painter, would readily pay to his at- 
 tentive and promising pupil. Romney did not even 
 make a drawing, for his own gratification, from the 
 interesting features of Sterne. He had however the 
 advantage of seeing, perhaps of copying, some good 
 pictures in York ; but all the time he resided there, 
 he worked under the direction of Steele, as his ap- 
 prentice, and returned with him in that capacity to 
 Kendal. Soon after that event the family affairs of 
 his master rendered it necessary for him to visit 
 Ireland, and before his departure he generously re- 
 leased his young friend from the bond of his ap- 
 prenticeship. 
 
 Romney had received from nature a propensity 
 
 e 2 
 
28 
 
 propensity to take more than common delight in 
 contemplating, both as a man, and an artist, the 
 endearing smiles, and playfulness of infancy, yet the 
 over-ruling influence of ambition impelled him to sa- 
 crifice all those inestimable enjoyments, which a man of 
 tender feelings, who has chosen a dutiful wife, is gene- 
 rally anxious to secure by devoting some of his time to 
 cultivate, even in their earliest years, the affection of 
 his children. On his return from York to Kendal, after 
 an absence of several months, he had not only a dutiful 
 wife, but an infant boy, to attach him to a domestic es- 
 tablishment, but the imagination of Romney, tho' ten- 
 der and even trembling, was ardent in the extreme — 
 it was like the spirit of Alexander's horse, that altho' 
 apparently equal to any exploit, would start at his own 
 shadow. The young artist became, by the cancelling 
 of his indentures, completely his own master, yet, like 
 his early friend, the unfortunate alchymist, he beheld 
 in an innocent wife a supposed impediment to every 
 splendid project. Perhaps the example of a friend, 
 whom he had tenderly regarded, might influence the 
 conduct of the painter: at all events he resolved in- 
 
29 
 
 stead of settling, as a family man, to wander forth 
 alone into the distant world in quest of professional 
 adventures. The state of his finances rendered it im- 
 possible for him to execute this resolution imme- 
 diately; but whenever the fervent fancy of Romney 
 had formed a favorite purpose, he generally verified 
 the maxim of Shakespeare, that " all impediments in 
 fancy's course, are motives of more fancy." His men- 
 tal and his corporeal powers were admirably suited to 
 triumph over any difficulties, that he might have to 
 subdue. He had the spirit of industry, united to that 
 of genius, and few mortals could sustain assiduous 
 labour, so long as he could, in a single occupation. 
 In working rapidly, and patiently, at different places 
 in the North for a few years, (by painting heads as 
 large as life at the price of two guineas, or figures 
 at whole length on a small scale for six guineas, and 
 some historical pictures, which he disposed of by 
 a raffle) he contrived to raise a sum amounting 
 almost to an hundred pounds ; — taking thirty for his 
 own travelling expences, and leaving the residue to 
 support an unoffending partner, and two children, 
 
30 
 
 (for he had at this time a daughter, who, tho' a very 
 promising child, lived only three years) he set forth 
 alone, without even a letter of recommendation, to 
 try the chances of life in the metropolis. 
 
 Before we proceed to his exertions in that exten- 
 sive theatre of contending talents, it may be proper 
 to mention the subjects, that he had chosen for the 
 early exercise of his historical pencil, while he was a 
 very inexperienced provincial painter. 
 
 It is remarkable, that the artist, who took an 
 active and a friendly part in the first formation of that 
 noble national project, the Shakespeare Gallery, be- 
 gan his historical career by two designs from our great 
 dramatic poet: The scene, in which Cordelia is at- 
 tending Lear on his couch, and that of the old king 
 in the midnight storm. These pictures, peculiarly 
 interesting to an early associate of the painter, are 
 in the possession of his respectable friend Mr. Walker, 
 the philosopher, The picture which Romney himself 
 considered as the most powerful pathetic specimen of 
 
I'/ibli/hrrl \4f>ril/4?f<?<tylrVt<>>>iatllzrnc?all .Mall p 
 
31 
 
 his juvenile talents was a large composition on the 
 death of David Rizzio. The fate of this production 
 is at present unknown, but its singular merit made a 
 lasting impression on the memory of those who saw 
 it, as the young artist was very successful in repre- 
 senting both the beauty and the compassionate ten- 
 derness of the queen. The versatile genius of Romney 
 could equally excel in subjects of pathos and of 
 humour. His acquaintance with Sterne induced him 
 to exercise his pencil in delineating the comic scenes 
 of that exquisite writer, whose pages are so full of pic- 
 turesque effect. The painter s favorite composition 
 of this kind was Obadiah making his bow to Dr. Slop 
 as the Doctor is falling in the dirty lane. Another 
 picture of this series, representing the introduction of 
 the bemired Dr. Slop in the parlour of Mr. Shandy, is 
 justly regarded as a work of great comic power; it is 
 now in the possession of Sir Alan Chambre, who has 
 politely granted me the privilege of decorating this 
 volume with a print, that will enable my readers 
 to judge of Romney's early talent for works of 
 invention. 
 
32 
 
 It has been supposed, that these, and other pic- 
 tures, which discovered, at this period, the original 
 genius of the young artist, were executed at Kendal; 
 but I was informed by Colonel Romney, that his 
 brother soon after his return from York went to ex- 
 ercise his art for a year in Lancaster, having left his 
 wife at Kendal, and I have recently learned several 
 particulars concerning these early exertions of the 
 painter by an obliging letter from that very respec- 
 table friend of Romney, who has enjoyed the singu- 
 lar gratification of being one of the first, and one of 
 the latest subjects of his pencil, I mean his long, and 
 invariably, esteemed friend, Mr. Walker. That gen- 
 tleman in his kind answer to some questions concern- 
 the young days of an associate whom he ever highly 
 regarded, speaks of our favorite artist in the following 
 liberal, and affectionate terms : 
 
 ** For my own part, I entertained, at that time, 
 such a deference for his taste and opinions, that I 
 founded my own upon them, and we became insepa- 
 rable. Being invited to Lancaster, where he took 
 
33 
 
 many portraits, we lodged in the same house, where 
 I was often his layman, while he painted the death of 
 Le Fevre, Dr. Slop with Obadiah, King Lear with 
 Cordelia, and several other pictures. The first of 
 these was much admired. The figures were about 
 eighteen inches long, and wonderfully expressi ve. The 
 dying lieutenant was looking at Uncle Toby (who sat 
 mute at the foot of the bed) and by the motion of 
 his hand was recommending his son to his care : The 
 boy was kneeling by the bedside, and with eyes that 
 expressed his anguish of heart, was, as it were, turn- 
 ing from a dying to a living father, begging protec- 
 tion, a most pathetic figure. Trim was standing" at a 
 distance in his usual attitude, and with a face full of 
 inward grief. What became of this admirable picture 
 I cannot tell." 
 
 Several of Romney's earliest friends agree with 
 Mr. Walker in regarding this death of Le Fevre as a 
 master piece of pathetic expression, I have therefore 
 made many enquiries in the hope of discovering a 
 
 F 
 
34 
 
 curiosity so honorable to the youthful genius of my 
 friend, but hitherto my endeavours to trace the des- 
 tiny of the picture have not been successful. All I have 
 been able to discover, amounts only to this ; that 
 Romney brought it with him to London, where it was 
 particularly admired by his friend Mr. Braithwaite, 
 who has repeatedly assured me he thought it the most 
 affecting picture he ever beheld. It probably contri- 
 buted to inspire that gentleman, who is truly a man 
 of feeling, with his tender friendship for the artist, 
 which lasted thro' life, and upon which in his ma- 
 turer years he often reflected with pleasure and gra- 
 titude, ever praising the person, whom he styled his 
 earliest patron in the metropolis, for elegance of 
 mind, and purity of heart. 
 
 Since it has pleased some of Romney 's occasional 
 companions to misrepresent him in a very coarse 
 manner, as utterly illiterate, I shall here insert a pas- 
 sage from one of his juvenile letters to Mr. Walker, 
 who has gratified me with the original manuscript. 
 It was written some years before the young painter's 
 
35 
 
 first visit to London, and as the worthy friend to whom 
 it was addrest, has justly observed, it shews the original 
 cast of Romney's mind. Let me add that it appears 
 an interesting specimen of that affectionate pleasantry, 
 with which two intimate fellow-students destined to 
 excel, one in art, and one in science, were used to 
 write to each other in their early days, when their 
 mutual regard formed a chearful, and not a fallacious 
 presage of their future celebrity. 
 
 From George Romney, at Lancaster, to his friend 
 Adam Walker, at Preston. 
 
 " On Tuesday morning, at six o'clock, I had 
 just raised my head from my pillow to go and mount 
 my hobby-horse, when my mortal clay proved so 
 heavy, I sunk down into the hollow my round shoul- 
 ders had made. My imagination immediately took a 
 journey — Oh imagination where wilt thou ramble, 
 and what wilt thou seek? Did not I find more plea- 
 sure in thy contemplative excursions than in bodily 
 
36 
 
 enjoyments, I would not give two -pence for this 
 world. But I say my imagination took a journey, a 
 journey it often takes; never a day comes, but it is 
 wandering to that same Preston. What it can find 
 there so attractive God knows. However when I had 
 travelled over that vast tract of land in half a second, 
 the first object that saluted my sight was a tall, lean 
 figure, walking with an important air, as erect as the 
 dancing-master in Hogarth's Analysis. " Good God! 
 (say I to myself) who can this be ? I certainly must 
 know the person, but he seems so disguised with that 
 importance and gravity, which look so like burlesque, 
 I can scarce forbear smiling." As he approached 
 nearer, he turned his face towards me — with an earnest 
 look made a stand — threw off his disguise by draw- 
 ing up the muscles of his cheeks, and hiding his eyes. 
 Astonishing! I stood motionless three seconds, then 
 ran up to him, catched hold of his hand with the ea- 
 gerness with which sincere friends generally meet; 
 " My dear Walker how do you do ? By my soul I 
 am glad to see you, and find you are well, &c." 
 " O Sir, not so familiar." — " Sir I humbly beg par- 
 
37 
 
 don for saluting your importance in so rough a man- 
 ner in the open street, &c." 
 
 After more raillery on the gravity of his friend, 
 as a teacher of philosophy, the young painter propo- 
 ses future parties of pleasure, and concludes with a 
 list of the portraits, to the number of twenty-seven, on 
 which he had been engaged since his correspondent 
 left him at Lancaster to attend his own scholars at 
 Preston. 
 
 The various pictures executed at Lancaster and 
 Kendal served to raise that little, but highly impor- 
 tant, fund, which enabled the resolute artist to leave 
 those, for whom it Was his duty to provide, with some 
 money for their maintenance, and to transport him- 
 self, alone and unpatronised,' into that distant world, 
 with which he was utterly unacquainted, but where 
 he was resolved to rise, or perish, in the most sedu- 
 lous cultivation of his professional talents. 
 
 From this view of his first adventures, it appears, 
 
38 
 
 that Romney may be called, with peculiar propriety, 
 the architect of his own fortune, and that in laying the 
 foundation of it, he displayed, in no common degree, 
 the spirit of enterprize and resolution. His singular 
 efforts to acquire independence were the more lauda- 
 ble, as they showed a desire of not proving a burthen 
 to his father, who (tho* a man of tender affections, 
 and of great probity, united to an active and ingeni- 
 ous mind,) conducted a variety of business without 
 securing to himself a just reward of his industry. 
 
 Our young adventurer on his arrival in London 
 from the North, in the year 1762, remained for some 
 little time at the inn, where he alighted. But in the 
 course of a few weeks falling accidentally into the so- 
 ciety of Mr. Braithwaite, of the Post Office, whose 
 kindness to the young stranger I have had occasion to 
 notice before, he was led by his new conductor to 
 visit the principal works of art in the capital, and its 
 environs, and to settle himself in a lodging near the 
 public residence of his friend. 
 
 Here he nursued his profession, painting a head 
 
39 
 
 for the moderate sum of five guineas, and becoming 
 a candidate for the prizes distributed by the Society 
 for the Encouragement of Arts and Sciences. The 
 first picture, that he exhibited for this purpose, was 
 the death of General Wolfe, and the second prize was 
 assigned to it in 1763; the year, in which the prin- 
 cipal prize was conferred on Mr. Pine, for his histo- 
 rical composition representing Canute remarking to 
 his Courtiers his inability to command the waves of 
 the Sea. Some remonstrances were made against the 
 decision, which had allotted the second prize to 
 Romney. Mr. Cumberland says on this occasion — 
 46 The decree was reversed, and poor Romney, friend- 
 less and unknown, was set aside in favor of a rival 
 better supported ; a hardship so obvious, and a par- 
 tiality so glaring, that the Committee could not face 
 the transaction, but voted him a premium extraordi- 
 nary, nearly if not quite to the amount of the prize 
 he had been deprived of." If the account of the me- 
 morialist were perfectly accurate, the injury done to 
 the young painter in resuming a prize very fairly be- 
 stowed on him, would reflect indelible disgrace on this 
 
40 
 
 respectable society. But the candid Romney, in re- 
 lating this very interesting incident of his life to me, 
 completely absolved those judges of the contest, who 
 gave their final sentence against him. He told me, with 
 that ingenuous spirit, which was one of his amiable 
 characteristics, that Reynolds was the person, who, 
 with great justice, contended, that the second prize 
 of fifty guineas was due to Mortimer for his picture 
 of Edward the Confessor seizing the treasures of his 
 Mother, a picture, which Romney most liberally 
 acknowledged to be so strikingly superior to his own 
 death of Wolfe, that he was far from repining at 
 being obliged to relinquish a prize too hastily assigned 
 to him; and he therefore accepted with lively grati- 
 tude a present of twenty-five guineas, which the Com- 
 mittee gave him, not as a compensation for an injury 
 received, but as a free and liberal encouragement to 
 his promising talents. The picture thus honored was 
 afterwards purchased for twenty-five guineas by Mr. 
 Stephenson the banker, who sent it as a present to 
 Governor Varelst in the East Indies, where it had the 
 fortune to decorate the council-chamber at Calcutta. 
 
41 
 
 In the following year the diffident Romney de- 
 clined a further contest with Mortimer, who obtained 
 the first premium for his picture of Paul preaching to 
 the Britons. My friend was ever willing to render the 
 most liberal justice to the merits of this successful 
 rival, and I mention the name of Mortimer in this 
 work with a mixture of pleasure and of regret; of 
 pleasure, in remembering that he was a native of 
 Sussex, and a man, whom any country might be 
 proud to produce ; of regret, in reflecting, that his 
 athletic frame tempted him to indulge himself in 
 violent exercise, which is unfavorable to his profes- 
 sion, and which, in its consequences, precluded this 
 promising genius from attaining that length of days, 
 and that happy maturity of powerful talents, which 
 nature seemed to have intended, that he should reach, 
 and enjoy. 
 
 But to return to my principal subject : — In the 
 autumn of 1764, Romney made his first visit to the 
 Continent; not on a settled plan of travel and study; 
 
 G 
 
42 
 
 but in a short excursion of pleasure with one of his 
 early, and most estimable friends, Mr. Thomas Greene 
 of Gray's Inn. The long intercourse, which lasted 
 thro' life between Romney and this gentleman, arose 
 in their boyish days, when it happened, that young 
 Greene was sent to the village school, w T hich Romney, 
 tho' still a boy, had just left for the neighbouring re- 
 sidence of his father. His younger brother continued 
 at the school ; and visiting his home every Saturday 
 introduced there his new school-fellow, Greene, who 
 soon became intimate with George Romney, and 
 gradually laid the foundation of that permanent 
 friendship, which the great painter himself very justly 
 regarded as no inconsiderable blessing of his fortu- 
 nate life. It is indeed particularly to be wished, that 
 every mortal, who devotes himself to the deep study 
 of any art, or science, or to the fascinating pursuits 
 of imagination, should have, in some man of business, 
 and integrity, a zealous and confidential friend to 
 protect him from that variety of dangers, and disad- 
 vantages, which must arise to him from the nature of 
 his own avocations. If all the followers of fancy may 
 
have occasion for such a support, to Romney it ap- 
 pears to have been peculiarly requisite ; for he of all 
 men was most apt to forget, in the fervency of exalted 
 mental pursuits, all the lower concerns of worldly 
 discretion. In his early intimate Mr. Greene, he had 
 the comfort of possessing not only a zealous confident, 
 but a careful attorney, who, in a profession, often 
 supposed to render men keen, and severe, has been 
 universally regarded for chearful indulgent probity, 
 and alert benevolence. 
 
 With this friendly companion Romney visited 
 France in September 1764. He travelled by Dunkirk 
 and Lisle to Paris, where he had the advantage of an 
 introduction to his brother artist, the celebrated 
 Vernet, who having attained to great excellence in 
 his favorite study, landscape and marine scenery, had 
 been recalled from Italy by Louis the Fifteenth to 
 paint the sea-ports of France. In the maturity of his 
 talents and reputation, he had at this time apartments 
 in the Louvre, where he received the young English 
 
 g 2 
 
44 
 
 artist with that gay and attentive civility, which is 
 eager to anticipate all the wishes of a stranger. He ob- 
 tained for his visiter free access to the Orleans collec- 
 tion of pictures, to which Romney now devoted much 
 of his attention, and which, in the later periods of his 
 life, he seized opportunities of reviewing with an en- 
 crease of delight. In his first survey of Paris he judici- 
 ously allowed himself time enough to examine all the 
 renowned works of art, not only in that city, but in the 
 neighbouring palaces; and of all he contemplated, no 
 pictures contributed more to his own immediate im- 
 provement as a portrait-painter, than that bold and 
 rich production of Rubens, the Luxemburgh Gallery. 
 
 After a delightful and improving excursion of six 
 weeks, he resumed again in London the labors of 
 his profession. By the kind advice of his friend 
 Greene, he had removed from the city to the more 
 airy situation of Gray's Inn, where he had soon the 
 gratification of painting a very amiable and eminent 
 character, Sir Joseph Yates, in his robes as a Judge 
 of the King's Bench. The features and manners of 
 
45 
 
 this excellent man very happily expressed what he really 
 was, a model for an English magistrate, distinguished by 
 mild intelligence united to artless and fearless inte- 
 grity. The early success of Romney, in portraying 
 more than one eminent lawyer, seems to have rendered 
 him a favorite with the gentlemen of the law. He has 
 certainly executed many admirable portraits from il- 
 lustrious individuals of this profession, a profession 
 which has a tendency perhaps to animate with 
 peculiar vivacity the natural eloquence of manly 
 features. 
 
 The encrease of his occupation as a portrait- 
 painter did not induce Romney, on his return from 
 France, to neglect his favorite study, historical com- 
 position. In the spring of 1765 he exhibited his 
 picture on the Death of King Edmund, and obtained 
 from the Society for the Encouragement of Arts and 
 Sciences the second prize of fifty guineas. The first, 
 of sixty, was assigned in this year to Mr. H. Hamilton 
 for his picture of the British Queen Boadicea, and 
 her Daughters. Romney appeared at another exhi- 
 
46 
 
 bition in the same year 1765. He contributed to the 
 catalogue in Maiden Lane two pictures, the portrait 
 of a gentleman, and a lady's head in the character of 
 a saint. He exhibited again with the same society of 
 artists the following year 1766; a single portrait of a 
 gentleman, and a conversation. In 1767 he exhibited 
 in Pall Mall a single picture containing the portraits 
 of two sisters half length. In the interval between 
 this exhibition, and that of the following year, he 
 quitted his residence in Gray's Inn, and he is de- 
 scribed in the catalogue of 1768, as residing at the 
 Golden Head in Great Newport Street; a street en- 
 deared to the lovers of art by having been inhabited, 
 during several years, by two great rivals in public 
 favor, Romney, and Reynolds. The latter had the 
 start of his younger antagonist by ten years, as there 
 is that difference between the periods, when each of 
 these successful painters settled in London: yet a 
 season arrived, when to use an expression of Lord 
 Thurlow, " The Town was divided between Reynolds 
 and Romney;" — but I return to the early works of 
 
47 
 
 my friend. In 1769 he exhibited in Pall Mall two 
 whole length pictures of ladies, and a family piece. 
 
 The latter is probably the picture, which a very 
 intelligent and sincere friend of Romney's described 
 to me as an early source of the painter's popularity, 
 and of his own intimacy with him. — " I was induced 
 to seek, and cultivate his acquaintance (said the 
 gentleman I allude to) by a picture, that he exhi- 
 bited of Sir George Warren with his lady, and a little 
 girl caressing a bullfinch, that sits on her hand. The 
 truth, nature, and tenderness, in this picture had, I 
 believe, a great influence in making him a popular 
 artist." The year 1770 was still more propitious to 
 his rising reputation: in that year he exhibited, in 
 Spring Garden, his two whole length figures of Mirth 
 and Melancholy. p These two pictures attracted great 
 notice on their first appearance. They are now (1803) 
 in the possession of Lord Bolton. In 1771 he exhibi- 
 ted also in Spring Garden, his whole length portrait 
 of Mrs. Yates, in the character of the Tragic Muse. 
 I have often wished that it had been the lot of 
 
48 
 
 Romney to paint this great actress, one of the most 
 gracefully majestic of our tragic queens, at a maturer 
 season of his life, and in the full meridian of his pow- 
 ers, for in that case I am persuaded the Tragic Muse 
 of Romney would not have appeared what at present 
 I must allow her to be, very far inferior, as a work of 
 the pencil, to the Tragic Muse of Sir Joshua, 
 
 Tho' our young artist was continually improving, 
 and his resemblances were eminently strong ; yet it 
 must be owned, before he visited Italy, his pictures 
 discover the defects arising from a want of studious 
 familiarity with the great models of his art : his por- 
 traits were often hard, cold, and heavy. There was 
 however great merit in his picture of his friend Major 
 Pearson; an officer in the India service, conversing 
 with a Bramin ; it was exhibited in 1771. He painted 
 at the same time a Madonna and child for this gen- 
 tleman, who was a soldier of an elegant and highly 
 cultivated mind, peculiarly fond of antient English li- 
 terature, and so endeared to Romney, that the seal, he 
 generally used, was an engraved head of the Major. 
 
49 
 
 The gentleman, to whose earlier intimacy with 
 our friend I am indebted for some particulars of his 
 history, described Romney at this period of his life 
 with such affectionate animation, that it would be 
 an injury to friendship, if I failed to insert in this 
 memoir the very words of his description; especially 
 as his opinions of the painter are the more entitled to 
 regard from his having himself received the regular 
 education of an artist. 
 
 " It was during his residence in Newport Street, 
 said my instructor, that Romney formed the noble 
 design of quitting England for the sole purpose of 
 improving himself in the principles and practice of his 
 beloved art, and it will add greatly to his honor, if 
 it is known, that he quitted England at a time, when, 
 by the efforts of resolute and unremitted industry 
 alone, struggling under every disadvantage, he had 
 raised his professional income to no less a sum than 
 twelve hundred a year. When I contemplate Romney 
 in this point of view, when I see him after having 
 
 H 
 
50 
 
 surmounted the want of particular patronage, and all 
 the difficulties of narrow and embarrassed circum- 
 stances, so boldly quitting that affluence, and repu- 
 tation, which he had created for himself, and quitting 
 them for the sole purpose of improvement, I cannot 
 but admire him beyond all the men I have ever known, 
 either in, or out, of art. The event proved that the 
 noble confidence he placed in his own persevering- 
 spirit, did not deceive him. In the course of his 
 Italian studies, his manner of painting was improved 
 beyond measure; his pictures, instead of being cold and 
 heavy, became warm, tender, light, and beautiful." 
 
 Such were the remarks of a sincere and a judi- 
 cious friend, who had studied both the mind and the 
 works of Romney, at different periods, with encreasing 
 regard, and admiration. But it is time for his bio- 
 grapher to recollect, that he has yet to record the 
 circumstances of his Italian excursion. 
 
 He formed a social plan of foreign travel with a 
 professional brother, Mr. Humphry, who has dis- 
 
51 
 
 tinguished himself in different branches of art. I 
 believe a portrait of his fellow-traveller was one of 
 the last works executed by Romney, before he set 
 forth to visit Rome. This portrait, and another 
 of an old man, appeared at the exhibition near 
 Exeter Change in the year 1772, and these, as that 
 accurate and obliging instructor, Mr. Isaac Reed, in- 
 formed me, are the last traces, that can be found, of 
 Romney's exhibiting. 
 
 The following incidents of his journey to Rome 
 were kindly imparted to me by a friend of his 
 fellow-traveller. — The two artists left London on the 
 20th of March, 1773; they passed their first night 
 at Seven Oaks in Kent, for the sake of devoting 
 the next day to a survey of Knowle, a seat embel- 
 lished with many interesting works of art, where 
 Mr. Humphry had the gratification of finding a 
 patron, and a friend, in the late Duke of Dorset. 
 With him the travellers passed a day of pleasure, and 
 proceeded the next morning to Dover. 
 
 h 2 
 
52 
 
 They reached Calais on Lady-day, and hastened 
 to Paris. To this city and its environs they devoted 
 three weeks, residing at the hotel de York; and daily 
 directing- their attention to every thing most worthy 
 of notice in painting, sculpture, and architecture. 
 From Paris they proceeded to Lyons, and were de- 
 tained there a fortnight by Romney's indisposition. 
 On his recovery they fell down the Rhone to Pont St. 
 Esprit. Landing there they amused themselves with 
 the antiquities of Nismes; then advanced to Avignon, 
 and proceeded thro' Aix to Marseilles. The travellers 
 were satisfied with passing a single week in this city, 
 more famous for its early history, and for the Christian 
 heroism of its good bishop, during the plague, than 
 for possessing any treasures of art. They passed on by 
 land, thro' Frejus and Antibes, to Nice. After being 
 detained for some weeks, partly by contrary winds, 
 and partly by the pleasures of society, in a scene of 
 singular beauty, they embarked in a felucca for 
 Genoa, with a Mr. Aubert, a Genoese merchant of 
 an English family, and a gentleman of a most kind 
 and hospitable spirit. To his benevolence the travellers 
 
53 
 
 were most agreeably indebted; and as the churches 
 and palaces of Genoa were, at that time, enriched 
 with pictures of exquisite beauty, every thing con- 
 spired to make their abode in this illustrious city pe- 
 culiarly delightful. 
 
 But great delights are commonly followed by 
 troubles, or alarms, of equal magnitude: In their 
 passage from Genoa the travelling artists were driven, 
 in a felucca, by a violent storm thro' the gulph of 
 Pisa. The danger was imminent; the crew vehe-r 
 mently alarmed; Romney appeared to sit in silent 
 consternation; but when his companion, whose spirits 
 were less affected, rallied him a little on his gravity, 
 he protested it did not arise from personal fear, but 
 from tender concern at the prospect of being suddenly 
 separated for ever from his friends and relations. His 
 companion has liberally observed, that the truth of 
 this protestation was evinced by Romney's subsequent 
 behaviour, after their safe arrival at Leghorn; for 
 when his fellow-traveller proposed, for the sake of 
 expedition, to proceed again by water to Civita 
 
54 
 
 Vecchia, or Ostia at the mouth of the Tiber, Romney, 
 undaunted by their recent peril, very willingly ac- 
 quiesced in the plan ; but as delays would have been 
 created by the laws of the port, and the necessity of 
 waiting for a bill of health, after admiring the colos- 
 sal slaves by John of Bologna, on the quay of 
 Leghorn, they resolved to proceed by land thro' Pisa 
 and Florence. 
 
 After having examined in Pisa the early works 
 of the venerable Giotto, and other old masters, they 
 travelled thro' the vale of Arno to Florence. " Our 
 raptures in this enchanting region were indescribably 
 great (says the fellow-traveller of Romney, to whom 
 I am obliged for the particulars of their journey) and 
 scarcely exceeded upon our arrival in that most beau- 
 tiful of cities, the cradle of our art." 
 
 The travellers, who were both animated with 
 lively enthusiasm for the grand object of their pursuit, 
 and eager to reach Rome, allowed themselves but a 
 few days for contemplating the numerous objects of 
 
55 
 
 delightful study, that Florence had then to boast. 
 They quitted these with regret, and passing on thro' 
 Sienna and Viterbo, arrived in Rome on the 18th of 
 June. Romney now devoted himself to intense and 
 sequestered study. Such was the cautious reserve, 
 which his singular mental infirmity, a perpetual 
 dread of enemies, inspired, that he avoided all farther 
 intercourse with his fellow-traveller, and with all the 
 other artists of his country, who were then studying 
 at Rome. Yet he failed not to acquaint himself 
 with their professional conduct; for I recollect his 
 having repeatedly lamented that our amiable friend 
 Wright, the painter of Derby, had laid the founda- 
 tion of those cruel nervous sufferings, which afflicted 
 his latter years, by excess of application during his 
 residence in Rome. Romney was but too well qua- 
 lified to make such an observation, for he was him- 
 self very singularly addicted to that honorable, yet 
 perilous, kind of intemperance, the intemperance of 
 study! and I impute those deplorable infirmities, that 
 over-clouded the evening of his day, to his great want 
 of that self-command, which should have led him in 
 
56 
 
 regulating his own studies (both of early aid of ma- 
 turer life) to establish the proper salutary intervals 
 of labour and of rest. His powerful, and imperious, 
 fancy precluded him from the advantages of such 
 useful discretion. 
 
 In the memoranda, which my friend desired me 
 to preserve as a foundation for a history of his pro- 
 fessional pursuits, it surprizes me to find no list of the 
 works that he executed at Rome. Recollection is so 
 imperfect a chronicler of labours long past, that I 
 earnestly exhort every young artist, who " means to 
 be of note," to " begin betimes" to enter in a constant 
 diary his work of every day. In youth it may serve 
 him as an incentive to regularity of application, and 
 in age it may gratify him with a clear and useful re- 
 trospect of honorable exertions. The ardor and ac- 
 tivity of Romney, at this period of his life, were so 
 great, and so incessant, that I am persuaded he must 
 have executed many drawings and paintings during 
 his residence at Rome, but my own memory, and that 
 of his surviving relations can only enable me to spe- 
 
57 
 
 cify three, namely two portraits painted as studies to 
 shew the peculiar strength of character in Italian fea- 
 tures, and a large copy in chiaro oscuro from the 
 lower half of Raphael's Transfiguration ; the portraits 
 were painted from men of the populace — one repre- 
 sented a Roman dwarf, called Baiocco, from his being 
 used to beg for Baiocci halfpence. This head has a 
 beard and black hair ; the original struck the fancy of 
 Romney as a fit model for the character of Brutus. 
 The other portrait displayed a keen countenance with 
 handsome features, but rather effeminate; it was 
 drawn from an unhappy mortal, whom the painter 
 called a profest assassin. It may be added that Romney 
 also painted with great diligence at Rome from a fe- 
 male model, whom he hired occasionally, and of whom 
 he is only remembered to have said, that her figure 
 was remarkably fine, and her modesty and discretion 
 so great, that he never beheld her except in the pre- 
 sence of her mother. Whether he brought to England 
 any of the pictures, that he painted from this model, 
 or disposed of them abroad, it is now too late to 
 enquire. 
 
58 
 
 Before I cease to speak of my friend's application 
 to his art in his travels, it is incumbent on me to men- 
 tion an anecdote, which I received from his brother 
 Colonel Romney, especially as it reflects honor on two 
 of our artists, and upon one of our departed princes. 
 When Romney and his fellow-traveller were prepar- 
 ing" for their excursion to Rome, the late Duke of 
 Gloucester was so pleased with their spirit in foregoing 
 all the advantages of eminence, and emolument, to 
 which they had laboriously raised themselves in their 
 profession at home, for the purpose of acquiring im- 
 provement in the great schools of Italy, that he gave 
 them a letter of recommendation to the Pope, which 
 procured for Romney the permission to erect scaffolds 
 in the Vatican. If Rome was a scene of honor to 
 Romney, it was also a scene of alarm; for as he hap- 
 pened to lodge in the Jesuit's College, he was arrested 
 among the Jesuits, who were seized by an order from 
 his Holiness. The incident however afforded him the 
 gratification of knowing in what high esteem his 
 countrymen were held; for on his declaring himself 
 an Englishman, he was immediately released. 
 
59 
 
 After a busy residence of many months at Rome, 
 Romney indulged himself with a survey of Venice, 
 and he chanced to meet there an eccentric character 
 of his own country, with whose singularities he was 
 highly entertained. The learned and fanciful traveller, 
 Wortley Montague, after his rambles in Asia, was at 
 this time living in Venice with the manners, the habit, 
 and the magnificence of a Turk. Romney painted an 
 admirable head of him in his Eastern garb, and in 
 such a style of art, as clearly proves, that the painter 
 had studied intensely, and successfully, the celebrated 
 colourists of the Venetian School. Indeed his head 
 of Montague might easily be mistaken for a Venetian 
 picture. It was a favorite work of the artist, and he 
 long retained it as a study for his own use, but after 
 permitting a small print to be taken from it as a de- 
 coration to Seward's Anecdotes, he presented the ori- 
 ginal to a friend. He had painted a large copy from 
 it, which, with other exquisite portraits by the same 
 master, is ranked among the choicest modern orna- 
 ments of that magnificent and interesting old mansion, 
 Warwick Castle. 
 
 i 2 
 
60 
 
 Romney was so captivated with the extensive 
 knowledge, the lively spirit, and the fascinating con- 
 versation, of Wortley Montague, and that extraor- 
 dinary traveller was so pleased with the manual and 
 mental energy of the artist, that it is probable their 
 acquaintance might have led to the production of 
 many pictures, had not their brief intimacy ended by 
 a fatal mischance, which terminated all the projects 
 of Montague. While Romney was with him, he hap- 
 pened, in eating a small bird, to wound his throat 
 with a bone : the accident produced inflammation, 
 and in the course of a few days occasioned his death. 
 Such was the fate of this singular man, who had es- 
 caped from the manifold perils of roving thro' the 
 deserts of the East. 
 
 Romney, before he returned to his own country, 
 devoted some time to Parma, where he was charmed 
 with the works of Corregio, a painter whom he par- 
 ticularly admired, and whose tenderness and grace he 
 often emulated very happily in his figures of women 
 and children. 
 
61 
 
 Returning by Turin, Lyons, and Paris, he 
 reached London in the beginning of July, 1775; 
 He resided for a few months in Gray's Inn, but a spa- 
 cious house in Cavendish Square becoming vacant by 
 the death of Coates, an eminent painter in crayons, 
 Romney was persuaded by his friends to settle himself 
 in that seasonable, and fortunate abode. While I am 
 recalling to my memory a mansion, where I have 
 passed so many pleasant, and social hours, in witnes- 
 sing, and promoting, the studies of an artist, whom 
 I loved most cordially, I cannot fail to think of the 
 scene with tenderness, and good wishes. I have a 
 pleasure in knowing, it is now inhabited by an artist, 
 who has distinguished himself by alternate application 
 to the pencil, and the lyre. I have read with great 
 pleasure Rhymes of Art, by Mr. Shee, and altho' my 
 long retirement from London has not allowed me the 
 gratification of admiring his pictures, I cannot re- 
 collect his residence without exclaiming " Stet For- 
 tunaDomus!" May the house he inhabits long be the 
 mansion of active talents, of prosperity, and renown! 
 
62 
 
 It was at Christmas, in the year 1775, that 
 Romney took possession of this memorable residence. 
 He was then in the very prime of life ; his health had 
 been improved, and his mind enriched, by two years 
 of foreign study; and he had the active good wishes 
 of several friends in his favor. Yet in his singular 
 constitution there was so much nervous timidity, 
 united to great bodily strength, and to enterprising, 
 and indefatigable ambition, that he used to tremble, 
 when he waked every morning in his new habitation, 
 with a painful apprehension of not finding business 
 sufficient to support him. These fears were only early 
 flutterings of that incipient hypochondriacal disorder, 
 which preyed in secret on his comfort during many 
 years; and which, tho' apparently subdued by the 
 cheering exhortations of friendship, and great pro- 
 fessional prosperity, failed not to shew itself more for- 
 midably, when he was exhausted by labor, in the de- 
 cline of life. 
 
 On his first settling in Cavendish Square, his 
 friends were kindly anxious to promote his restora- 
 
63 
 
 tion to that full employment, which he had quitted 
 so honorably for the purpose of enabling himself to 
 reach higher excellence in art. He was much grati- 
 fied in having the late Duke of Richmond among the 
 first, if not the very first of his sitters after his return 
 from Italy. His earliest portrait of that nobleman 
 was a happy specimen of the improving artist, and the 
 Duke expressed a kind solicitude to promote his pro- 
 fessional prosperity, but never honored him with any 
 magnificent commission. The return of Romney to 
 England was announced to the public by the bene- 
 volent zeal of Mr. Cumberland, who publishing two 
 Odes, in 1776, inscribed them to the painter with 
 such a friendly address, as might be reasonably ex- 
 pected to serve him by introducing the travelled artist 
 to the notice of his country. Having some painful 
 occasions to speak of Mr. Cumberland in this work 
 with censure (that I could not suppress without being 
 deficient in duty to my departed friend) I gladly seize 
 opportunities of doing ample justice to the merits of 
 that gentleman in all points, where his conduct towards 
 Romney appears to me meritorious. I hasten therefore 
 
64 
 
 to insert in this place the delicate verses, by which 
 Mr. Cumberland endeavoured to conciliate for an 
 attist, who was still a novice in the world, the favor 
 of the public. The verses were printed in a news- 
 paper soon after Romney's return from the Continent; 
 and as Gibbon politely said of the subsequent poetical 
 Epistles addrest to the same artist, " if they did not 
 contribute much to his professional prosperity, they 
 may be justly called an elegant advertisement of his 
 merit." Mr. Cumberland has properly inserted the 
 whole composition in that very entertaining miscel- 
 lany his own memoirs, but he does not assign any 
 exact date to the verses, and as they speak of Coates 
 as a living artist, they were probably written before 
 Romney's excursion to Italy; at all events the con- 
 cluding lines, which alone relate to my friend, 
 breathe a spirit of benevolence, and are a pleasing 
 proof, that the chief object of the poet was to serve, 
 encourage, and honor, the very diffident painter. 
 
 " Apart, and bending oer the azure tide, 
 With lieavenly contemplation by his side, 
 
65 
 
 A pensive artist stands, in thoughtful mood ; 
 With downcast looks he eyes the ebbing flood. 
 No wild ambition swells his temperate heart; 
 Himself as pure, and patient, as his art. 
 Nor sullen sorrow, nor intemperate joy, 
 The even tenor of his thoughts destroy, 
 An undistinguished candidate for fame, 
 At once his country s glory, and its shame ! 
 Rouse then at length, with honest pride iuspird, 
 Romney advance! be known, and be admirdl" 
 
 The author of these verses had evidently a very 
 kind intention in writing them, but he seems not to 
 have perceived, at this time, that Romney, with all 
 his diffidence and timidity had an ardent, active, and 
 impetuous mind. 
 
 As I have now reached the period, when my own 
 intimacy commenced with my memorable friend, I 
 trust that no candid reader will censure me for imper- 
 tinent egotism, if I mention a circumstance of my own 
 
 K 
 
66 
 
 early life, which probably had great influence in ce- 
 menting 1 my long and cordial attachment to this ad- 
 mirable artist : I mean the circumstance of my having 
 devoted a great portion of time, in my juvenile days, 
 to the constant exercise of the pencil. 
 
 I happened, when I was preparing to reside, 
 for the first time, at Cambridge, to be acquainted 
 with Mr. Steevens, who was afterwards distinguished 
 as an editor of Shakespeare. He had then taken leave 
 of the university to which I was going, where he had 
 not only rendered himself an excellent scholar, but 
 had also acquired the accomplishment of drawing 
 with precision, delicacy, and spirit. 
 
 Perceiving that I sometimes amused myself with 
 a pencil, he advised me on my arrival in college, to 
 engage a drawing master, whom he justly recom- 
 mended as a man, not only ingenious, and diligent, 
 but endeared to all who knew him, by singular sim- 
 plicity, and benevolence. Under this pleasant instruc- 
 tor, Mr. Bretherton, I drew both landscape and 
 
67 
 
 figures from nature, and life ; nor deserted my master, 
 tho' my friendship with Meyer the eminent painter 
 in miniature, soon enabled me to surpass, and instruct 
 my first teacher in the management of water-colours. 
 To these I confined my ambition; but having in the 
 course of three or four years, executed many draw- 
 ings, and some pictures on ivory from Titian, Cor- 
 regio, Raphael, &c. I was inclined to exclaim with 
 the natural temerity of youth, " E son pittore anch' 
 io." — "Even I am a painter." Tho" to speak honestly, 
 my exultation on such performances was like the ex- 
 ultation of a child, who fancies himself a great gar- 
 dener, as soon as he has transplanted a few diminutive 
 flowers. Literature however was my predominant 
 passion, and I resolved to devote only such time to 
 the pencil, as would enable me, as I advanced in life, 
 to form a collection of miniature portraits by my own 
 hand of my particular friends. But I was precluded 
 from realizing a vision so delightful by a severe mis- 
 chance. In going with my friend Meyer in May 1772 
 to visit the celebrated Captain Cooke on board his 
 
 k 2 
 
68 
 
 ship, the Resolution, then lying in the river, and pre- 
 pared for her voyage, we were exposed, in an open 
 boat, to a bitter easterly wind, which proved to me 
 a source of long suffering, by a violent and obstinate 
 inflammation of the eyes. This cruel malady obliged 
 me to renounce the pencil ; and I do not recollect, 
 that I ever resumed it, except once in Derbyshire, 
 where I was tempted to copy two bold sketches in 
 water-colours of the scenery about Matlock, that were 
 kindly lent to me by my friend Wright, the excellent 
 painter of Derby. But the delight, that I had taken 
 in the art, which I was so painfully forced to relin- 
 quish, made me peculiarly desirous of cultivating the 
 friendship of its more successful professors. In the 
 year 1776, when I was furnishing the little villa in 
 Sussex, to which I had retired, I wished to adorn it 
 with good portraits, as large as life, of a few friends 
 from whose frequent society I precluded myself, in a 
 great measure, by relinquishing my residence in 
 London. Meyer on this occasion introduced me to 
 Romney, as an artist, of whose rising talents he had the 
 highest opinion. Romney had a friend in Meyer sin- 
 
69 
 
 gularly fervent and sincere, highly able to estimate, 
 and even to foresee his rare powers, and equally zea- 
 lous to recommend him, let me therefore devote a few 
 words to the memory of this excellent person, who as 
 a painter was himself at the head of his profession in 
 his line of art, and no less admirable as a friend; en- 
 deared to all who knew him by a pleasant social vivacity, 
 and by an indefatigable spirit of extensive beneficence. 
 Were I required to name the individual whom Ibelieve 
 to have been most instrumental in promoting the pros- 
 perity of others (without the advantages of official 
 authority, or of opulence) I should say, without he- 
 sitation, Meyer. He was born 1735, at Tubingen 
 in the Dutchy of Wirtemberg ; he came to England 
 in 1749 with his father, who was portrait painter to 
 the Duke of Wirtemberg. The younger Meyer stu- 
 died two years, 1757 and 1758, under Zink, an 
 eminent painter in enamel, to whom he paid two 
 hundred pounds for instruction, and two hundred 
 more for materials of his art. He was naturalized by 
 act of parliament 1762, and in the following year he 
 married a lady of a respectable fortune, who to the 
 
70 
 
 accomplishments of drawing, and of music, added those 
 brilliant and solid virtues, that enliven, and dignify, 
 every season of life. This lady possesses in a portrait 
 of her only surviving son perhaps the most elaborately 
 finished picture in water-colours, that the world can 
 exhibit. It was painted by my departed friend, when 
 his son William was about the age of ten ; the affec- 
 tion of the father enabled the artist to support a sin- 
 gular contest with nature, by trying the utmost, that 
 time, and patience, could achieve in the high finishing 
 of a portrait. Intense labour has seldom produced 
 such felicity of effect. Meyer in 1764 was appointed 
 painter in enamel to his present Majesty. He had be- 
 longed to the society in St. Martin's Lane, supported 
 by a subscription of artists, and when the King was 
 graciously pleased to institute a Royal Academy, he 
 was one of the most active, and most respected, of its 
 earliest members. Of his zeal for the honor of that 
 institution, and his wish to persuade Romney to devote 
 his talents to that national object, I shall have future 
 occasion to speak, and now therefore return to the 
 
71 
 
 season, when my acquaintance commenced with the 
 principal subject of this memorial. 
 
 The first work, that Romney executed for me, 
 was a portrait of Mr. Long, a gentleman, to whom 
 nature had given extraordinary talents for the pencil. 
 I am confident that my friend would have greatly 
 distinguished himself in painting and in architecture, 
 had he not been precluded from pursuing them by 
 his profession of surgery, an art, that allows to its 
 professors no vacation; an art, whose pains and 
 troubles would be almost intolerable, if they were 
 not compensated by the benevolent hope of affording 
 the most important relief to suffering humanity. 
 
 Romney, while he was painting the portraits of 
 Mr. Long, and Mr. Thornton, with another of myself, 
 not only pleased us as an artist, but displayed such 
 endearing qualities as a companion, that we all became 
 attached to him most cordially for life — brief alas! 
 was the portion of life allotted to one of his new 
 
72 
 
 friends. Mr. Thornton, who had been one of my most 
 intimate fellow-students in Cambridge, and was, at 
 this time, rising to eminence in the law, died, before 
 the painter could execute some finishing touches, that 
 he intended to bestow upon his very interesting por- 
 trait, which had attained such a degree of excellence, 
 that, unfinished as it is, I regard it as singularly com- 
 plete in the highest charm of portraiture, I mean in 
 the perfect expression of an amiable character. It is an 
 image, that even strangers contemplate with pleasure, 
 as a model of pensive benevolence. So uncertain are 
 the issues of human life, that when this picture was 
 begun, I was much more alarmed for the health of 
 the painter, than of the friend, whom we were des- 
 tined to lose so soon. 
 
 In the first year of my acquaintance with Romney, 
 I observed, that with admirable faculties for attaining 
 excellence in his art, he had some peculiarities, that 
 threatened to impede his progress; and that he would 
 frequently want the counsel of a frank and faithful 
 monitor, to guard him against those excesses of im- 
 
73 
 
 petuous and undisciplined imagination, which often 
 lead the fervent votaries of fame to destroy their own 
 powers by intemperance in study. The first invitation 
 that I sent him to visit my retirement, contained, 
 both in prose and verse, a long and friendly remon- 
 strance against his want of proper attention to his own 
 health. I will transcribe from it a passage, that may 
 serve to shew the very ardent character of my friend 
 at this period, and the early interest that I took in 
 his prosperity and renown. 
 
 Eartham 1776. 
 
 " I entreat you in the name of 
 those immortal powers, the beautiful, and the su- 
 blime, whom you so ardently adore, or, to speak the 
 language of your favorite Macbeth, " J conjure you 
 by that which you profess" to moderate your intense 
 spirit of application, which preys so fatally on your 
 frame — exchange, for a short time, the busy scenes, 
 
 L 
 
74 
 
 and noxious air, of London, for the chearful tranquil- 
 lity and pure breezes of our Southern coast. 
 
 " To console you for what you will quit, the 
 daily praises of a flattering Metropolis, I will promise 
 you the more silent, but warmer, admiration of a few 
 friends, who join to their esteem of your talents, the 
 most cordial solicitude for your welfare. Nor is this 
 an idle invitation to abandon, even for a short time, 
 either the pleasures, or profits, of your profession ; 
 but to pursue both in a manner more consistent with 
 your health, and consequently with that glory in your 
 art, which is, I know, your predominant passion, and 
 which is indeed the only true Promethean fire that 
 can make an artist immortal. 
 
 " But vain this vital spark of heavenly flame, 
 If toil excessive tears the shatter d frame : 
 Where languid Sickness spreads her sullen shade, 
 Imagination s brilliant figures fade : 
 O'er Fancy's canvas then no Psyches rove, 
 The pregnant mind brings forth no infant Jove, 
 
75 
 
 But forms of Spleen, and shapes more dark to view, 
 Than Rembrandt colour d, or Salvator drew. 
 
 " Do not so much injure the art you love, as to 
 reduce yourself to such a situation ! but let us hope, 
 that some one may say of you, in advanced life, what 
 was said in a letter to Titian, by one of his friends — 
 " Certo che il pennel vostro ha riserbati i suoi mira- 
 coli nella Maturita della vecchiezza" — "Your pencil 
 has certainly reserved its most wonderful works for 
 the maturity of old age." But if you really wish (I 
 do not say to live, because you seem not to value 
 life) but to paint, half so long as Titian, you must 
 absolutely give yourself time to breathe a little, now 
 and then, out of the thick air of London. Here are 
 three divinities, Health, Gaiety, and Friendship, that 
 invite you very eagerly to this pleasant retreat, &c." 
 
 This invitation was so successful, that it induced 
 the tender artist not only to visit Eartham speedily, 
 but to pass with me a few weeks every autumn, for 
 
 l2 
 
76 
 
 more than twenty years, on that favorite spot. He 
 used generally to arrive much exhausted by his pro- 
 fessional labor in London; but the bracing air of a 
 healthy village, and that best medicine of life, sym- 
 pathetic friendship, so rapidly produced their bene- 
 ficial effects, that Romney, after a day or two of 
 absolute rest, usually regained all the native energy 
 of his mind ; and displayed an eagerness for extensive 
 enterprize in that province of his art, which pe- 
 culiarly belongs to imagination. On these occasions 
 our social hours were devoted to what a foreign 
 philosopher (the benevolent and singularly fanciful 
 Helvetius) when he enjoyed the society of a studious 
 friend, used pleasantly to call " The cliace of Ideas" 
 My particular friends of the pencil, Meyer, Romney, 
 and Wright of Derby, were all inclined to give me 
 much more credit for intelligence in the theory of 
 painting than I deserved; Wright and Romney espe- 
 cially, who thought I had a facility in selecting, or 
 inventing, new and happy subjects for the pencil, 
 were in the habit of inviting me to this chace of ideas. 
 Whenever Romney was my guest, I was glad to put 
 
77 
 
 aside my own immediate occupation, whatever it 
 chanced to be, for the pleasure of searching for, and 
 presenting to him, a copious choice of such subjects, 
 as might happily exercise his powers. I have often 
 blamed myself for not preserving some memoranda 
 of the infinite number of sketches, that my active 
 and rapid friend used to make in his autumnal visits 
 to Eartham: several were on canvas in colours; but 
 the greater number executed very hastily on paper 
 with a pen. His eagerness in multiplying, and col- 
 lecting these, was extreme; and we were both 
 anxious, that they should attend him on his return 
 to London, because most of them were little more 
 than hasty hints intended to form the ground work 
 of maturer studies in the approaching winter; but 
 every winter brought so much new occupation for 
 the pencil in its train, that I believe the sketches 
 of the autumn were often suffered to sleep in oblivion. 
 I regret therefore not only that I made no list of 
 his more promising sketches, but that I failed also 
 to preserve his letters during the first eight or nine 
 years of our epistolary intercourse. Some letters of 
 
78 
 
 a later date will appear in the course of this work, 
 and they display his feelings so forcibly, that I think 
 they cannot fail to interest the reader, even when 
 they do not expressly describe the productions of his 
 pencil. I wish I had the power to give a most 
 faithful account of these from my own memory, but 
 most men, who attempt to be historians from memory 
 alone, will find, I believe, abundant cause for cor- 
 recting their own narrative, if they acquire an oppor- 
 tunity of comparing it with written documents. In 
 the first years of my intimacy with Romney, we formed 
 many social projects of uniting poetry and design, in 
 works, that were never accomplished. Of some my 
 recollection can discover no distinct vestiges; of others 
 but a few trivial remains. I find however some verses, 
 which remind me that we talked of producing a joint 
 work on the adventures of Cupid and Psyche, from 
 Apuleius. On this idea my friend drew no less than 
 eight elegant cartoons in black chalk: I meant to 
 finish a poem on the subject in emulation of Dryden's 
 delightful fables, but if my memory does not deceive 
 me, I speedily threw it aside for the sake of devoting 
 
79 
 
 my attention to a work, that I hoped to render more 
 conducive to the professional honor of my friend — I 
 mean my Epistles to Romney, written in 1777, and 
 first printed in the following year. 
 
 The main object of this poem was to encourage 
 the just ambition of the painter ; to persuade him not 
 to waste too large a portion of life in the lucrative 
 drudgery of his profession; but to aspire to the acqui- 
 sition of practical excellence in the highest depart- 
 ment of his art. After contemplating the character of 
 my friend in his season of energy, and in his period 
 of decline, after admiring several works, that he com- 
 pleted, and after regretting the failure of many more, 
 which he projected, and partly advanced, but never 
 found leisure or strength to accomplish, I am still per- 
 suaded that the fervency of friendship did not speak 
 of him too highly in the following lines. 
 
 " Nature in thee her every gift combirid, 
 Which forms the artist of the noblest kind ; 
 That fond ambition, which bestows on art 
 Each talent of the mind, and passion of the heart. 
 
80 
 
 That dauntless patience, which all toil defies, 
 Nor feels the labor, while it views the prize. 
 Enlightening study with maturing power, 
 From these fair seeds has calVd the opening flow'r" 
 
 The painter, from whose hand these verses might 
 have induced his country to expect very signal achieve- 
 ments in his art, continued to live and to paint many 
 years after the poetical Epistles addrest to him were 
 first printed ; and it must be owned, that he has closed 
 his labors, and his life, without bequeathing to pub- 
 lic admiration such a series of historical pictures, as 
 seem to be anticipated by the sanguine presages of 
 a poetical friend in his favor. How it happened, 
 that the number of Romney's greater works has been 
 very far from corresponding with his own magnificent 
 intentions, the sequel of this narrative may shew, as 
 it will be my endeavour to render it, what I know he 
 wished it to prove, not only a faithful memorial of 
 his industry, but useful to future artists by informing 
 them what he did, and what he failed to do; that it 
 may excite them to plan betimes, and to persevere in 
 
81 
 
 resolute, and well-concerted plans for reaching the 
 highest excellence, which their respective powers 
 may enable them to attain. It may be suggested pro- 
 bably with truth, that no mortal ever made the best, 
 and most complete possible use of all the talents, and 
 all the time, that Heaven had given him for the cul- 
 tivation, and improvement, of any art. Such an ob- 
 servation may perhaps be just, even when applied to 
 the two most studious, and high-minded artists, who 
 are thought to have breathed a new soul into painting, 
 I mean Michael Angelo and Raphael. To Romney 
 it is applicable in no common degree. Those, who 
 knew him intimately, know, what faculties he pos- 
 sessed for the attainment of excellence in the highest 
 province of art ; and they have often lamented that 
 the number, and magnitude, of his historical works 
 must appear so very inadequate, not only to his men- 
 tal powers, but to his passion for glory, and to the 
 infinite number of hours, that he devoted to the ma- 
 nual exercise of art. It may be useful to students of 
 similar industry, and similar ambition, to develop the 
 
 M 
 
82 
 
 various causes, why Romney did not accomplish his 
 own wishes, and those of his friends, by producing 
 many finished works of imagination: for to speak in 
 the phrase of old Polonius, " this effect defective 
 comes hy cause and the enemies of my friend have 
 imputed it to two causes equally false : first to ava- 
 rice, which confined him to portraits ; and secondly 
 to a deficiency of talent for works of invention : — but 
 it is an honest truth, that Romney loved honor infi- 
 nitely more than gold ; and had received from nature 
 a most creative fancy ; but it must be confest, that he 
 had never completely counteracted one defect in his 
 early education as a painter : he had not thoroughly 
 acquired that mastery in anatomical science, which 
 should enable a great inventive artist to draw the hu- 
 man figure, in all its variations of attitude, with ease 
 and truth, and consequently with delight to himself. 
 It is perhaps a general infirmity in our nature, that 
 man loves to employ himself chiefly in what he can 
 perform with the greatest ease and success. Romney 
 had painted faces so incessantly, and painted them so 
 well, that to paint a new face became one of his pe- 
 
83 
 
 culiar delights. He delighted no less in sketching 
 scenes from fancy ; and his invention had all the ra- 
 pidity, and exuberance, of genius; but he did not 
 equally love the less amusing labor, by which a figure 
 rapidly invented must be slowly ripened into an ac- 
 curate perfection of form. Hence he produced innu- 
 merable portraits, and an astonishing multitude of 
 sketches from fancy ; but the hours he devoted to each 
 of these favorite occupations left him not time suf- 
 ficient to produce many such works of studied inven- 
 tion, as he most wished, and intended to execute in 
 the autumn of life. One of his designs from fancy, 
 drawn soon after his return from the Continent, and 
 giving a very high idea of his creative powers, was a 
 cartoon of black chalk, representing a Lapland witch 
 surveying the sea from a rock, and enjoying the dis- 
 tress of mariners from a tempest of her own creation. 
 Meyer used to contemplate this figure with the high- 
 est delight, admiring the felicity of the artist in pre- 
 serving the beauty of fine female features, and in 
 rendering the expression of the countenance sublimely 
 
 m 2 
 
84 
 
 malignant. I have mentioned this design in the poe- 
 tical Epistles addrest to Romney, and had hoped to 
 decorate this volume with a good engraving from the 
 cartoon, which the son of my departed friend had 
 kindly intended to present to me, but after a diligent 
 search for it in a mass of many large works, that were 
 huddled together in the haste of the retiring painter 
 to clear his London house, we had the mortification 
 to perceive, that some mischance had annihilated this 
 favorite design. In its stead I have substituted an en- 
 graving from a later sketch of Romney, in oil, re- 
 presenting a scene of heroic benevolence. I mean the 
 horseman at the Cape of Good Hope rescuing from 
 the sea the sufferers in a shipwreck. The humane 
 achievements, and the disastrous fate, of this com- 
 passionate mortal, whose name was Woltemad, are 
 recorded in the travels of Thunberg; and the subject 
 was recommended to the painter by the Revd. James 
 Clarke, the biographer of Lord Nelson. 
 
 The native tenderness of Romney's mind led him 
 to take a peculiar delight in examples of compas- 
 
V 
 
85 
 
 sionate magnanimity; and his animated tho' unfinished 
 sketch of this interesting adventure is endearedto me 
 as a gift from the kindness of his son. 
 
 In sending me the sketch, he mentioned an ex- 
 ample of similar heroism in an humble character of 
 this island. The anecdote is so honorable to hu- 
 manity that I am persuaded I shall gratify my rea- 
 ders by transcribing the narrative of my friend. 
 
 46 Since I wrote the enclosed letter 
 I have been informed from good authority that there 
 is now living on the coast of Lancashire, somewhere 
 between the mouth of the Ribble and the town of 
 Liverpool, a man who with the aid of his horse has 
 been instrumental in rescuing several persons from 
 shipwreck, and in one instance he saved three out of 
 fifteen from a watery grave. The horse as if sensible 
 of the important service, and well practised in the 
 business, plunges boldly thro' the foaming breakers, 
 and both disappear for some seconds. They emerge 
 together, the man firmly keeping his seat, and united 
 
t 
 
 86 
 
 like a Centaur, perform their offices of humanity. 
 Had my father known this circumstance, he would, 
 no doubt, have celebrated his own countryman in 
 preference to an inhabitant of the Cape. That the 
 impulse of humanity should suggest the same means, 
 and find in each case an instrument so obedient, is 
 very remarkable." 
 
 An occasion to mention the sketch of a subject 
 so memorable, has tempted me to deviate from the 
 chronological order that I wish to observe. In re- 
 verting to the earlier years of my intimacy with the 
 artist, I find some pleasing memorials of his occupa- 
 tion, and his kindness in 1780. He gratified me par- 
 ticularly, in that year, by shewing the versatility of 
 his talents; for he finished an admirable drawing in 
 water-colours of his friends at Eartham, and also a 
 strong resemblance of himself, which the reader will 
 see engraved in the trio of his own portraits, and 
 marked with the year of his age, forty-six. Let me 
 also record another small production of his pencil, in 
 the year 1780, which was equally the offspring of 
 
87 
 
 friendship. I mean a sketch intended as a decoration 
 for the Ode, which I addrest to that hero of huma- 
 nity, Howard, the visiter of prisons ! The design was 
 engraved by Bartolozzi, and annexed to the poem. 
 The sentiment, which the drawing expressed, /was 
 pleasing to that most benevolent of men, tho' it con- 
 tained no exact resemblance of his figure ; and I felt 
 not a little gratified in observing, when I passed a few 
 social hours with him in London, that he had the de- 
 sign of my friend, neatly copied on vellum, as an ex- 
 terior ornament to one of his own quarto volumes, 
 which he had prepared for presentation. 
 
 It was a favorite object of Romney's ambition to 
 paint, not merely a single portrait, but a series of 
 pictures, to express his veneration for the character 
 of Howard; and to display the variety of relief, that 
 his signal benevolence afforded to the sufferings of the 
 wretched. The several endearing proofs of friend- 
 ship, with which I was favored by that beneficent 
 traveller, induced me to hope, that I should over- 
 come his reluctance to sit for his portrait, and con- 
 
88 
 
 duct him to the painting-room of my friend. * I tried 
 every expedient for this purpose, while I could hope 
 to gain it, either by my own influence with the great 
 philanthropist, or by that of others. The importu- 
 nity, with which he was solicited on this subject, 
 gave rise to a singular scene: A fervent admirer of 
 Romney's, who was intimate with Howard, happened 
 to breakfast with him in Town on his arrival from the 
 Continent; the liberal traveller presented to his guest 
 some prints, that he had just brought from Holland, 
 and entertained him with a display of various articles, 
 which he had collected in his travels; among them 
 was a new dress made in Saxony; it was a sort of 
 great coat, yet graceful in its appearance, and orna- 
 mented with sober magnificence. His visiter ex- 
 claimed: " This is the robe, in which you should be 
 painted by Romney; I will implore the favor on my 
 knees, if you will let me array you in this very pic- 
 turesque habiliment, and convey you instantly in a 
 coach to Cavendish Square." — " O fie ! (replied 
 Howard, in the mildest tone of his gentle voice) O 
 fie! I did not kneel to the Emperor/' — " And, I assure 
 
S9 
 
 you (said the petitioner in answer to the tender re- 
 proof) I would never kneel to you, if you were not 
 above an emperor in my estimation/* The philan- 
 thropist was touched by the cordial eulogy, but con- 
 tinued firm in his resolution of not granting" his 
 portrait to all the repeated requests of importunate 
 affection. He had the goodness however to mention 
 several scenes, of which he had been a spectator in 
 foreign prisons, that he thought most suited to exer- 
 cise the talents of a great moral painter. Many hints 
 of this kind were imparted to Romney; and his in- 
 tentions to build extensive works upon them will 
 probably appear in the course of this narrative. 
 
 In the autumn of 1782 he had the pleasure of 
 meeting at Eartham, the poetess of Litchfield, Miss 
 Seward, a lady whom he greatly admired for her 
 poetical talents, for the sprightly charms of her social 
 character, and for the graces of a majestic person. 
 He was much affected by her filial tenderness, when 
 she spoke of her aged father, and in his zeal to 
 
* 
 
 90 
 
 gratify the good old man with a resemblance of his 
 accomplished daughter, he began, in Sussex, a suc- 
 cessful portrait of this admirable lady, which he 
 completed in London. Romney had one character- 
 istic as an artist, for which it is hardly possible to 
 honor his memory too much : He never seemed so 
 happy, as when his pencil was employed in the ser- 
 vice of the benevolent affections. His fervent spirit 
 was more eager to oblige a friend, or to gratify 
 a parent, than to exert itself in the pursuit of afflu- 
 ence, or fame. I shall notice several proofs of such 
 endearing benevolence in the course of this memorial. 
 In the beginning of the following year, 1783, he < 
 painted for me another friend of high literary dis- 
 tinction — the great Roman historian. I had the 
 pleasure of introducing Gibbon to Romney, and of 
 seeing that they were greatly pleased with each other. 
 I hardly remember a day spent in London with higher 
 social entertainment than one that we passed together 
 in Bentink Street, where our host enchanted us by 
 the good-natured wit, and instructive vivacity of his 
 conversation. In some parts of the half length por- 
 
91 
 
 trait of the historian, the painter was singularly 
 happy, but in some parts he failed. The countenance 
 is exquisitely painted ; delicately exact in resemblance 
 and truth of character. In some points this portrait 
 may be justly preferred to another of the same perso- 
 nage (in the possession of his friend Lord Sheffield) 
 by Sir Joshua Reynolds, because it approaches still 
 nearer to life, and exhibits more faithfully the social 
 spirit of Gibbon; but the subordinate parts of the 
 picture I am praising are very far from being entitled 
 to praise. It has been a custom with several eminent 
 artists to exert all their power in the features of a 
 portrait, and to slight every other part of the 
 picture: The practice was common among the 
 painters of the antient world, and Plutarch alludes 
 to it in his Life of Alexander the Great. Some mo- 
 derns have even attempted to justify such negligence 
 by sophistical reasoning in its favor; but when- 
 ever the negligence is so striking, as to give a slo- 
 venly air to the composition, the perfection of parts 
 will seldom atone for deficiency in the whole, and the 
 
 n 2 
 
92 
 
 mortified spectator of performances so slighted, will 
 be apt to condemn the indolent or hasty painter in 
 the expressive words of Horace, 
 
 " Infelix operis summit quia ponere totum 
 Nescit" 
 
 To some pictures of Romney such censure, I must 
 confess, may be very justly applied; but his failings 
 chiefly arose from his having too much to do, and not 
 from a want of ability to do better. In many of his 
 largest portraits and conversation pieces, when he 
 could find time to study the scenery, and meditate 
 on all that he wished to perform, his performance 
 proved him a master in that important knowledge so 
 justly required by Horace to constitute the felicity of 
 an artist. At this period his portraits had raised 
 him so high in public estimation, that he was re- 
 garded as the rival of his illustrious contemporary, 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds. Lord Thurlow pleasantly said 
 of them " Reynolds and Romney divide the Town; 
 I am of the Romney faction." This was a sally of 
 
93 
 
 sportive vivacity, and not a declaration of serious pre- 
 ference; for the powerful and comprehensive mind of 
 this noble Lord did ample justice to all the various 
 merits of the two painters, and they have both dis- 
 played their talents very happily in his favor. He was 
 painted by each of them at full length, and each has 
 given to the portrait of this memorable Chancellor 
 his peculiar and uncommon portion of intelligence, 
 fortitude, and dignity. He had a great personal re- 
 gard for Romney, and was highly pleased with his 
 conversation, when his own affability had so com- 
 pletely dissipated the natural reserve of the painter, 
 that he could not only converse, but even dispute 
 without apprehension upon points of art with this ex- 
 alted personage, who was singularly formidable as an 
 antagonist in any conference, from the force of his 
 ideas, and the fearless facility, with which he ex- 
 pressed them. His memory was richly stored with 
 sublime and pathetic passages from all the great 
 poets ; and he loved to expatiate on such as afforded 
 inviting subjects to the pencil. He was willing to 
 encourage painting; and expressed a strong desire of 
 
94 
 
 Romney's executing for him a large picture of 
 Orpheus and Eurydice from Virgil ; but on discussing 
 the subject together, the ideas of the peer, and those 
 of the painter were so different concerning the mode 
 of treating it on canvas, that Romney despaired of 
 pleasing a patron whose fancy appeared to him very 
 far from being in harmony with his own, and he 
 therefore never began the picture. His neglect of 
 the commission did not however produce any cold- 
 ness towards him in his invariable friend, who tho' 
 nature had given to his own athletic frame such 
 fibres, as were little used to shake with apprehensions 
 of any kind, considered with generous indulgence the 
 very different nerves of the artist. He shewed his 
 esteem for the talents of Romney not only by ap- 
 plauding his portraits, but also by purchasing one of 
 the four pictures of Serena from the Triumphs of 
 Temper, which my friend contrived to finish in de- 
 spight of his many avocations, within two or three 
 years after the first publication of the poem in 1780. 
 Another of these four pictures was sold to the late 
 Marquis of Stafford, and the remaining two were pur- 
 
95 
 
 chased by the painters liberal friend of the North, 
 Mr. Curwen." In recollecting the zeal and kindness 
 with which the colours of my friend embellished and 
 gave celebrity to the most successful offspring of my 
 Muse, even here I may be allowed to exclaim 
 
 " Let not her social love in silence hide 
 The just emotions of her grateful pride, 
 When his quick pencil pourd upon her sight, 
 Her own creation in a fairer light ; 
 When her Serena learnt from him to live, 
 And please by every charm, that life can give. 
 He has imparted to tit ideal fair 
 
 Yet more than beauty s bloom, and youth's attractive air; 
 For in his studious nymph tli enamour d eye 
 May thro' her breast her gentle heart descry, 
 See the fond thoughts, that o'er her fancy roll, 
 And sympathy's soft swell, that Jills her soul" 
 
 In a memorial of Romney, I feel it peculiarly 
 incumbent on me to render all the justice in my power 
 to his benevolent enthusiasm both in art and friend- 
 
96 
 
 ship. This endearing characteristic of my annual 
 visiter enlivened the autumn of 1784 in a man- 
 ner peculiarly memorable to me, for he interested 
 himself most kindly in the decoration of a new library, 
 that I was then fitting up, and began at my request, 
 on that occasion, the striking resemblance of himself 
 in oil, which may be regarded as the best of his own 
 portraits, and which is marked in the frontispiece to 
 this volume with the year of his age, forty-nine. It 
 well expresses that pensive vivacity, and profusion of 
 ideas, which a spectator might discover in his coun- 
 tenance, whenever he sat absorbed in studious medi- 
 tation. Romney engaged at this time our favorite 
 sculptor Flaxman to model for him a bust of his 
 Sussex friend. It was luxury, of the most delightful 
 nature, to enjoy in the quiet of a pleasant village, 
 the society of two such artists, who felt towards 
 each other a degree of filial and parental attach- 
 ment; as Flaxman most gratefully declared, that 
 the kind encouragement, which he received from 
 Romney, in his childhood, contributed not a little 
 towards making him a sculptor. The painter used to 
 
97 
 
 frequent the shop of his father to purchase figures in 
 plaister; and seeing the young Flaxman trying to 
 model, at a very early age, he would often stand a 
 considerable time to contemplate the progress of the 
 little boy's work, never failing on such occasions to 
 conciliate his regard, and to inspirit his ambition, by 
 a mixture of praise, and instruction. So arose their 
 high, and just, esteem for each other ; it continued 
 thro' life, and many pleasing proofs of their recipro- 
 cal regard will occur in the course of this narrative : 
 But to return to the year 1784 — Romney afforded a 
 new gratification to his rural friends by displaying 
 the versatility of his talents, and shewing us, that like 
 the favorite idols of his admiration Michael Angelo, 
 and Raphael, he too might distinguish himself, both 
 in painting and in sculpture, if propitious fortune 
 should ever afford him any splendid opportunities of 
 exercising the two kindred arts. It happened that I 
 had formed a rustic grotto as an entrance to a shady 
 sequestered walk: It was my wish to render the 
 grotto a sort of little modest mausoleum to the rae- 
 
 o 
 
98 
 
 mory of my departed friend, Thornton: Romney, 
 who had admired the mild and endearing manners of 
 that excellent person, was pleased with the idea, and 
 kindly modelled a little figure of afflicted Friendship, 
 in the form of a reclining female, to rest on a sepul- 
 chral vase, and to be stationed in the centre of the 
 grotto : The figure was elegant, and its expression 
 powerfully pathetic ; but it perished in that destruc- 
 tive neglect, by which my over-busied friend was too 
 apt to injure, and demolish, a multitude of his vari- 
 ous projected works, in which he had rapidly made a 
 very promising progress. He conveyed the figure to 
 London for the purpose of having the clay properly 
 hardened by fire, but in the hurry of his business, he 
 forgot, and suffered it to drop in pieces by failing to 
 give it, in due time, that durability, which it really 
 deserved. The importunate business of portrait- 
 painting encreased upon him to such a degree, that 
 he could hardly find a few minutes of leisure, in any 
 part of his day, except when the deficiency of light 
 precluded him from the use of his colours. Hence he 
 neglected a large and favorite fancy-picture, which 
 
99 
 
 he began, I believe, this year with great felicity of 
 expression at Eartham. The picture was to form a 
 striking landscape, with a female child of seven years, 
 of the size of life, kneeling by the side of a dead 
 fawn, under a massive tree, split by lightning, which 
 had killed her favorite animal. The head of the girl 
 is much in the manner of Corregio, and her sorrow 
 most exquisitely expressed; but the head is all that 
 was ever completed. Let me here mention two me- 
 morials by which the friends of Romney at this time 
 expressed their regard for him. Flaxman before he 
 returned from Eartham to London in the autumn of 
 1784 spontaneously modelled a diminutive, but ex- 
 pressive bust of the painter, which gave rise to the 
 following 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Dear image of our friend ! Thou speaking clay ! 
 Whose little lineaments, enriclid with thought, 
 From skilful Flaxman s plastic hand have caught 
 Life, that may last, till earth shall melt away 
 
 o 2 
 
100 
 
 And to the eye of distant time convey 
 
 The painter, who shall prove, as genius ought, 
 
 Immortal in the works, himself has wrought, 
 
 And gracd with Fame, unconscious of decay. 
 
 Whatever thy fortune in a future age, 
 
 When taste may fail each prouder bust to guard, 
 
 Here, modest head! our tender thoughts engage, 
 
 Lovd as the Lares of thy rural bard ! 
 
 Here dwelU and strengthen, in thy poet's heart, 
 
 The zeal of friendship, and the love for art!" 
 
 Romney united in his character such extraordi- 
 nary portions of timid reserve, and of enterprizing 
 ardor, as were well suited to excite, and keep alive, the 
 solicitude of his friends for his prosperity and honor. 
 This solicitude was felt and expressed by many of his 
 companions, but with peculiar fervency by Meyer, 
 who thinking* most highly of his powers as an artist, 
 used many kind arguments, in the hope of persuading 
 him to become a member of the Royal Academy, and 
 to aspire, in due time, to the honor of presiding 
 in that respectable society; a distinction which the 
 
101 
 
 warm-hearted adviser most firmly believed the ex- 
 panding talents of our friend, in their progressive 
 improvement, could not fail to deserve, and attain. 
 I had a long conference with Meyer and Romney to- 
 gether on this important topic ; and I must confess 
 that I took an opposite side of the question, and used 
 the many arguments, which my intimacy with the 
 painter suggested, to guard him against that inces- 
 sant disquietude and vexation, which I imagined his 
 connexion with the Academy must inevitably pro- 
 duce. As the arguments were chiefly founded on the 
 mental peculiarities of my friend, they were far from 
 evincing any sort of disrespect towards a society, 
 which is justly entitled to national regard. I may 
 yet observe how subsequent events afforded me rea- 
 son to rejoice, that I had endeavoured to suppress, 
 and not to quicken that particular ambition, which 
 a benevolent artist, whom I sincerely loved and ad- 
 mired, had wished to kindle in the bosom of our 
 friend. If Reynolds, who certainly possessed, in a 
 consummate degree, that mild wisdom, and concili- 
 ating serenity of temper, which Romney as certainly 
 
102 
 
 wanted, if Reynolds could ever find his seat of dig- 
 nity (so perfectly merited) a thorny situation, that 
 he was eager to relinquish, the more apprehensive, 
 and more hasty spirit of Romney would have been 
 utterly distracted in a post so ill suited to a mind of 
 sensibilities infinitely too acute for the peaceful en- 
 joyment of a high public station. 
 
 The more he reflected on the peculiarities of his 
 own disposition, the more he was convinced, that the 
 comfort of his life, and his advancement in art, would 
 be most easily, and most effectually promoted by his 
 setting limits to his passion for popular applause, and 
 confining the display of his works, whether portraits 
 or fancy pictures, to the circle of his own domestic 
 gallery, which gradually became a favorite scene of 
 general resort. The extent of his business, as a por- 
 trait painter, and the rapidity of his pencil, may be 
 estimated from the following anecdote lately imparted 
 to me by his worthy disciple Mr. Robinson, of Win- 
 dermere, who residing with him in the year 1785, 
 and keeping a regular account of his sitters, found, 
 
103 
 
 that their portraits, painted in that year, amounted 
 to the sum of ^3635, according to the following 
 prices of the painter at that time : For a whole length 
 eighty guineas, for a half whole length sixty, for a 
 half length forty, for a kit-cat thirty, for a head 
 twenty guineas. 
 
 The emoluments of portrait painting may be said 
 both to support and to ruin a great artist: They af- 
 ford him affluence, but they impede his progress in 
 that higher field of imagination, which promises a 
 richer harvest of delight and honor. Romney felt and 
 lamented the fetters of his profession, and often pleased 
 himself with a prospect of shaking them off, but he 
 was not aware of the infinite efforts required to break 
 the golden fetters of custom. He was not dazzled, 
 or enslaved by the gold he gained, for he had a spirit 
 superior to such bribery, and he often threw money 
 away as rapidly as he acquired it; but he really had a 
 pleasure in painting a new face, exclusive of all pe- 
 cuniary considerations, and his heart was so tenderly 
 sympathetic, that if he had resolved most solemnly 
 
104 
 
 never to paint another portrait for any fresh sitter, 
 yet a lover, begging a likeness of his favorite nymph, 
 or a mother, requesting a resemblance of a darling 
 child, might have melted, in a few moments, his 
 sternest resolution. If the facility, with which he 
 sympathized in the feelings of those, who required 
 his attention, often led him to find in portrait- 
 painting much cordial gratification, unmixed with 
 ideas of interest; on the other hand it tormented him 
 exceedingly, when he was desired to preserve an exact 
 likeness, and yet to bestow considerable character on 
 a countenance, to which nature had given very little 
 or none. On such occasions he was apt to be very 
 faithful in his representation of life, and once when 
 the portrait of a simple gentleman was sent back to 
 him to receive a more animated countenance, I re- 
 member to have seen the artist in much ludicrous 
 perplexity from having vainly tried to make a sim- 
 pleton, most truly delineated, retain his own features, 
 and yet look like a man of sense. I could not on this 
 occasion apply to him an admirable compliment ad- 
 drest by Dryden to his friend Kneller; 
 
105 
 
 " Thus thou sometimes art fore d to draxv a fool, 
 But so his follies in thy posture sink, 
 The senseless idiot seems at last to think." 
 
 For in the portrait alluded to, a weakness of under- 
 standing was still visible, after repeated endeavours of 
 the mortified painter to give his too faithful inanimate 
 image the requested air of intelligence. 
 
 But the pleasures, and vexations, of portrait- 
 painting were almost forgotten in the splendid pros- 
 pect of higher occupation, which opened upon the 
 painters of our country, in the year 1786, when the 
 late Alderman Boydell began to conceive, and develop, 
 his important project of forming the Shakespeare 
 Gallery. His nephew, Mr. Josiah Boydell, has said 
 in a Preface to the magnificent book, which his en- 
 terprising uncle did not live to complete, that the 
 project originated from an accidental conversation in 
 his house at Hampstead ; but in this account there is 
 a little mistake, of which its author was probably not 
 
106 
 
 aware: The project may be rather said to have origi- 
 nated in the parlour of Romney, for the conference 
 at Hampstead was, in truth, the sequel of a very ani- 
 mated and amicable conversation between the Al- 
 derman and the Painter in Cavendish Square, in which, 
 as in the conference at Hampstead, I happened to be 
 one of the party. 
 
 The first idea of forming a series of paintings from 
 Shakespeare, as a great national work, seems to belong 
 to the poet Collins, as Mrs. Barbauld has well observed 
 in an elegant and judicious Preface to her edition 
 of that author, who, in his Epistle to Sir Thomas 
 Hanmer, in speaking of Shakespeare, exclaims 
 
 " O might some verse with happiest skill persuade 
 Expressive picture to adopt thine aid! 
 What wondrous draught might rise from every page! 
 What other Raphaels charm a distant age!" 
 
 The late Alderman Boydell, tho' not exactly such 
 an enthusiast as the poet Collins, had an uncommon 
 
107 
 
 ardor of mind, and such an extensive acquaintance 
 with the busy world, as rendered him, in many points, 
 a fit agent to realize the vision of the poet. He had 
 long been in the habit of employing the talents of 
 English artists, and had raised a considerable for- 
 tune from the success of their labor. He had also a 
 large portion of honest and laudable pride, which led 
 him to take infinite delight in the idea of extending 
 his commercial prospects by the advancement of na- 
 tional honor. He spoke to Romney of a Shakespeare 
 Gallery: The professional, and the patriotic enthu- 
 siasm of the painter kindled at the first mention of the 
 idea; and he immediately offered, in the most liberal 
 manner, to devote whatever powers he might possess 
 to a friendly promotion of a project, that could hardly 
 fail to interest every lover of the arts and of England. 
 At the same time he generously suggested to the san- 
 guine projector, the perils, which might attend the 
 conduct of an enterprise so important. He thought 
 the painters ought to shew their liberality, and public 
 spirit, by working, in support of such an undertaking, 
 
 p 2 
 
108 
 
 without any prospect of great emolument; he named 
 a moderate sum for pictures of the largest size; a sum, 
 which however inadequate it might appear to the la- 
 bour, he declared he should himself be willing to ac- 
 cept on the occasion, if generally established among 
 all the artists of eminence. I mention this anecdote 
 to obviate an evil report against Romney, accusing 
 him of having acted unfairly towards the conductor 
 of the project, by first offering to paint for it on very 
 moderate terms, and afterwards requiring much more. 
 It is true, that Romney's first proposal to the late 
 Alderman was liberal, and friendly, in a high degree; 
 but it was conditional, and the Alderman himself vio- 
 lated the condition in a manner, that wounded the 
 honest pride of the artist, by offering to other painters 
 a sum far superior to what Romney had suggested, as 
 the general reward for each. The circumstance gave 
 rise, I believe, to some pecuniary squabbles, of which 
 I know not the progress, or the issue ; they are better 
 forgotten than revived ; and I shall close the subject 
 of their dispute with one remark on the real character 
 of the parties concerned. They were both men of an 
 
109 
 
 eager spirit, and a warm temper ; such as are very apt 
 to misunderstand each other, and to grow angry in 
 proportion to that misunderstanding : both have been 
 accused of avarice, by their enemies, and both, I am, 
 persuaded, unjustly. Each might have a transient ap- 
 pearance of labouring under that sordid infirmity, but 
 I am inclined to think, that much as they differed in 
 their feelings on many points, the ruling passion of 
 both was an active, and a generous, zeal in the ser- 
 vice of art. But to return to the first conference 
 between them concerning Shakespeare: It closed with 
 a request from the Alderman, that we might adjourn 
 the debate from Cavendish Square to the house of his 
 nephew, at Hampstead. On Saturday the 4th of 
 November, 1786, Mr. Josiah Boydell entertained, in 
 a very hospitable manner, the little party of friends 
 to the projected Gallery, whom he has named in his 
 Preface to Shakespeare. How far the project was 
 ripened in the discourse of that day, I do not recol- 
 lect, but I find among my old papers relating to that 
 period, one which I wrote at the request of the elder 
 Boydell entitled " The first sketch of a project to en- 
 
110 
 
 courage historical painting in this kingdom, and to 
 render at the same time a national tribute to the ge- 
 nius of Shakespeare." After stating the patriotic Al- 
 derman's design of building a gallery, and publishing 
 a book, it closes with the following notice of his 
 earliest intention concerning the commencement of 
 his publication. — " The first Number will contain 
 Macbeth, and As you like it; the four Designs of this 
 Number by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Romney, Mr. 
 West, and Mr. Copley." 
 
 The Alderman in beginning this enterprise soon 
 found himself in a path of flowers, and of thorns. Like 
 the manager of a great public theatre, he had much 
 to please him from the sympathetic zeal, the ambi- 
 tion, and the talents; much to plague him from the 
 pretensions, the caprices, and the infirmities of the 
 many clashing individuals, whom it became his busi- 
 ness to unite in the formation of a sumptuous spec- 
 tacle, for his commercial advantage, and for the 
 amusement and honor of his country. In the course 
 of his long, and busy, life he had au uncommon share 
 
Ill 
 
 both of obloquy and applause. He had difficulties of 
 many kinds to encounter, and misfortunes to sustain, 
 that no sagacity could prevent, or foresee ; but he 
 seems never to have lost a manly confidence in his own 
 industry, and zeal, and in the candor, and liberality, 
 of the nation, which he had so long endeavoured to 
 adorn. It is pleasing to reflect, that this enterprising 
 merchant of the arts was rescued from impending 
 ruin by the justice, and generosity, of our country. 
 That he had a heart to feel deep, and delightful, gra- 
 titude for such public beneficence, I am persuaded by 
 a petty incident, relating to myself, to whom he 
 could only have a very trifling obligation. On my 
 sending a small subscription to his Lottery, I received 
 from him a letter of kindness, accompanied by a pre- 
 sent of peculiar value to me, as it comprised all the 
 prints, which he had ever published, from pictures 
 of our departed friend Romney. The grateful Al- 
 derman magnified my little services in the business of 
 his Shakespeare ; but in truth I had no pretensions to 
 any signal favor from him on that occasion. I hap- 
 pened indeed to be passing some weeks with our friend 
 
112 
 
 in Cavendish Square, when the project arose. I was 
 highly pleased with Romney's eagerness to devote 
 himself to historical painting ; and with the Alderman's 
 zeal in entering upon the arduous adventure of his 
 Gallery: but I wrote nothing in its favor except a 
 brief sketch of the project which I have mentioned, 
 and a letter to engage my friend Wright of Derby 
 to paint for the Gallery. My application to Wright 
 was made at the earnest desire of the Alderman, whom 
 I zealously advised to interest the late Mr. Steevens 
 in his important undertaking, by persuading that 
 gentleman to superintend the projected magnificent 
 edition of Shakespeare; as I knew, by a long inter- 
 course with the most sprightly of commentators, that 
 he had studied our unrivalled dramatist during many 
 years with the fondest enthusiasm. 
 
 The active mind of Romney was now thrown 
 into great agitation by the prospect of a new career. 
 He had long expressed a very anxious wish to find 
 some promising field, in which he might endeavour 
 to obtain distinction in the higher province of his art. 
 
113 
 
 This desire became most remarkably predominant, 
 when Reynolds received a commission to paint an his- 
 torical picture for the Empress of Russia, and sent his 
 infant Hercules to Petersburgh. In admiring 1 the 
 various beauties of that splendid picture, I seemed to 
 feel that the great artist might have chosen a subject 
 more suited to the occasion, than a very hacknied in- 
 cident of antient mythology; and I exhorted Romney 
 in one of his autumnal periods of historical study, to 
 paint a striking scene from the life of the Czar Peter, 
 and send it as a present to the imperial Catherine. 
 The idea pleased my friend ; and a very important 
 scene was selected, that struck his fancy most forcibly 
 as pathetic and sublime; it seemed peculiarly to suit 
 his powers of expression, and he settled the plan of 
 the whole picture in his mind, but other occupations, 
 made him soon abandon all ideas of presenting to a 
 sovereign so little attractive in all her magnificence, 
 any spontaneous offering of his art. The idea of 
 painting from his favorite Shakespeare was much more 
 alluring to the spirit of Romney. He had a quick 
 
 Q 
 
114 
 
 and keen relish for the beauties of that wonderful 
 poet, altho' his own fancy was so volatile, and his mode 
 of reading so desultory, that it may be questioned, if 
 he ever read, without interruption, two acts of the 
 dramas that he most cordially admired. The feelings of 
 Romney often displayed, in the strongest point of view, 
 the astonishing force of habit. It seems surprising 
 that the man, who with a pencil in his hand, could 
 attend to a single subject for many hours, without 
 any symptoms of fatigue, should feel his powers of 
 attention very rapidly exhausted, if he exchanged his 
 pencil for a book, or a pen. Even the great Michael 
 Angelo seems, at times, to have had similar feelings, 
 for in one of his letters he says, " Writing is to me a 
 very irksome occupation, because it is not my art." 
 " Lo scrivere m e di grande affanno, perche non e mia 
 arte!" 
 
 I have transcribed the original words of this il- 
 lustrious artist, but perhaps we ought not to under- 
 stand them in a literal sense, as we have several of 
 his compositions, both in prose and verse. Mr. Duppa 
 
115 
 
 has added to his excellent Life of Michael Angelo a 
 series of his letters, and a more copious collection of 
 his poems; poetry seems to have been a favorite 
 amusement of his devout and venerable old age. It is 
 probable that his professional writings, mentioned by 
 his scholar Condivi, have perished, altho' Gori in his 
 Notes on Condivi probably meant to include them in 
 his enumeration of Michael Angelo's writings, namely 
 Ragionamenti, le lettere, e le Rime" I conclude the 
 Ragionamenti to be lost, as they would not otherwise 
 have escaped the researches of Michael Angelo's last 
 very accurate and zealous biographer. It may how- 
 ever gratify the curious to observe, that some notice 
 of them may be found in the work of a Florentine, 
 Vicentio Card uchi, who rose to considerable eminence 
 as a painter in Spain. He published at Madrid, about 
 seventy years after the decease of Michael Angelo, 
 44 Dialogues upon Art, between a Master and a Dis- 
 ciple," in the Spanish language. In the commence- 
 ment of the work, the disciple enumerates the trea- 
 tises, he read for the acquisition of professional know- 
 
 q 2 
 
I 
 
 116 
 
 ledge, after naming those of Albert Durer, Leon 
 Battista, Alberti, and others, he mentions, " Algunos 
 discursos manuscrittos doctissimos de Michael Angel" 
 I do not recollect any later trace of such composi- 
 tions, but this seems to prove that in 1633 they still 
 existed. It is remarkable that they are not mentioned 
 by Vasari, who has not failed to declare, that he 
 heard his illustrious master and friend utter many ad- 
 mirable observations on art, which he, Vasari, in- 
 tended to preserve and publish in the form of a dia- 
 logue: an intention that his editor Bottari says he 
 never fulfilled. 
 
 Romney resembled, and far surpassed, Michael 
 Angelo in a dislike to the mere manual act of writ- 
 ing. A peculiarity in his disposition the more to be 
 regretted, because he had a fund of original ideas 
 relating to his own art, and also such an uncommon 
 energy of mind, that, with a moderate application to 
 the pen, he might have rendered himself a writer of 
 very powerful eloquence. 
 
 In conversation he was often delightfully elo- 
 
117 
 
 quent, particularly in describing to a friend pathetic 
 scenes in humble life, which he often explored ; some- 
 times for the purpose of discovering new subjects for 
 his art; and frequently for the nobler purpose of reliev- 
 ing distress ; for no man could be more tenderly alive 
 both to the duty, and the delight of generous com- 
 passion, and evangelical charity. His constant flow 
 of lucrative business supplied him with a fund for the 
 distribution of alms so extensive, that I am persuaded 
 no one could form any accurate idea of their amount. 
 From the period of his settling in Cavendish Square, 
 to the year I am now speaking of, 1786, his chief at- 
 tention had been devoted to portraits. In that time he 
 had painted almost all the eminent characters of his 
 country. Mr. Pitt sat to him in July 1783. He had 
 often five sitters in a day, and he laboured so assidu- 
 ously, that he supposed his work of every morning, on 
 an average, had it all been employed on the same can- 
 vas, might be sufficient to produce one complete pic- 
 ture of his smallest size. Such was the speed, and such 
 the popularity of his pencil, that he might thus be said 
 to paint at the rate of a portrait every day. He wished 
 
118 
 
 however continually for higher, and more diversified, 
 occupation ; tho' he relieved himself occasionally by 
 painting a few fancy pictures: In executing some of 
 these, he had the great advantage of studying the fea- 
 tures, and the mental character, of a lady, on whom 
 nature had lavished such singular beauty, and such 
 extraordinary talents, as have rendered her not only 
 the favorite model of Romney, whom she honored 
 with her filial tenderness, and esteem, but the ido- 
 lized wife of an accomplished ambassador. 
 
 In having occasion to speak of Lady Hamilton, 
 my gratitude is doubly excited ; first by a pleasing 
 recollection of her invariable kindness to our fa- 
 vourite departed painter, and secondly by a deep and 
 just sense of the friendly solicitude she expressed for 
 me in a season of sickness, when she most kindly in- 
 vited me to restore my declining health by residing 
 under her care in the salutary climate of Naples. 
 
 The high and constant admiration, with which 
 Romney contemplated the personal, and mental en- 
 
119 
 
 dowments of this lady, and the gratitude he felt for 
 many proofs of her friendship, will appear in passages 
 from his letters, describing some memorable incidents, 
 when their recent and pleasing impression on his mind 
 and heart gave peculiar vivacity to his description. 
 The talents, which nature bestowed on the fair Emma, 
 led her to delight in the two kindred arts of Music, 
 and Painting. In the first she acquired great practical 
 ability ; for the second she had exquisite taste, and 
 such expressive powers, as could furnish to an histo- 
 rical painter, an inspiring model for the various cha- 
 racters, either delicate, or sublime, that he might 
 have occasion to represent. Her features, like the 
 language of Shakespeare, could exhibit all the feel- 
 ings of nature, and all the gradations of every pas- 
 sion, with a most fascinating truth, and felicity of ex- 
 pression. Romney delighted in observing the wonder- 
 ful command she possessed over her eloquent features, 
 and thro' the surprising vicissitudes of her destiny she 
 ever took a generous pride in serving him as a model; 
 her peculiar force and variations of feeling, coun- 
 tenance, and gesture, inspirited and ennobled the 
 
120 
 
 productions of his art. One of his earliest fancy 
 pictures, from this animated model, was a whole- 
 length of Circe with her magic wand. It could not 
 be painted later than the year 1782, as I recollect a 
 letter from a friend, in that year, describing the very 
 powerful impression made by this picture on a party 
 who then surveyed it. Some years afterwards I had 
 a conversation in Romney's gallery on the same pic- 
 ture with an opulent nobleman, now no more, who 
 discovered a faint inclination to purchase it, but it 
 was reserved for a purchaser of superior taste. A 
 Calypso, a Magdalen, a Wood Nymph, a Bacchante, 
 the Pythian Priestess on her tripod, and a Saint 
 Cecilia, were all drawn from the same admirable mo- 
 del. In 1786 her features gave rise to the picture of 
 Sensibility. Several incidents relating to this pic- 
 ture were so singularly pleasant, that a brief account 
 of them may be acceptable to my reader. 
 
 During my visit to Romney in November, I hap- 
 pened to find him one morning contemplating by him- 
 self, a recently coloured head, on a small canvas. I 
 
rublipied .4pn'l 14* ISflQ br Thomas Pavni, Tall .Mall ■ ^> 
 
121 
 
 expressed my admiration of his unfinished work in 
 the following terms: — "This is a most happy beginning: 
 you never painted a female head with such exquisite 
 expression ; you have only to enlarge your canvas, in- 
 troduce the shrub mimosa, growing in a vase, w r ith a 
 hand of this figure approaching its leaves, and you may 
 call your picture a personification of Sensibility/' — "I 
 like your suggestion, replied the painter, and will enlarge 
 my canvas immediately." — '* Do so, (I answered with 
 exultation, on his kindly adopting my idea) and with- 
 out loss of time I will hasten to an eminent nursery- 
 man at Hammersmith, and bring you the most beau- 
 tiful plant I can find, that may suit your purpose." 
 
 The plant was immediately found ; the picture 
 finished, and deservedly admired in Romney's gallery, 
 without my entertaining any thought, that it would 
 ever be mine. It became so by the following incident: 
 a gentleman expressed an eager desire to purchase a 
 small farm, that belonged to me, contiguous to his villa; 
 I said in answer to his application, that I had no wish 
 
 R 
 
122 
 
 to sell the land in question, but as he considered the 
 acquisition of it a point so essential to his pleasure, I 
 would mention to him an idea, by which we might 
 mutually and liberally promote the pleasure of each 
 other. If he would pay such a fair and full market 
 price for the land, as might satisfy a person referred to, 
 and also present to me a certain fancy-picture, after 
 purchasing it from Romney, we might reciprocally 
 exult in our respective acquisitions. He was highly 
 pleased with the terms, and speedily sent me the pic- 
 ture. In addition to the delight arising from this per- 
 formance, as a fine work of art, it afforded me the 
 cordial gratification of terminating a disagreement be- 
 tween Romney, and the elder Boydell, on some un- 
 pleasant altercation concerning a print. I had the 
 pleasure of closing their dispute by lending this picture 
 to the alderman to be engraved for him; it returned 
 to Sussex with a letter, and two attendant figures in 
 chiaro oscuro from the friendly artist, in 1789; of these 
 I shall speak in due time. I now hasten to display the 
 feelings and resolutions of Romney, on finding himself 
 engaged in a new sphere of action. These he ex- 
 
123 
 
 pressed in a letter so forcibly written, that it proves 
 the painter's fear of wanting words, was only the 
 effect of natural reserve, and nervous timidity in 
 
 addressing* strangers. Even Cowper himself, whose 
 command of language was so masterly, felt similar em- 
 barrassment on similar occasions. They were both men 
 of genius, whose fibres were tremblingly alive. In 
 February 1787, Romney thus described himself in a 
 letter to me. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 1 often think how much more satisfaction I 
 should have in life, had 1 the power of communicating my feelings and sen- 
 timents with facility. I begin to find that a tolerable share of that power is 
 extremely necessary for me at this time, since I have been thrown more into 
 public life. Assist me in all you can, both in what will correct me in writing, 
 and what will contribute to my advantage in my profession. I have now 
 entered upon a new plan, and must fight through it with all my might. Do 
 not think I despair ! but I find it necessary to gather all the assistance, I can 
 collect from my fiends, as I have so very little time, either to think or read 
 for myself I'his cursed portrait-painting ! How I am shackled with it ! 
 I am determined to live frugally, that I may enable my self to cut it short, as 
 soon as I am tolerably independent, and then give my mind up to those de- 
 lightful regions of imagination. 
 
 You promised me you would collect and send me subjects for pictures. 
 
 Farewell my very dear friend, 
 And believe me to be most sincerely and affectionately youfs, 
 
 R2 G. R. 
 
124 
 
 I have a peculiar gratification in communicating 
 to the public, some portions of my long correspondence 
 with my departed friend, because I am convinced they 
 will completely annihilate every unfavourable effect 
 that may have arisen, from a very hasty and bitter 
 sarcasm once uttered in company against Romney, by 
 one of his familiar acquaintance, who, while he pro- 
 fessed a regard for the painter, declared him to be so 
 grossly illiterate, that he was utterly unable to write 
 even an ordinary letter. 
 
 It is most true, that Romney abhorred the task of 
 writing a formal letter, or common note of civility, but 
 it is equally true, as I trust the subsequent pages will 
 sufficiently prove, that in pouring forth his heart to a 
 person, in whom he affectionately confided, he could 
 write with a natural eloquence, flowing from feelings 
 at once so tender, and so acute, that the language, 
 they suggested, could hardly fail to excite a consider- 
 able degree of sympathy, even in a stranger. 
 
 Had Romney devoted himself to the pen, instead 
 
125 
 
 of the pencil, he would have been a writer as original 
 as Rousseau. I have often thought that these two 
 eminent persons, though different in their studies, and 
 in their fortune, were in some points wonderfully alike. 
 They had the same vehemence of desire for distinction, 
 the same intensity of application in the pursuit of it, 
 and the same nervous terror of secret, or rather sup- 
 posed enemies, which occasioned or encreased their 
 frequent fits of depressive disquietude. 
 
 But I return to the arduous occupation of the 
 painter, in the year 1787. In the summer of that year 
 he came earlier than usual to Eartham, and devoted 
 his time with great diligence and anxiety to forming 
 a plan for his great picture from the Tempest. Our 
 friend Meyer, who had lately suffered from a fever, and 
 was recovering his strength by the pure air of Sussex, 
 happened to be one of our party, and at this, as indeed 
 at all times, expressed a most lively esteem for the ta- 
 lents, and a most friendly solicitude for the honor of 
 the artist, whom he had first introduced into the lit- 
 tle circle of my very intimate friends. Meyer, who 
 
126 
 
 had infinite quickness of perception, thought he disco- 
 vered, that his presence threw some degree of restraint 
 upon Romney, in his important studies ; and gene- 
 rously shortened his visit, lest he should any ways ob- 
 struct the imagination of our friend in the new and 
 momentous undertaking, with which his mind was now 
 beginning to labour. Imagination is a very caprici- 
 ous, and variable, power. In some men it acts per- 
 fectly superior to all surrounding circumstances : in 
 others it seems to be shackled, or rather palsied, by the 
 most trifling obstruction. There are persons, who can 
 compose a picture, or a poem, as well, and perhaps bet- 
 ter, in the presence of a friend, than if they were alone: 
 others have such a constitutional coyness of spirit, that 
 they can produce no offspring of fancy, except in ab- 
 solute solitude. Minds of the latter cast are, in gene- 
 ral I believe, the minds of finest faculties, and of sub- 
 limest power, when exerting the undisputed preroga- 
 tive of solitary meditation. After Meyer had quitted 
 us, I imparted his conjecture to Romney, who was 
 grateful for the considerate kindness of his conduct, 
 and confessed, that he wished to be left very much to 
 
127 
 
 himself. The scene, on which he now resided, was 
 happily suited to sequestered study. At a time, when 
 I was so much troubled with a tendency to inflamma- 
 tion in the eyes, that I could not ride in the open air 
 without suffering*, I had built a riding-house of wood ; 
 its size and situation rendered it peculiarly delightful 
 to the fancy of Romney, as a study for his art. It was 
 distant from the dwelling-house, and screened on three 
 sides by foliage; in its front to the south a very broad 
 gravel walk with borders of evergreens, commanded 
 an extensive view of sloping* and level land, termi- 
 nated by the sea, which when the spectator was so 
 stationed, that his eyes lost the intermediate vale, had 
 the appearance of being delightfully near to the build- 
 ing, especially when the water reflected a brilliant 
 sky. In this favorite retirement, which afforded him 
 a w alk of a hundred feet under cover, Romney began 
 to meditate on the various pictures from Shakespeare, 
 that he hoped to produce; and here he formed, on a 
 very large canvas, the first sketch of his scene from the 
 Tempest. 
 
128 
 
 It was in truth a formidable enterprize for a 
 painter, who had so long devoted himself to the quiet 
 business of painting portraits, to undertake to fill an 
 immense canvas with a multitude of figures under ve- 
 hement agitation, and to use the forcible phrase of 
 Shakespeare, in "a fever of the mad/' The intense 
 desire of executing a very grand, and sublime picture, 
 and the apprehension of failing in it, created many a 
 tempest in the fluctuating spirits of Romney. He often 
 trembled for himself ; and his intimates who most en- 
 deavoured to animate and support his courage, were 
 not without their fears of his sinking under this mighty 
 undertaking. Having sketched at Eartham a begin- 
 ning of his design, in some points happy, and in others 
 unfortunate, he returned with his great canvas to 
 London in the autumn. Rejoining him there in 
 November, I had the pleasure of observing the pro- 
 gress he made in his arduous work, and of adding my 
 influence to that of other friends, who were peculiarly 
 solicitous to encourage him on this important occasion. 
 In zeal, intelligence and affection, his pleasant friend 
 Carwardine was inferior to none. I find among my 
 
129 
 
 papers a record of his kindness to Romney at this pe- 
 riod, that exhibits this amiable man, and our beloved 
 artist also, in a point of view so interesting, that I shall 
 transcribe the anecdote and the dialogue I allude to, 
 from a letter that returned into my hands on the de- 
 cease of the friend, to whom it was addrest. 
 
 London, November 10, 1787. 
 
 / must try to amuse you, as well as my extreme haste 
 will allow, by a little history of Romney, Carwardine, and the Chancellor. — 
 Carwardine asked his great patron to subscribe to the Shakespeare, shewing him 
 the papers. 
 
 Lord Thvrlow. — TVhat ! is Romney at work for it ? He cannot 
 paint in that style, it is out of his way ; by God, he*ll make a balderdash bu- 
 siness of it. 
 
 Carwardine, — Your Lordship does not yet thoroughly know Mr. 
 Romney ; for he has such a native modesty, that it prevents his shewing, be- 
 fore your Lordship, his real powers. 
 
 Lord Thvrlow. — Have you seen his design f 
 
 Carwardine. — JVo ! my Lord, he shews it to no mortal yet. 
 
 Lord Thvrlow. — J should be glad to talk to him about it— bring 
 him to dine with me to-day, 
 
 Carwardine. — / certainly will, my Lord. 
 
 Carwardine brings this dialogue fresh to me* Away we post to the 
 
 PlTTORE. 
 
 s 
 
130 
 
 CaRTVZRDiNE. — Romney ! I have been talking to the Chancellor, about 
 you, and your great picture : he says you cannot paint from Shakespeare. 
 
 Romney. — Does he ? I should be glad to talk to him about it, for he 
 has some grand ideas in his gloomy head. 
 
 C2LRW2LRDWE. — / rejoice to hear you say so. You shall talk xvith him 
 to-day, for you are already engaged to dine with him, 
 
 Romney. — Are you in earnest ? But I cannot go. 
 
 Czlrtvarmne. — You must go. It is the happiest incident for your 
 grand work, that could have arisen. 
 
 In short Carwardine talked the terrified artist into spirits sufficient to 
 make him go, with some pleasure, to this aweful dinner, of which you shall 
 hear more in my next. 
 
 Lincoln* s Inn Fields, November 12, 1787. 
 
 You will be curious to know how our friend Romney 
 past his day with the Chancellor, Carwardine tells me, their dialogue was 
 highly entertaining to him, as they debated several points with warmth, and 
 spirit on both sides. They had no intruder to disturb the trio, and continued 
 with their great host till ten in the evening. 
 
 The zeal and conciliating manners of Carwardine 
 accomplished his benevolent wish of rendering* Lord 
 Thurlow and Romney completely acquainted, and 
 kindly just to each other. It is to the credit of these 
 two extraordinary men, that although they were both 
 stiff in their opinions, and not very apt to think, or to 
 
131 
 
 feel alike, they had still much mutual esteem. Each 
 delighted in that energy of idea, and force of expres- 
 sion, which gave to their conversation a powerful and 
 sometimes a rough spirit ; for each could speak in a 
 tone of the most refined, and endearing politeness, or 
 with an asperity, sometimes ludicrous in the display of 
 momentary spleen, and sometimes seriously alarming. 
 " Mr. Romney (said Lord Thurlow one day to the ar- 
 tist) before you paint Shakespeare, I advise you to 
 read him." The advice, though rude in its sound, was 
 materially good ; for Romney had a rapidity of fancy, 
 too apt to indulge itself in desultory excursion. He 
 was like a bee, who flies off from a flower, before he 
 has gathered half the honey, that time would enable 
 him to collect; but he was conscious of his defects, and 
 grateful even for rough admonition. He had no ser- 
 vile deference, even for the suggestions of Lord Thur- 
 low, when he felt them to be ill-founded. The Chan- 
 cellor advised him in a conversation that I recollect, 
 of a later period, to study for the features of his Pros- 
 pero, the face of a certain English nobleman in Hou- 
 
 s 2 
 
132 
 
 braken's collection of illustrious heads ; but I remember, 
 when we examined the character of the countenance 
 together, we thought it utterly unfit for the purpose. 
 
 Romney justly imagined, that it would aid, and in- 
 spirit him in his great undertaking, to take, a fresh 
 survey of Raphael's cartoons, and before I retur- 
 ned to Sussex, in 1787, a little party of his friends 
 attended him to Windsor, where we passed the night, 
 and contemplated all the pictures of the royal resi- 
 dence the next morning, under the guidance of the 
 alert, and friendly Meyer, whom we had taken up on 
 our road. We found Mr. West at work on his splendid 
 historical pictures relating to the founder of the castle ; 
 and he politely quitted his occupation to shew much 
 obliging civility to a brother artist, and the little 
 group of his companions. It was a morning of real 
 pleaure, such as memory loves to recollect. Romney 
 was gratified, in the highest degree; and declared, 
 that he felt his mind invigorated, and enriched, by a 
 hew research into the merits of Raphael: — thus con- 
 firming the sensible remark of Sir Joshua Reynolds, in 
 
133 
 
 his Twelfth Academical Discourse, " the daily food, 
 and nourishment of the mind of an artist, is found in 
 the great works of his predecessors." 
 
 Romney seems to have reduced the number of his 
 sitters in this year, that he might devote himself, with 
 the greater ardour and perseverance, to his large 
 work, in which he now advanced with a chearful spi- 
 rit, but in the first part of the following year, he had 
 a severe fit of illness, that deplorably impeded his pro- 
 gress. He describes himself in the following letter : 
 
 March 15, 1788. 
 
 Yesterday morning I received your very kind 
 letter. It was kind indeed to write immediately after hearing of my indisposi- 
 tion. In so doing you have relieved me from a zveight of anxiety, that pressed 
 upon me. I cannot bring to my mi ml any thing I have done, that could 
 give you displeasure. Forgive the irregularities in my feelings ! I have not 
 done any thing to the Cassandra, nor to Sensibility, since you left me, nor 
 made any advances in the Tempest-scene, the last two months* Be assured I 
 love you well, and would not do any thing intentionally to offend you. 
 
 Ever most sincerely and affectionately your's, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 P. S. I began to write yesterday, but could not get on, I was so weak. 
 I am much better to-day } and to-morrow begin to work. 
 
134 
 
 My displeasure, to which my friend alluded, and 
 the cause of it all vanished from my mind, and were 
 absorbed in my extreme solicitude for his perfect re- 
 covery. His health revived, but continued more than 
 usually tender. In searching- for traces of our inter- 
 course this year, I find, that I pressed him most 
 anxiously to hasten into Sussex. I was peculiarly so- 
 licitous to render his residence in the country as quiet 
 as possible, not only that I might enjoy more of his so- 
 ciety, but that his pencil might work with the hap- 
 pier energy. I assured him, with great truth, that I 
 loved his society very much, but that his glory was 
 still dearer to me, than my own pleasure, or rather, 
 that it made one among the best pleasures of my life. 
 I entreated him to be with me just as much as he 
 thought most consistent with this, our darling object. 
 
 The air of London had opprest him so much in April, 
 that he took a lodging in Hampstead, merely to sleep 
 in, and return to business in town early every morn- 
 ing. I was painfully alarmed by the deprest state of 
 his spirits, and hope, that I contributed a little to their 
 
135 
 
 revival, as I happened to be near him at this time, on 
 a visit, to one of my earliest friends, (since deceased) 
 in Lincoln's Inn Fields. I wished to take the conva- 
 lescent painter into Sussex on my return, but his 
 pressing engagements to different sitters detained him 
 in London, till the summer was advanced. He could 
 not reach Earth am till August, and was rendered in- 
 active by indisposition for some time after his arrival; 
 but he revived as usual on the spot peculiarly favor- 
 able to his health, and continued to paint there with 
 energy and success till near the end of September. 
 
 The subjects that chiefly occupied his pencil were 
 studies on canvas from Shakespeare. On his return 
 to London, he imposed a new law on himself to admit 
 no sitter till after twelve at noon, that he might em- 
 ploy all the best part of his morning in advancing his 
 great picture from the Tempest. I had the pleasure 
 of witnessing his improving progress in this very 
 anxious work, by passing the commencement of the 
 winter in London. I had taken an apartment in Bar- 
 nard's inn, under the same roof with my learned and 
 
136 
 
 benevolent friend, the late Rev. Dr. Warner, partly 
 to attend, with more convenience, to literary business 
 of my own, and partly in the hope of being useful to 
 Romney, either by encouraging- his apprehensive spi- 
 rit, or assisting* him in the humble capacity of a pain- 
 ter's layman. It was generally a great relief and gra- 
 tification to him to have the opportunity of conversing 
 with an intimate confidential friend, while his pencil 
 was employed. 
 
 Romney had a singularly quick and deep sense of 
 friendly kindness, and if a little cloud of spleen occa- 
 sionally obstructed the sunshine of his affection, the 
 cloud was easily dispersed, and in his endeavours to 
 atone for a casual asperity of humour, he was extreme- 
 ly indulgent to those he regarded, and equally severe 
 to himself. One of his letters of the following 
 year, will forcibly confirm this remark. It is a literal 
 truth that I have not the slightest trace in my memory 
 of the displeasure, to which he alludes, but he thought 
 he had offended me, and as a kind act of expiation, he 
 sent me two figures in chiaro oscuro, Sorrow and Joy, 
 
137 
 
 as companions to his picture of Sensibility, now re- 
 turning to Sussex from the hands of the engraver. 
 
 London, October 27, 1789. 
 
 My very dear friend, 
 
 I wish 1 had the power of expressing to you 
 the satisfaction I felt on reading your very kind and generous letter. To find 
 your displeasure removed gave a relief to those uncomfortable feelings, that had 
 pressed heavily upon my mind. I hope you will never have reason to complain 
 of any part of my conduct hereafter. I think I have profited by these sufferings, 
 as I have been led to examine more minutely into myself than I ever did be- 
 fore, and to correct the sudden irritations of my nervous mind. They did not 
 arise from want of affection : there was no decline in that on my part % nor 
 ever will. 
 
 I hope I shall always and under every circumstance, and situation, re- 
 member with the warmest gratitude your extraordinary kindness to me, and the 
 great benefits I have received from your hands, and your society. You have 
 been the best friend I ever had, and I have loved you accordingly. 
 
 JMy sorrow gave birth to one of the companions for Sensibility. You 
 will find it is The Painter's Muse in Tears, and I fatter myself you will feel it, 
 and like it. 
 
 I am very much obliged by your kind invitation to Eartham. I will 
 take a run down if it be only for a day or two. 
 
 I wish you would again make my house your town residence. I suffer 
 much by the loss of your society. Be assured my dear friend, I am with the 
 most sincere affection, ever your's. 
 
 G. R. 
 
 T 
 
138 
 
 My reply to a letter so full of gratitude and af- 
 fection assured the feeling 1 and candid artist of my firm 
 persuasion, that we loved each other. I expressed a 
 chearful hope that our reciprocal regard, so necessary 
 to the comfort of each, would not only last to the end 
 of our existence, but be remembered to our mutual 
 honor, when both shall have ceased to live. May the 
 book that I am now writing have merit sufficient to 
 verify that affectionate prediction, and faithfully pre- 
 serve the memory of a long, and cordial friendship, to 
 which I may truly and gratefully profess myself indebted 
 for innumerable hours of social delight. 
 
 In the midst of these tender recollections I cannot 
 fail to remark, that the year which this narrative has 
 now reached, 1789, deprived Romney and me of the 
 lively and zealous friend, who had first made us ac- 
 quainted, and had e ver taken a generous pleasure in 
 promoting our mutual regard. A fever contracted 
 by friendly zeal, in the service of a gentleman engaged 
 in a contested election, proved fatal to Meyer. 
 
139 
 
 Strong vital powers supported him through the 
 distemper, but his relapse soon terminated a life un- 
 commonly active and beneficent. As few mortals can 
 be more worthy of grateful remembrance either as a 
 man or an artist, I shall here insert the well-merited 
 eulogy that truth and affection inscribed upon his 
 tomb : 
 
 Meyer, in thy works, the world will ever see, 
 
 How great the loss of art, in losing thee, 
 
 But love and sorrow find their zvords too weak, 
 
 Nature* s keen sufferings on thy death to speak : 
 
 Thro* all her duties what a heart was thine ! 
 
 In this cold dust, what spirit us'd to shine ? 
 
 Fancy and truth, and gaiety and zeal, 
 
 What most we love in life, and losing feel. 
 
 Age after age, may not one artist yield, 
 
 Equal to thee, in painting* s nicer field ; 
 
 And ne'er shall sorrowing earth to Heaven commend, 
 
 A fonder parent, or a firmer friend. 
 
 t2 
 
 i 
 
140 
 
 I now return to the great picture, which had oc- 
 casionally exercised through several years the imagi- 
 nation, and the pencil of Romney. He finished it in 
 the spring, of 1790. His solicitude concerning its 
 completion, and his gratitude to Heaven for having 
 supported his apprehensive spirit, under a long work 
 of such intense anxiety, are so forcibly described in 
 the following letter, that nothing can shew in a 
 stronger point of view the feelings of the painter. 
 
 Jpriln, 1790. 
 
 My bear friend, 
 
 Your kindness in rejoicing so heartily at the 
 birth of my picture has given me great satisfaction. 
 
 There has been an anxiety labouring in my mind the greatest part of the 
 last twelvemonth. At times it had nearly overwhelmed me. I thought 1 
 should absolutely have sunk into despair. O what a kind friend is in those 
 times ! I thank God (whatever my picture may be) I can say thus much, 
 1 am a greater philosopher, and a better christian. 
 
 Your's most affectionately, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 The relief of mind, that Romney enjoyed onhaving 
 delivered this large and splendid performance to the 
 candor, or the severity of the public, was proportioned 
 
Ihili/hed^pnl /</*/iOp. by Themes Fame. Fall Mall 
 
141 
 
 to the long and anxious labour, which he had bestow- 
 ed upon it. He was happily conscious, that it was the 
 production of no ordinary painter, and he was also 
 aware, that with considerable merit, it had striking 
 defects, arising from his imperfect and fortuitous 
 education in art, and from the habits of his profes- 
 sional life. There is great force, and magnificence, 
 but not equal clearness of conception in the design, 
 for the hurly-burly in the ship, and the cell of the 
 princely enchanter are unfortunately huddled together. 
 This appeared to me a radical error in the original 
 sketch, which the artist tried many expedients to 
 counteract, but which, in my opinion he was never 
 able completely to remedy. Yet the picture has the 
 primary characteristic belonging to works of true ge- 
 nius, it seizes and it enchants, though it does not ab- 
 solutely satisfy the mind. It has however the grand 
 merit of exhibiting, forcibly, and faithfully, both the 
 dignity and the grace of Shakespeare's favorite cha- 
 racters. Whoever ingenuously compares the Prospero 
 and Miranda of this picture with the same personages, 
 as delineated by other artists, can hardly fail to feel 
 
142 
 
 very high esteem and respect for the genius of Rom- 
 ney. I recollect with pleasure, that when I conducted 
 that friend to works of elegance, the late Revd. Mr. 
 Cracherode to his first inspection of this picture, then 
 nearly finished in the house of my friend, I was highly 
 gratified by its powerful effect on the feelings of a nice 
 and rather fastidious, Connoisseur. The pencil of the 
 painter had an evident and acknowledged triumph 
 over the prejudices of a refined taste, that had long 
 idolized the designs of the great Italian school, and 
 expected but little from English art. 
 
 Of all the admirers of Romney, who rejoiced with 
 him on the completion of his great picture, no one 
 could speak with more zeal for the honor of the artist, 
 than our warm-hearted friend Dr. Warner, who kind- 
 ly informed me in March, 1790, of the visit that had 
 been paid by himself and by LordThurlow, to the newly*- 
 finished production in the house of the painter. He 
 is coming forth said the animated divine with a jpra> 
 fulgebit indeed, to " flame amazement" like his Ariel, 
 
143 
 
 The zealous friend to every laudable exertion r 
 who thus spoke of Romney, was engaged the same 
 year, 1790, to attend asa domestic Chaplain, the present 
 Marquis of Stafford, who was then going 1 with the title 
 of Lord Gower, as the English Ambassador to Paris. 
 The father of this nobleman had ever shewn a particu- 
 lar regard for Romney, and as his son expressed a 
 similar disposition, the benevolent Chaplain of the new 
 Ambassador very earnestly entreated the artist and his 
 companion of Sussex, to seize so favorable an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing Paris with advantage. It was a time 
 when that scene of astonishing vicissitudes presented 
 to the friends of peace, of freedom, and of the arts, a 
 spectacle of chearful curiosity, and of hope so mag- 
 nificent in promises of good to mankind, that philan- 
 thropy could not fail to exult in the recent prospect, 
 unconscious that the splendid vision was destined to 
 sink in the most execrable horrors of barbarity and 
 blood. 
 
 Romney and his friend, were equally willing to 
 accept so kind an invitation, and our little party was 
 
144 
 
 completed according to our wishes by the accession of a 
 most pleasant fellow-traveller. The Revd. Thomas Car- 
 wardine, the friend of Romney, during" many past years, 
 and at a future period, a very zealous and useful friend 
 to Cowper. 
 
 The three associates set forth from Eartham on 
 the thirty-first of July. Passing by Brighton and 
 Dieppe, they arrived at Paris on the third of August, 
 in the evening, and were most cheerfully received by 
 their friend Dr. Warner, who provided them with 
 apartments in the Hotel de Modene. 
 
 The few weeks, that we passed in Paris, at this in- 
 teresting period, were so abundantly productive of in- 
 tellectual, and social entertainment, that from a re- 
 collection of our travels, I might easily form an ex- 
 tensive episode to this work, but wishing to fix my 
 own attention and that of my reader, on my principal 
 subject, I shall here only mention such particulars of 
 our excursion, as may best illustrate the life and cha- 
 racter of Romney. 
 
145 
 
 To the regard, with which our friend was honored 
 by Lord Gower and Lady Sutherland, I consider my- 
 self and Carwardine indebted for the very polite at- 
 tention, and kindness, by which they condescended to 
 take a most obliging interest in all our amusements. 
 Here I cannot fail to remark, that the painter described 
 as never to be seen at the tables of the great, except 
 that of Lord Thurlow, might have been seen, not only 
 dining repeatedly with the English Ambassador in 
 Paris, but graciously conducted by that nobleman or 
 his lady, to the houses of foreign artists and to such ob- 
 jects of curiosity, as they esteemed worthy of his notice. 
 
 Romney did not forget, that his chief motive for 
 an excursion to France was a wish to improve himself 
 in art by a studious inspection of the finest pictures, 
 that could be found in that country. The very first 
 morning, after his arrival in Paris, was employed in 
 a visit to the Orleans collection. As these admirable 
 pictures have since been publicly exhibited in London, 
 I shall only say of them, that although several were at 
 
 u 
 
146 
 
 this time in the hands of picture-cleaners, yet Romney 
 was favored in future mornings, with the liberty of 
 surveying them all, by the kindness of a new acquaint- 
 ance, the present Duke of Orleans. He was then a 
 youth, the eldest in the group of princely disciples, at 
 that time attending the accomplished governess, who 
 presided over their education, the celebrated Madame 
 de Genlis. 
 
 As I had formerly addrest a short poem to this 
 lady, I was eager to solicit opportunities of conversing 
 with the person, whose writings had afforded me in- 
 struction and delight ; and I should consider myself 
 as deficient in gratitude, and truth, if I failed to say 
 on this occasion, that as a companion, and as a friend, 
 she more than answered those pleasing expectations, 
 which the authoress had excited. To this lady our 
 party was indebted for every thing, that politeness, be- 
 nevolence, and graceful talents could accomplish in 
 promoting the wishes of three strangers in her country, 
 who had devoted a few weeks to the purpose of sur- 
 veying in that country such objects of curiosity as 
 
147 
 
 they deemed most worthy of a traveller's attention. 
 She entertained us in a variety of scenes, in the con- 
 vent de la belle cliasse where she resided, in another 
 convent at a little distance from Paris, and in the 
 villa of Rancy. Her engaging disciples of both sexes, 
 added to the charm of her society. Romney was 
 highly pleased with the sprightly benevolence of this 
 admirable lady, and at a future period, when she vi- 
 sited London, he drew a rapid yet faithful sketch of 
 her animated features. 
 
 Years of sickness, affliction, and retirement con- 
 spired, with the troubled state of the continent, to in- 
 terrupt my epistolary intercourse with this elegant 
 writer, but I trust she will forgive the liberty I now 
 take to decorate a volume with an engraving from 
 the portrait I have mentioned. I regard it not only 
 as a resemblance of a friend, to whom I have great 
 obligations, but also as serving to illustrate the profes- 
 sional talents and the heart of the friendly artist, whose 
 life I am delineating. In his subsequent years, he 
 
 it 2 
 
148 
 
 often expressed his high admiration of the original. 
 I now return to such occurrences during our brief re- 
 sidence in Paris, as particularly relate either to Rom- 
 ney, or his art. 
 
 The living painters of France, who chiefly engaged 
 his notice, were David and Greuse. Each of these 
 artists favored us with his company to dinner, and 
 David attended us in our visit to the Luxemburgh 
 gallery. This celebrated composition of Rubens had 
 been an idol of my infancy, as the prints of it happened 
 to form a part of the furniture in the dressing room of 
 my mother. Hence a sight of the original pictures 
 affected me with very singular delight. How great is 
 the influence of petty incidents in magnifying the 
 pleasures of human life, when the mind is disposed to 
 avail itself of their power? This magnificent work, 
 with striking defects, has infinite merit. It contains a 
 female head, which in point of expression appeared to 
 me one of the happiest efforts of art, that I ever beheld. 
 I venture to make some observations upon it, in oppo- 
 sition to a sentiment of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who de- 
 
149 
 
 rides those lovers of painting, that fancy they discover 
 in a picture what he thought the pencil could not ex- 
 press, a mixed emotion of the mind. The countenance 
 I allude to is that of the Queen contemplating her 
 new-born child. Her features, if I am not greatly de- 
 ceived, very clearly and forcibly display the traces of 
 departed pain, and the immediate influence of ten- 
 derness and delight. We may learn from the charm 
 of this admirable head, that the most common emotions 
 of nature, when delineated with delicacy and force, 
 are sure to interest and enchant a spectator. 
 
 The Splendor of Rubens did not strike us blind 
 to the merit of David. His death of Socrates, his 
 Paris and Helen, and his Horatii, the picture on which 
 he was then engaged, imprest us with considerable 
 respect for his talents, talents which would probably 
 have produced to him a more abundant harvest of 
 honor and happiness, than he has since enjoyed, had all 
 his attention been devoted to his inexhaustible art. 
 Painting is a jealous sovereign, and seldom allows her 
 votaries to exercise their faculties with success in op- 
 
150 
 
 posite pursuits. Moliere in the poem he addrest to his 
 friend Mignard, expresses a similar sentiment. 
 
 Qui se donne a la cour se derobe a son art; 
 
 Tin esprit partage rarement se consomme, 
 
 Et les emplois de feu demandent tout un Homme. 
 
 Apelles would have lost half his own glory had he en- 
 deavoured to participate in that of Parmenio. These 
 names remind me of another series of pictures, which 
 formed one of our principal amusements in Paris, I 
 mean the battles of Alexander, by Le Brun. We re- 
 gretted, like other travellers, that the colouring of 
 this capital artist was not more happily suited to the 
 force and dignity of his designs. 
 
 It may reasonably be supposed, that the education 
 of artists has never been so favorable to perfection as 
 it might be wished to prove, because the records of 
 painting describe no painter (even among the greatest) 
 who possessed in just, and equal, degrees, the three 
 grand branches of his art, invention, drawing and co- 
 
151 
 
 louring; the complete union of all the various possible 
 excellencies in works of human ingenuity is like abso- 
 lute moral perfection. It ought to be the object of 
 continual pursuit, though possibly it is never to be ob- 
 tained. But the archer may deem himself happy, 
 whose arrow has made a near approach to the eye of 
 the target. 
 
 The two French painters, who in the age of Louis 
 the XIV, were great rivals for public favor, Le Brun 
 and Mignard were both men of incessant application, 
 and of enterprizing talents ; but they seem to have 
 been unable to resist the great error of their time, a 
 passion for cumbrous finery. Painting, in that age, 
 and nation, appears like a strong child in a sumptuous 
 nursery, half suffocated by a heavy load of magnificence 
 in its cradle. 
 
 Poussin and Le Sueur escaped the eontagion, and 
 deserve great applause as examples of a purer taste. 
 Had the latter, who was cut off in early life, lived 
 to paint without a diminution of his powers, at the 
 
152 
 
 age of 84, (such was the singular lot of Mignard) the 
 works of Le Sueur would then probably have enabled 
 France to vie with Italy herself in her native pro- 
 ductions of art. 
 
 But it is time to recollect, that Romney and his 
 fellow travellers have yet to take leave of Paris. After 
 satiating their eyes with works of the pencil in that 
 city, and its environs, and after receiving from foreign- 
 ers, and from natives of their own country, such sea- 
 sonable proofs of friendly politeness, as they could 
 never forget, their last morning in Paris was honored 
 by an invitation to breakfast with the ladies, to whose 
 kind attention they had been so often obliged. Obli- 
 gations which they all felt most cordially, and of 
 which I find a little poetical memorial in the following 
 impromptu : 
 
153 
 
 TO MADAME DE GENLIS, AND HER COMPANIONS, 
 SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1790. 
 
 So great the favors shewn us here, 
 
 Which time can ne'er efface, 
 Our gratitude can scarce appear 
 
 Proportioned to their grace* 
 
 In this distress sure aid I seek, 
 
 Dear Pamela, from you, 
 If those sweet lips will deign to speak 
 
 Our thanks, and our adieu ! 
 
 The travellers returned, as they came, through 
 Normandy, and crossed the water from Dieppe to 
 Brighton with the common occurrences of a short 
 voyage. Romney on reaching Eartham again was 
 particularly pleased to find the new painting room 
 prepared for him, which he had wished to be built, at 
 his own expence, within the riding house, that had 
 served him occasionally as a summer study. The new 
 
 x 
 
154 
 
 apartment had a sky light to the north, with a good 
 fire-place, and was altogether so convenient for the 
 purpose intended, that the painter might work in it at 
 any season, with all the accommodation he could de- 
 sire for pictures of considerable extent. In this apart- 
 ment we both hoped he might execute many works of 
 imagination, as he proposed gradually to withdraw 
 from the drudgery of his profession. For a few years 
 it was occasionally of great use to him, and I shall men- 
 tion several productions, that he began in his favorite 
 room, but his health, already much enfeebled, allowed 
 him not to realize in advanced life the magnificent 
 projects of his enterprising fancy. 
 
 The weather during our residence in Paris had 
 been extremely hot ; this circumstance, with our in- 
 cessant occupation there, and the bustle of our return 
 had so encreased a bilious tendency in his constitution, 
 that a few days repose in his favorite scene did not re- 
 store him, as usual, to the free and rapid use of his 
 pencil. He hastened home and a part of his first let- 
 
155 
 
 ter to me from London, may serve to shew how sensi- 
 bly he felt the pitiable infirmities of his frame. 
 
 September 16, 1790. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 It is saying little to tell you of your kindness, 
 when it required so much indulgence to bear with one, who labours under both 
 a distempered mind and body, which was my case, while I rested under your 
 hospitable roof I hope your candour will forgive any irregularity of temper I 
 might appear to be under during that period. I am still far from being well, 
 either in body or mind. 
 
 JVhat a comfort it is to find a friend, that will sympathise with one when 
 pressed by afflictions ! Believe me to be sincerely and affectionately your's, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 Almost all the afflictions, that pressed on my friend, 
 through the course of his life might be considered, by 
 many persons, as nothing- more than imaginary afflic- 
 tions, but there are none perhaps more entitled to com- 
 passion. What can be more truly pitiable, than to see 
 great talents frequently rendered inactive by those 
 wonderful variations in the nervous system, that throw 
 a shadowy darkness over the mind, and fill it with 
 phantoms of apprehension. 
 
 x 2 
 
156 
 
 Romney was often harrassed by such troubles. The 
 degree of comfort, that he took in the sympathy and 
 indulgence of compassionate friendship, may be judged 
 from the following passage in one of his letters. 
 
 May 3, 1791. 
 
 MY DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 Though I do not answer your kind letters so 
 often as I could wish, yet I hope you will credit me, when I say it is a great 
 gratification to me whenever you favor me with a line. But never more so 
 than when my mind is labouring under some anxiety, and depression of spirits, 
 which has indeed been the case with me for some time past. 
 
 If there is a quality in man that approaches to divine, or that predomi- 
 nates over every other, it is a tender commisseration administered to those under 
 deep affliction, or when the mind is under some melancholy influence. 
 
 The health and spirits of Romney, were at this 
 time so impaired, that he required indeed the most 
 soothing attention of friendship. Like many other 
 sufferers from that depressive disorder, hypochondria, 
 he laboured under a frequent dread, that his talents 
 would utterly desert him ; and the following passage 
 from a letter of this period, proves his depression to 
 have been so severe, that he even thought of relinquish- 
 
157 
 
 ing his pencil, greatly as it conduced to his fortune, to 
 his pleasure, and to his renown. 
 
 After mentioning the accidental delay of my let- 
 ters, and circumstances of his recent indisposition, he 
 
 says: 
 
 In all probability, if my health be not equally good, I shall leave off bu- 
 siness, and go abroad, but it will be a year or more, before I can settle my fu 
 turc plans. 
 
 I am obliged to you for the subjects you have pointed out, {from Shake- 
 speare) for the present I havefixt on Joan la Pucelle making her incantation, 
 and another I intend from her appearance on the walls of Rouen, with a torch 
 in her hand. 
 
 An incident most seasonably occurred, which 
 raised to joyous elevation the sinking spirits of the 
 artist ; for nature had given him a heart, that could 
 most sincerely exult in the good fortune of those, he 
 regarded. The fair Emma, whom he had so often 
 painted with admiration and delight, surprised him 
 by an early visit one morning in a Turkish habit, and 
 attended by Sir William Hamilton. 
 
158 
 
 Romney had ever treated her with the tender- 
 ness of a father, which she acknowledged on this oc- 
 casion, with tears of lively gratitude, in announcing 
 to him her splendid prospect of being soon married to 
 Sir William, and of attending him to the Court of 
 Naples. 
 
 Romney had conceived such very high ideas of 
 the beauty, the talents and the heart of this lady, that 
 I believe the joy of a father, in the brilliant marriage 
 of a favorite daughter, could hardly exceed that of 
 my friend on this occasion. In his letter dated the 
 19th of June, 1791, he says : 
 
 At present, and the greatest part of the summery I shall be engaged in 
 painting pictures from the divine lady. I cannot give her any other epithet, 
 for I think her superior to all womankind. I have two pictures to paint of her 
 for the Prince of Wales. She says she must see you, before she leaves Eng- 
 land, which will be in the beginning of September. She asked me if you would 
 not write my life: — I told her you had begun it: — then, she said, she hoped you 
 zvould have much to say of her in the life, as she prided herself in being my 
 model. So you see I must be in London till the time, when she leaves town. 
 Believe me to be, with the sincerest love to your house, ever your's, 
 
 G. R. 
 
159 
 
 In another letter July the 7th, he says : 
 
 / dedicate my time to this charming lady ; there is a prospect of her leav- 
 ing town with Sir William, for two or three weeks. They are very much hur- 
 ried at present, as every thing is going on for their speedy marriage, and all 
 the world following her, and talking of her, so that if she had not more good 
 sense, than vanity, her brain must be turned. 
 
 The pictures t I have begun, are Joan of Arc, a Magdalen, and a Bac- 
 chante, for the Prince of Wales ; and another I am to begin as a companion 
 to the Bacchante* I am also to paint a picture of Constance for the Shake- 
 speare Gallery. 
 
 The weather has been so very hot, and my health so indifferent, that it has 
 rendered me almost unable to write. I beg you will be so kind as to answer 
 this soon, and believe me to be with the greatest sincerity and affection, §c. 
 
 His intended picture of Constance was, I believe, 
 never begun, but his Joan of Arc had a countenance 
 of most powerful expression. The head was thought 
 one of the finest, that he ever painted from the fea- 
 tures of his favorite model, and gave rise to the fol- 
 lowing 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 A bright attornment soothes that injured shade, 
 Who drew from Orleans her immortal fame : 
 Hark ! hear you not the heroine exclaim? 
 
160 
 
 "Now I renounce, by grateful honor swayed, 
 My jixt abhorrence of the English name : 
 Here I at last am worthily portrayed, 
 And for this tribute to my glory paid, 
 Forgive all past indignity and shame. 
 
 No more I deem this isle a savage clime: 
 Her chiefs to me were barbarously base, 
 And Shakespeare, of her lofty bards the prime, 
 Drezv a faint copy of my soul sublime : 
 Buty generous Romney, you my wrongs efface, 
 And crown my deathless form with dignity and grace." 
 
 I trust the good-natured reader will not be dis- 
 pleased in finding that I insert in this narrative a few 
 occasional rhymes, which owed their origin to the 
 delight I took in the pictures of Romney, and in a 
 zealous wish to support and encourage the apprehen- 
 sive spirits of my friend. It was a maxim with him 
 that every modest and diffident artist ought to have 
 almost a daily portion of chearing applause. He con- 
 sidered honest and temperate praise as the vital ali- 
 ment of genius. 
 
161 
 
 I never knew any mortal more feelingly alive to 
 the influence both of commendation and of censure; 
 of esteem, or of neglect. Even a shadow of coldness 
 in the deportment of a person, from whom he expected 
 great cordiality of regard, could almost paralyse his 
 powers as a painter. 
 
 A striking instance of his extreme sensibility oc- 
 curred at this time, when his spirits had been happily 
 revived in contemplating the charms, the prosperity, 
 and the friendship, of Lady Hamilton: for he was de- 
 prest again by a sudden and groundless apprehension 
 of having lost her esteem. His letters at this period, 
 display, in the clearest point of view, the singular a- 
 cuteness of his feelings. 
 
 Augusts, 1791. 
 
 JVLy DE2tR FRIEND, 
 
 As you will probably wonder at my silence, it 
 zvill be necessary to give you some account of the cause. In my last letter I 
 think I informed you, that 1 was going to dine, with Sir IVilliam and his Lady. 
 In the evening of that day, there were collected several people of fashion to 
 hear her sing. She performed, both in the serious and comic, to admiration s 
 
 Y 
 
162 
 
 both in singing and acting ; hut her Nina surpasses every thing I ever 
 saw, and I believe, as a piece of acting, nothing ever surpassed it. The 
 whole company were in an agony of sorrow. Her acting is simple, grand, ter- 
 rible, and pathetic. My mind was so much heated, that I was for running 
 down to Eartham to fetch you up to see her. But alas ! soon after, I thought 
 I discovered an alteration in her conduct to me. A coldness and neglect seemed 
 to have taken place of her repeated declarations of regard for me. They left 
 town to make many visits in the country. I expect them again the latter end 
 of this weelc, when my anxiety (for I have suffered very much ) will be either 
 relieved, or hicreased, as I find her conduct. It is highly probable, that none 
 of the pictures will be finished, except 1 find her more friendly, than she ap- 
 peared the last time I saw her. I had it in contemplation to run down for a 
 day or two, before she returned to town, to bring you up with me, and I men- 
 tioned it to her. She said do so, but in a cold manner, though a fortnight be- 
 fore, when I said I would do so, she teas very desirous that I should bring you 
 to town. You will see every thing is in great uncertainty , but it may turn out 
 better than I expect. 
 
 So far I had written before I received your kind letter, and now I have 
 just time to give you a very short answer to it. 
 
 I shall certainly make you a visit, and I would rather visit you when 
 you have no company. 
 
 Sir Richard Hoare has just brought from Rome a very fine design, 
 from our friend Flaxman, for Collins 's monument. You shall have it very 
 soon. Believe me to be, with the sincerest affection. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. R. 
 
163 
 
 As I was perfectly aware, how much the power 
 of Romney to exercise his talents, depended on the 
 tranquility of his mind, in the concerns of friendship, 
 I sent him the following rhymes, entreating him to 
 transcribe, and present them to the lady, with his 
 own signature. 
 
 Gracious Cassandra ! whose benign esteem, 
 To my weak talent every aid supplied ; 
 
 Thy smile to me zvas inspiration's beam, 
 
 Thy charms my model, and thy taste my guide. 
 
 But say ! what cruel clouds have darkly chilVd 
 Thy favor, that to me was vital fire?. 
 
 O let it shine again ! or zvorse than killd, 
 Thy soul-sunk artist feels his art expire. 
 
 These verses were kindly intended as a peace of- 
 fering, but the tender and generous spirit of the 
 painter had, without their assistance, completely dis- 
 sipated that little vapour of imaginary disregard, 
 
 y 2 
 
164 
 
 which had clouded the intercourse between him, and 
 his admirable model. 
 
 His next letter describes the success of his own 
 friendly pencil, in producing an event so essential to 
 his comfort. 
 
 Monday Evening August 29, 1791. 
 
 JVLy dear friend, 
 
 I have not had it in my power to write any satisfac- 
 tory answer to your first letter, till within these Jew days. Cassandra came to 
 town the 16th. and I did not see her till the 20th. so you may suppose how my 
 feelings must have suffered; she appointed to sit on the 23d. and has been 
 sitting almost every day since ; and means to sit once or twice a day, till she 
 leaves London, which will be about Wednesday or Thursday, in the next week. 
 
 JVhen she arrived to sit, she seemed more friendly than she had been, 
 and I began a picture of her, as a present for her mother, Izoas very success- 
 ful with it ; for it is thought the most beautiful head, I have painted of her yet. 
 Now indeed, I think, she is as cordial with me as ever ; and she laments very 
 much, that she is to leave England without seeing you. 
 
 I take it excessively kind in you to enter so deeply into my distresses. 
 Really my mind had suffered so very much, that my health was much affected, 
 and I was afraid, I should not have had power to have painted any more from 
 her; but since she has resumed her former kindness, my health and spirits 
 are quite recovered. 
 
165 
 
 She performed in my house last week, singing and acting before some 
 of the nobility with most astonishing powers : she is the talk of the whole town, 
 and really surpasses every thing both in singing and acting, that ever appeared. 
 Gallini offered her two thousand pounds a year, and two benefits, if she would 
 engage with him, on which Sir William said pleasantly, that he had engaged 
 her for life. 
 
 Believe me yours most affectionately, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 After taking" an affectionate leave of his two 
 kind friends, who quitted London for Naples, Rom- 
 ney hastened to Eartham; but in his ardour and 
 anxiety to paint as many pictures, as he possibly could, 
 from Lady Hamilton, before she left England, he had 
 laboured beyond his strength, and on his arrival at 
 his favorite scene both of repose, and study, he re- 
 quired much rest and care. His health was too much 
 impaired to allow him to participate in our usual sa- 
 lutary amusement of sea-bathing ; but the marine air 
 contributed to his restoration; and the commence- 
 ment of the first letter, which he sent to Sussex on his 
 return to London, before the end of October, thus 
 exprest, what no man could feel more tenderly, a cor- 
 dial gratitude for the common kind offices of friend- 
 ship. 
 
166 
 
 In the first place I must try to express to you the high sense I have of 
 your kindness to me while in Sussex. Indeed it contributed greatly to the re- 
 covery of my shattered and feeble frame, which I shall never forget. I hope 
 in a few days to be able to bring my mind into the old trammels of drudgery, 
 though it appears horrible to me to take up the trifling part of my profession. 
 
 I find by an advertisement that Cowper is concerned in the management 
 of Fuselis Milton. 
 
 A correspondence with Cowper, concerning this 
 intended Milton, led me gradually into perfect inti- 
 macy with the exquisite poet of Weston, and justly 
 regarding the friendship of that excellent person as an 
 invaluable blessing, I was eager to share it with Rom- 
 ney : but my wish and my endeavour to make the 
 poet and the artist personally known to each other, 
 will find their proper place among the occurrences of 
 the year 1792. Before I take leave of 1791, I have 
 yet to notice a passage in the letters of Romney, 
 that shews the improvement of his health, and the oc- 
 cupation of his pencil. 
 
 Soon after his return to London, I heard that 
 Madame de Genlis intended to favor me with a visit 
 at Eartham, on her road to Bath. I immediately re- 
 
1G7 
 
 quested Romney to rejoin, and assist me in entertain- 
 ing the friend, to whose kind attentions to us in Paris 
 we had been so agreeably indebted. I transcribe a 
 part of his reply. 
 
 J have received your kind letter, and am happy to find Madame de Gen r 
 lis is to pay you a visit in her way to Bath. I wish it was in my power to pay 
 my respects to her at your charming villa, but alas ! it is totally out of my 
 power. Many reasons prevent my leaving London at this time. Moreover I 
 am now set in for study. I have made a large composition from Milton, and 
 1 wish to keep my mindfixt to that work as much as possible, I hope you wilt 
 have influence enough to persuade Madame de Genlis to pass through London 
 in her return, and then I shall have time 1 hope to do something worthy of no- 
 tice from her and Pamela, 
 
 I had reason to rejoice that my friend did not 
 quit his interesting studies on this occasion, as the 
 lady was obliged to hasten immediately to Bath with- 
 out visiting Sussex; and the commencement of the 
 following year afforded him an opportunity of em- 
 ploying his friendly pencil, according to his wishes in 
 pictures of which he speaks in his subsequent letters. 
 
 I have still to record, that Romney, in closing 
 the year 1791, afforded me a new proof, with what 
 
168 
 
 pleasure, spirit, and success, he could employ his 
 pencil in kind offices of friendship. On my hasten- 
 ing* to London, in December, to meet my son, a 
 child in his eleventh year, then returning* from a visit 
 to a very dear friend in Derbyshire, the kind artist 
 exerted himself in rapidly finishing" a fanciful portrait 
 of the little traveller, whom he had loved from his 
 infancy, and whom he painted as the Fairy, Robin 
 Good-Fellow, of Shakespeare flying on a cloud, and 
 crowned with a chaplet of the flower, which Oberon 
 had commissioned him to find. This portrait was a 
 favorite work of the painter; and it certainly did him 
 honor, not only as a strong* and pleasing resemblance, 
 but still more as a work of liberality, and affection. 
 
 The commencement of the year 1792, was a pro- 
 pitious season to Romney. It improved his health, 
 and enlivened his spirits by affording him chearful op- 
 portunities of displaying his gratitude towards those 
 accomplished ladies of Paris, whose kind civilities to 
 him, as a stranger in their country, he was happy to 
 acknowledge and return in Ms own: a pleasure which 
 
169 
 
 several perverse incidents, and a severe illness pre- 
 cluded me from sharing* personally with my friend. 
 In a letter dated January 24, 1792, after naming 
 Madame de Genlis, and her young- companions, he 
 mentions his having attended them repeatedly to the 
 play-house. 
 
 In his next letter, the 28th of the same month, 
 he says : 
 
 / am painting two pictures of Pamela, and I think they will be both 
 beautiful. As they are two different views of her face, one of course will be 
 better than the other, and I shall give Madame de Genlis her choice of them. 
 
 The artist was never able to accomplish his grate- 
 ful intention; for these pictures shared the destiny, 
 that attended an innumerable multitude of works 
 from the same over-busied hand. They were never 
 even half finished, and the portrait, which he also 
 began at this time of Madame de Genlis herself, re- 
 mained a mere sketch. In that state he presented it 
 to me, at a time, when he had ceased to paint, as a 
 memorial of the great pleasure we had derived from 
 
170 
 
 our acquaintance with the admirable original. The 
 countenance was happily finished with great truth 
 and spirit. It has been engraved so worthily, by a 
 female artist, distinguished by the delicacy of her 
 works, that I trust the portrait will gratify the nu- 
 merous admirers of an authoress, whose features have 
 a full share of that sense and sensibility, which have 
 given the most extensive success to her many elegant 
 and instructive publications. 
 
 It is peculiarly delightful to find the talents of an 
 eminent writer, whose compositions have been fa- 
 vorites of the public for several years, bursting, like 
 the latter magnificence of a suspended firework, into 
 new forms of brilliancy, surpassing the fondest ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 I eagerly embrace this opportunity of expressing 
 the very great pleasure I have received from a recent 
 production of Madame de Genlis, in 1808. Her 
 fertile and powerful fancy has surpassed itself in her 
 " Siege de la Rochelle." She has there delineated a 
 
TttiWud- .4pril u*/t?ty.6v Thomas Tayne fall .Wall . 
 
171 
 
 young Christian heroine, with all the energy, and all 
 the tenderness of description, that genius and piety 
 inspire. It is hardly possible to name any romance, 
 in which the sentiments of the author, and the con- 
 duct of the story, are more happily suited to elevate 
 the mind, and to satisfy the heart. 
 
 But I return to the year 17 92. In February 
 Romney communicated to me a most friendly letter, 
 which he had just received from Naples: Sir William 
 and Lady Hamilton, invited him in the kindest manner 
 to share with them the pleasures of a country so sin- 
 gularly attractive to the lovers of antient art. They 
 expressed an anxious desire to promote the improve- 
 ment of his tender health, and the progress of his fa- 
 vorite study, in a climate, where their own situation 
 would enable them to render his residence agreeable. 
 
 Romney was highly pleased by the cordiality of 
 this invitation, which extended to his friend of Sussex. 
 The variety of his engagements rendered him unable 
 
 z2 
 
172 
 
 to accept it ; but he answered it with the sincerest 
 gratitude, and informed the lady, that he was prepar- 
 ing to distribute, according to her directions, the 
 several fancy-pictures, which he had been so eager 
 to execute from her expressive features, before she 
 left England. The Cassandra was already sent to the 
 Shakespeare Gallery, the Calypso and the Magdalen 
 were soon to be sent home to the Prince, and the 
 maid of Orleans (perhaps the finest head of the col- 
 lection) was to be finished in the first favorable sea- 
 son, but this imaginary season never arrived. Rom- 
 ney too frequently deluded his fancy with a large ex- 
 pected share of future leisure; and he began such a 
 multitude of works, that had he attained the length 
 of days allotted to an antedeluvian, he would 
 hardly have had time to finish more than half of 
 what he had begun. In the spring of this year he ex- 
 pressed an eager desire of painting the banquet scene 
 in Macbeth for the Shakespeare Gallery, but suspect- 
 ing that the proprietors of the Gallery were not in- 
 clined to encourage his intention, though he often 
 employed himself in slight sketches of the subject, I 
 
rubhfad^pril H * iSOa foPiomat Tayne. Tall Jlfall 
 
174 
 
 The following letter will shew that Romney was 
 well disposed to entertain a high personal regard for 
 Cowper; and that he also possessed a large portion of 
 that sympathetic tenderness of spirit, which peculiarly 
 distinguished the poet of Weston. 
 
 June 30, 1792. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 Your very kind letter found me much belter, 
 and did not add a little to hasten my recovery, as my spirits are always a part 
 of my complaints. 
 
 I can tell you now, that I am very near well. I only want a little 
 country air, and quiet, to set me up. But I cannot accept your kind offer, 
 and invitation: I have a great deal of work to do bejore lean stir from town. If 
 ever I worship an allegorical divinity, it shall be kindness — ! it pours a balm 
 into the mind, that softens the greatest misery ! 
 
 You introduced my mind to a new acquaintance ; and I feel from your 
 manner of introduction much interested for that ideal friend, as much as if I 
 had spent much time in his company. Indeed I cannot help being anxious 
 about a character of so extraordinary a kind. But I must close. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 July 16, 1792. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 You have much consoled me by your kindness 
 in your last letter; and I shall disentangle myself from business, as soon as I 
 can, to reap the benefit of your indulgence. I had not time to thank you in 
 
175 
 
 my last. I assure, you I feel very sensibly for every neglect, I am guilty of in 
 letter-writing, and never have I suffered more than for my neglect of our dear 
 and worthy Flaxman, whose talents I admire, and place above every other artist, 
 I am pleased with your account of the Knight of Bognor, but cannot engage to 
 paint his portrait in the country. However I am obliged to the Knight for 
 his civility. Be so good as to thank him for his kindness ! 
 
 My health is much recovered. I go out much in the open air, which 
 I always find the best physic. 
 
 Of the time I purpose staying with you 1 think of dedicating a part to 
 retirement in the painting room upon the hill 3 as I have found I could 
 think better there than any where else. Believe me most sincerely and 
 affectionately yours, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 It was a general rule of my friend to decline all 
 professional commissions during* his residence in the 
 country. Hence he excused himself from complying 
 with the request of Sir Richard Hotham : but he was 
 pleased with the chearful adventurous disposition of 
 that commercial knight, whom he afterwards painted 
 at full length in London. The picture may be re- 
 garded as one of his happiest performances in fidelity 
 of resemblance, and in the ease, spirit, and harmony 
 of the whole composition. 
 
160 
 
 The following letter is an answer to one in which 
 I had informed my correspondent, that Cowper and 
 his venerable companion were safely arrived at Ear- 
 tham. 
 
 Monday, August 6, 1792. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I am quite delighted to find you have got those 
 interesting beings under your hospitable roof whom you idolize so much. I 
 hope such a meeting will contribute to your mutual health and happiness. I 
 also hope it will not be long, before I shall have the happiness of joining you. 
 Indeed I thought of setting forward the beginning of this week ; but I have 
 had a slight indisposition : however now I am better, and you may probably 
 see me in a few days. I wish to leave town soon, as I intend returning in 
 September, for lam very anxious to set about something seriously of importance 
 on my return ; and I think September one of the best months in the year for 
 working. 
 
 I certainly do not visit you with an intention to play, but to study. Yet 
 if you have plenty of room, 1 do not see why I should object to Carwardine's 
 being with us at the same time. If you want room, I can sleep at Bognor. 
 
 I have been very deep in study for some time past. I have gone every 
 morning to Kilburn to breakfast, which contributed much to my health, and to 
 the production of a great many of my best studies. 
 
 J am with the sincerest affection to all around you, 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 G. R. 
 
177 
 
 The friendly artist had formed very high expecta- 
 tions of the pleasure, he should receive from residing 
 under the same roof with the poet of Weston ; and he 
 was so far from being disappointed, that in a few days 
 after his arrival he agreed with me entirely, in think- 
 ing, that the genius, the benevolence, and the mis- 
 fortunes of Cowper, gave such a peculiar sweetness 
 and sanctity to his character as rendered his society 
 delightful in the highest degree. Romney was eager 
 to execute a portrait of a person so memorable, and 
 in drawing it he was peculiarly desirous of making 
 the nearest approach to life, that he possibly could : 
 for this purpose he chose to make use of coloured 
 crayons, a mode of painting in which he had indeed 
 little experience ; but he possessed that happy versa- 
 tility of talent, which gave him an appearance of 
 having been long familiar with any process of art, that 
 he had an inclination to try. He worked with un- 
 common diligence, zeal, and success, producing a re- 
 semblance so powerful, that spectators who contem- 
 plated the portrait with the original by its side, 
 
 a a 
 
178 
 
 thought it hardly possible for any similitude to be more 
 striking, or more exact. Romney wished to express 
 what he often saw in studying the features of Cowper. 
 
 " The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling" 
 
 And I think he expressed it without over-stepping 
 the modesty of truth and nature, but some persons, and 
 ladies in particular, more conversant with the collo- 
 quial, than with the poetic countenance of Cowper, 
 have supposed Romney's portrait of him to border on 
 extravagance of expression. 
 
 Painters are said to infuse into all their portraits 
 some portion of themselves; and it is possible that 
 Romney may have super-added a little of his own 
 wildness and fire to the native enthusiasm of the poet, 
 whom he so zealously portrayed : yet after scrutiniz- 
 ing it for many years, with eyes as impartial, as friend- 
 ship may pretend to, I regard the portrait in question 
 as one of the most masterly, and most faithful, re- 
 semblances that I ever beheld. Indeed it was painted 
 
179 
 
 literally con amore (to use the technical expression ap- 
 plied to the happiest works of art) for Romney had 
 conceived a most sincere affection for his new ac- 
 quaintance. Any person of moderate sensibility, in 
 residing a few weeks with Cowper, must have been 
 cordially attached to him. Romney had feelings of 
 peculiar acuteness, and generosity, in favor of genius 
 struggling with misfortunes. He always treated it 
 with a most tender and compassionate respect. He 
 had opportunities this year at Eartham of displaying 
 this laudable characteristic of his heart, not only 
 towards the poet of Weston, but also towards a cele- 
 brated poetess of our county, whose calamities, tho' 
 different from those of Cowper, yet entitled her like- 
 wise to pity and admiration; I allude to Charlotte 
 Smith, who came to us from Brighton to seize an op- 
 portunity of forming an acquaintance with Cowper, 
 She exerted her talents most agreeably to excite his 
 wonder, and conciliate his esteem; for happening to 
 have begun one of her novels, the Old Manor House, 
 she devoted the early part of the day to composition 
 
 Aa2 
 
180 
 
 in her own apartment, and entertained the little party 
 at Eartham, by reading 1 to them in the evening, what- 
 ever the fertility of her fancy had produced in the 
 course of a long* studious morning. 
 
 This admirable lady had a quickness of in- 
 vention, and a rapidity of hand, which astonished 
 every witness of her abilities. Cowper repeatedly de- 
 clared, that he knew no man, among his early associ- 
 ates in literature, some of whom piqued themselves on 
 rapid composition, who could have composed so rapidly 
 and so well. The exquisite faculties of the unhappy 
 Charlotte were naturally quick; and perhaps their 
 natural quickness w as heightened by a laudable ambi- 
 tion of shining before such a judge of talents as Cow- 
 per, who possessed in the highest degree, both acute- 
 ness, and candour. It was a recreation, peculiarly 
 sweet after a busy morning, to hear the novelist read 
 the new pages of her work; for she read, as she wrote, 
 with simplicity and grace. Romney, who had long 
 admired her genius, and pitied her troubles, was de- 
 lighted to find her still capable of such mental activity 
 
181 
 
 under such a load of misfortunes, and testified his es- 
 teem for her writings by executing a portrait of the 
 authoress. This he drew also in coloured crayons. 
 It has a plaintive air and it is certainly an expressive 
 likeness, but it was unavoidably a work of haste, and 
 therefore, as a production of art, it is by no means 
 equal to his more studied portrait of Cowper. 
 
 Romney himself considered his portrait of Cow- 
 per as the nearest approach that he had ever made to 
 a perfect representation of life and character. He had 
 in general, rather an excess of modesty, in estimating 
 the merit of his own works, but his predilection for 
 this favorite performance was naturally raised by the 
 intense, yet pleasant labour he bestowed upon it, and 
 still more by its giving rise to the poetical honor, that 
 he received in the sonnet addrest to him by Cowper, 
 which, though it has appeared already in the life of 
 its author, cannot, without an injury to the artist, be 
 omitted in this volume. 
 
182 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO 
 
 GEORGE ROMNEY, Esq. 
 
 Romney ! expert infallibly to trace 
 On chart, or canvas, not the form alone, 
 And 'semblance, but however faintly shewn 
 The mind's impression too on every face, 
 With strokes, that time ought never to erase, 
 Thou hast so pencil d mine, that though I own 
 The subject worthless, I have never known 
 The artist shining with superior grace. 
 
 But this I mark, that symptoms none of woe 
 In thy incomparable work appear : 
 Well ! I am satisfied it should be so, 
 Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear; 
 For in my looks what sorrow could st thou see, 
 While I was Hayleys guest, and sat to thee. 
 
 w. c. 
 
 It is with a melancholy gratification, that I dwell 
 on the remembrance of social and friendly joys, which 
 the grave has suspended, though I trust not for ever 
 
183 
 
 extinguished. The painter and the poet, so kindly 
 just to each other, were not only animated in their 
 days of health with similar sensibility, but resembled 
 each other in one most affecting circumstance of their 
 mortal pilgrimage, it was the destiny of each to lose 
 the use of his enchanting faculties, before his depar- 
 ture : or to cite a most expressive verse of Churchill, 
 
 " To sit the monument of living death" 
 
 They were both such delightful associates in their 
 happier days, that in the wane of life I cannot but 
 feel their loss as irreparable. 
 
 The regret attending this conviction is most ef- 
 fectually soothed by the hope, that I may a little contri- 
 bute " to keep their memories green on the earth," by 
 tender arid faithful records of those particular talents 
 and virtues in each, which excited my constant solici- 
 tude for the welfare of both, during many years, and 
 rendered them objects for ever of my indelible af- 
 fection. 
 
184 
 
 In one very endearing quality they were parti- 
 cularly similar; I mean in quick, and deep sensations 
 of gratitude for even the most simple offices of kind- 
 ness from a friend. The letters of Romney, even when 
 they consisted of very few lines, never failed to shew 
 the uncommon tenderness of his feelings. 
 
 London, September 8, 1792. 
 
 My dezr friend, 
 
 After thanking you for your great kindness to 
 me in your Paradise, I can inform you I arrived safe here, but cannot say 
 much for my health. Many unpleasant professional circumstances rushing 
 upon my mind, may perhaps have operated too strongly on my frame. In a 
 little time when more familiarized with the drudgery of my profession, my 
 health may be better. 
 
 The accounts to day from France are dreadful: all the priests that were 
 confined are murdered, perhaps the city of Paris is at this time in fames. I 
 am so agitated with the tremendous situation of that poor Country, 1 am not 
 able to do any thing. 
 
 Remember me kindly to your most agreeable party, and believe me most 
 sincerely and affectionately yours. 
 
 G. R. 
 
 A return to portrait-painting in London, from 
 studies of excursive fancy, and from a rural scene of 
 friendship, was ever as painful to Romney, as the day 
 
185 
 
 of returning into school to a delicate child. His suf- 
 ferings on these occasions, though poignant, were 
 short, like the sorrow of the child: 
 
 " The tear forgot as soon as shed." 
 
 In the course of a few days he said with recovered 
 spirits : 
 
 J have only a few minutes to answer your kind letter, and tell you how 
 much I am fattered by the kind remembrance of your amiable guests. Remem- 
 ber me very kind J y to all under your roof. Thank God I am in better health, 
 and hard at work, to get clear of the trumpery things, that stand in my zoay. 
 
 He was eager 
 
 *' To daft the world aside and bid it pass" 
 
 With an anxious desire to employ himself in 
 painting on a large scale, and with great care and 
 study the banquet scene in Macbeth, which at this 
 time greatly occupied his fancy, though as I have be- 
 fore observed, on a former occasion, he never ad- 
 
 Bb 
 
186 
 
 vanced in the picture. In the year 1792, if indispo- 
 sition too often checked his hand, his imagination was 
 remarkably active. It was in the springof this year 
 that he began his admired picture of Milton and his 
 daughters, a kind of painting that seems to hold a 
 middle rank between portrait and history. He had, 
 peculiar talents for giving interest and dignity, to 
 scenes of familiar life, and he had it in contemplation 
 to form a series of pictures of a similar kind, each 
 containing some illustrious character of our country. 
 His Newton, displaying the prismatic colours, (a pic- 
 ture engraved by the permission of the Reverend John 
 Romney to decorate this volume) was the second, and 
 the last subject of this intended series, that he actu- 
 ally painted. Two others in contemplation were Lord 
 Bacon and Sir Christopher Wren, the philosopher 
 collecting snow for an experiment, the architect car- 
 ried by his servant, in his old age, according to his an- 
 nual custom, into the centre of Saint Paul's, and rais- 
 ing himself on his litter to take a contemplative and 
 devout survey of the magnificent temple he had built. 
 This is a subject, that Romney would have painted 
 
187 
 
 with peculiar felicity, for in his serious hours his heart 
 was uncommonly full of devotional tenderness. But 
 these with a thousand other projects of art, that floated 
 in the busy mind of my friend, were destined to perish 
 without being* so fortunate as to assume the shapes, 
 that he hoped to give them. 
 
 I have already observed, that the year 1792, had 
 a peculiar influence on the fancy and professional 
 feelings of Romney ; an influence, that might partly 
 originate from an event, universally affecting, which 
 happened in the second month of the year in question: 
 I mean the decease of his illustrious contemporary, 
 and precursor in art, Sir Joshua Reynolds, who closed 
 a very industrious, and highly honorable life amidst 
 the regret, and applause, of the nation, that his taste 
 had refined, and his labours embellished. 
 
 My affectionate intimacy with the most success- 
 ful rival of this great artist was so far from rendering 
 me insensible or unfriendly to the various merits of his 
 
 Bb2 
 
188 
 
 mild, yet effulgent character, that the sight of his death 
 in the newspaper, drew from me on the instant, the fol- 
 lowing brief but cordial tribute to his memory. 
 
 Peace to his dust, and honor to his name, 
 Who first to English art gave life, and fame ! 
 Whose pencil round the brow of Britain spread 
 A glory, wanting to her hallow' d head ! 
 While memory, Reynolds ! to thy merit true, 
 Recalls thy words, and works, in fond review* 
 Endearing excellence in all we trace : 
 Thy life urbanity ! thy labours grace ! 
 
 Genius ! and virtue! your just sorrows blend! 
 Mourn the lost artist! and revere the friend ! 
 Deem his rare length of days a span too brief! 
 And consecrate his praise by public grief! 
 Ye angels, duly by his hand portray d, 
 Protect the fame of him, ye deign d to aid! 
 Who duteously employed zvhat God had given, 
 And made his talents minister to heaven ! 
 
189 
 
 Romney had a very sincere respect for the talents, 
 and the reputation of Reynolds. A little anecdote, 
 recorded by a pupil of the former, which will appear 
 in this volume, may sufficiently shew the spirit, with 
 which he rejected an excess of commendation offered 
 to himself at the expence of the brother artist, whom 
 he modestly deemed his superior. 
 
 I will not exclaim with the sportive gaiety of 
 Lord Thiirlow, " I am of the Romney faction," or 
 endeavour in the zeal of partial attachment, to exalt 
 my friend above the great founder of English art, 
 but with a deep and a grateful sense of the delight I 
 have received in contemplating the productions, and 
 the excellencies of both, I will here indulge myself in 
 a few observations on some opposite peculiarities of 
 character in these memorable men. 
 
 We may consider an ardent and powerful imagi- 
 nation, acute and delicate sensibility, and a passion for 
 study, as the three qualities peculiarly essential towards 
 
190 
 
 forming a great artist. Of these three important en- 
 dowments, I believe, nature to have bestowed a larger 
 portion on Romney than on Reynolds; but in her 
 bounty to the latter she added some inestimable qua- 
 lities, which more than turned the scale in his favor. 
 They rendered him pre-eminent in three great objects 
 of human pursuit, in fortune, in felicity, and in fame. 
 
 She gave her favorite, what his friend and biogra- 
 pher, Mr. Malone, has described as the mitis sapientia 
 Lceli, that mild and serene wisdom, which enables a 
 man to exert whatever talents he possesses with the 
 fullest and happiest effect. She gave him the securest 
 panoply against the arrows of wordly contention, 
 highly-polished good humour, which conciliates uni- 
 versal esteem ; and disarms, if it does not annihilate, 
 that envious malevolence, which genius and prosperity 
 are so apt to excite. Doctor Johnson very truly said 
 of Reynolds, that he was the most invulnerable of 
 men ; but of Romney it might be said, with equal 
 truth, that a man could hardly exist, who hi it was 
 more easy to wound, 
 
191 
 
 His imagination was so tremblingly alive, that 
 even a slight appearance of coldness in a friend, or of 
 hostility in a critic, was sometimes sufficient to suspend 
 or obstruct the exertion of his finer faculties. 
 
 Had it been possible for Romney to have united 
 a dauntless and invariable serenity of mind to such 
 feelings and powers, as he possessed, when his nerves 
 were happily free from all vexatious irritation, I am 
 persuaded he would have risen to a degree of excellence 
 in art superior to what has hitherto been displayed ; 
 for painting, though we justly celebrate some very 
 glorious characters among the many, who have profest 
 and ennobled it ; has never been so honored, and so 
 cultivated, as to reach those points of perfection, which 
 it is capable of attaining, but which, we have reason 
 to fear, it never will attain, because they can hardly 
 be reached without a favorable coincidence of many 
 most improbable circumstances in the fortune of na- 
 tions, and in the destiny of individuals. 
 
 Both Reynolds and Romney had the misfortune 
 
192 
 
 to begin their career under the heavy disadvantage 
 of very imperfect professional education. Several 
 works of both may be thought to verify the latter part 
 of a penetrating remark, by Mr. Shee, in contrasting 
 the painters of France and of England. Of the first 
 he says — " They are timorous combatants, who ex- 
 haust their powers in preparation, and chill the ar- 
 dour of enterprize by their coldness of precaution. — 
 We on the other hand are often rash adventurers, who 
 plunge into dangers against which we have not pro- 
 vided, and rush into the field before we are sufficiently 
 armed for the fight./ 
 
 Yet considering the various impediments that 
 both Reynolds and Romney had to surmount, the de- 
 gree of excellence that each attained in their happiest 
 productions is highly honorable to the genius of our 
 country and ought to endear the memories of both to 
 every lover of art. In estimating the merits of Rey- 
 nolds, we ought never to forget the deplorably abject 
 condition of the arts in our country, when he began 
 his career. In the early part of the last century it 
 
193 
 
 was acknowledged, that nothing- could be found, which 
 seemed to deserve the title of English art. There is 
 a letter concerning Design, written at Naples in the 
 year 1712, by the philosophical Lord Shaftesbury, who 
 was extremely fond of pictures, in which he says : — 
 " as to painting, we have as yet nothing of our own 
 native growth, in this kind, w T orthy of being men- 
 tioned." Yet at that time the penetration, and the 
 patriotic spirit of this contemplative nobleman led 
 him to predict, that his country would gradually form 
 for herself a taste in all the fine arts, superior to that 
 of the great rival nation, in which a despotic and os- 
 tentatious monarch had recently affected every kind 
 of pre-eminence. 
 
 It was the opinion of this noble author, and it seems 
 to be an opinion, in which his active fancy did not 
 overpower his judgment, that to the arts, the voice of 
 the people is the breath of life. 44 There can be no 
 public (he says) where the people are not included ; 
 and without a public voice, knowingly guided, and di- 
 
194 
 
 rected, there is nothing 1 which can raise a true ambition 
 in the artist ; nothing which can exalt the genius of 
 the workman, or make him emulous of after-fame, 
 of the approbation of his country, and of posterity." 
 He therefore thought it an advantage to England, 
 that she had settled her government on the noble 
 principles of freedom, before she began to cultivate 
 her native talents for the pencil. Such a public voice, 
 as this celebrated writer justly considered of so much 
 importance, has been gradually formed in our country, 
 in the course of the last century, and of all indivi- 
 duals Reynolds may be regarded as having contributed 
 the most, by the united influence of his pictures and 
 his writings, to its formation, and to its guidance. 
 
 The decease of Reynolds, as I have intimated in 
 noticing that event, rather quickened than relaxed the 
 ambition of Romney. He felt all the merits of his 
 great departed predecessor, and was anxious so to em- 
 ploy the precarious residue of his own impaired health, 
 that he also might hope for a considerable portion of 
 posthumous regard. These words recall to my recol- 
 
195 
 
 lection a peculiar tenderness of admiration, with which 
 Romney contemplated an exquisite engraving* of Sir 
 Joshua's portrait, prefixed to the quarto edition of his 
 works, in 1797. The praise, which my friend bestowed 
 on that interesting print, engraved by Caroline Wat- 
 son, induced me to engage this very delicate artist in 
 decorating the present volume. 
 
 But it is time to terminate a long" digression by 
 returning to the course of my narrative, in 1792. My 
 latest letter from Romney of that year has the follow- 
 ing passage: 
 
 November 10. 
 
 I have not yet advanced Milton much, but am en • 
 gaged on some other things of fancy. I am just now in treaty for a piece of 
 ground to build a painting room. 
 
 This I believe is the earliest intimation of a 
 purpose, that afforded Romney, for some years, abund- 
 ance of disquietude, and also of amusement. 
 
 He wished to have a commodious painting room 
 
 c c 2 
 
196 
 
 on a very extensive scale, within the distance of two 
 or three miles from London, and as his fancy delighted 
 in magnificent visions, he often pleased himself with 
 an idea of forming a domestic academy, and of prov- 
 ing- a beneficent foster-father to juvenile artists. The 
 course of this narrative will shew what steps he took 
 towards accomplishing an idea so delightful in con- 
 templation to a benevolent spirit, but so difficult to 
 realize with success. 
 
 In his first letter of the following year, 1793, he 
 mentions a circumstance, which he considered as a 
 step towards his favorite project of forming a domestic 
 academy. I mean the importation of many casts from 
 antient statues, which he had desired Mr. Flaxman to 
 send him from Rome. A commission executed with 
 equal judgment and kindness. 
 
 January b, 1793. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I had it not in my power to answer your 
 kind letter immediately ; I thank you and my dear Tom for your joint 
 kindness in sending me descriptions of the picturesque prison scenes which will 
 produce new ideas in my mind. 
 
197 
 
 I hope you will not forget how such kindness affects me, and how useful 
 I find those subjects for art, that you send me. Indeed these came very op- 
 portunely fr had said something rather coarse to me, which wounded me 
 
 very deeply, as it touched my hobhy horse, and my ambition. He accused me 
 of neglecting my portraits, and of vanity in doing things that do not turn to 
 account. what a damper I he likes money better than fame : but no more! 
 I am afraid I am troublesome : you will see J have been wounded, and ex- 
 cuse me. 
 
 My plaister figures are unpacked, and 1 am charmed with them, both 
 for the choice, and the perfection of the casts. 1 shall have one of the finest 
 Museums in London for antique sculpture. 
 
 I hope you preserve your health. I remember you ever with the great- 
 est kindness. 
 
 G. R. 
 
 I had several letters from my old friend in the 
 early part of this year, expressing- his gratitude to me, 
 or to my son, for having sent him hints for new pic- 
 tures. Of these, although he had no leisure to exe- 
 cute them, he had ever an insatiable desire. Closing 
 a letter in February, he says : 
 
 I have no news to acquaint you with, but I write because I hope it 
 may be some gratification to you ; and more for the gratification of receiving 
 your kind answers ; when you can send me a hint for a picture, you encrease 
 my pleasure in a great degree. 
 
198 
 
 The fallowing 1 passage from a subsequent letter 
 will shew the tenderness of his feelings towards a bro- 
 ther artist. 
 
 April 22, 1793. 
 
 I am much delighted in hearing that Upright 
 ( of Derby ) is recovered from his long and melancholy indisposition ; I wish 
 you would write to him, and encourage him, as you may be assured nothing 
 will be more grateful to a sick mind, and tell him how happy I am to hear of 
 his recovery. 
 
 In June he spoke with equal liberality and 
 kindness of another artist, alluding to a wish, I had 
 expressed, that Romney and Hodges, and Cowper 
 might engage together in some considerable con- 
 federate work. Little did I suppose, when I sug- 
 gested the idea, that such dark calamities were im- 
 pending over two of those excellent men, as must 
 render the suggestion utterly impracticable. Romney 
 alludes with his usual kindness in the following letter 
 to a visit, that I had received from our friend Hodges, 
 on his excursion to Sussex, for the purpose of drawing 
 views of Bognor, for Sir Richard Hotham. 
 
199 
 
 June 14, 1793. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, . 
 
 I am very much delighted with the mutual satis- 
 faction you and Hodges have expressed in the pleasant hours you have spent 
 together, and hope it will be the cause of some new work. Your humble servant 
 will be glad to lend his hand to any work zvithin his power. I told you before 
 that I had new plans in my mind; and lam now putting them into execution: 
 I have taken lodgings in a new garden ground, on the Kilburn road y where I 
 breakfast every morning, and where I work two hours in advancing my designs 
 (for my series of large pictures ) I have advanced them very much, and expect 
 to complete them before summer is over. I have formed a plan of building a 
 painting room, which perhaps may be the first stone of a theatre, as it may 
 join to a plan of that sort, when I wish to take it up. Indeed spending my 
 mornings in this way, has led me to form various schemes and plans, which 
 neither you, nor any body else would suppose. 
 
 Believe me ever yours, 
 
 g. a 
 
 Though Romney had great muscular strength, 
 and an anxious desire to take all proper care of that 
 inestimable blessing, health, yet, from the ardour of 
 his mind, he was continually apt to persevere in la- 
 bour to a perilous excess. This frequently happened 
 in the beginning of summer, when he was usually 
 pressed to finish many pictures; and when the com- 
 mencement of hot weather rendered him less able to 
 
200 
 
 bear any extraordinry exertion. The following 1 ac- 
 count of his feelings, was written when he had hurt 
 himself in that manner, without suspecting the source 
 of the mischief. 
 
 July 6, 1793. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 You delight me much with the account you 
 give me of your equestrian exercise, and the effect it has had on your health 
 and spirits. You oblige me much, with your kind recommendation for me to 
 pursue the same plan. I would pursue any plan to enjoy health and spirits, 
 if it zoas ever so laborious, for I have been so overcome, with lassitude, that I 
 had not power to do any thing, though not ill. I should be happy, ( if I could 
 accomplish it ) to partake in your amusements, and accept your very kind invi- 
 tation ; but there are obstacles to prevent my visiting you till— I cannot say 
 when. Excuse me I have not strength to proceed farther ; yet believe me, 
 
 Your most affectionate friend, 
 
 G R. 
 
 The over-laboured artist soon began to revive 
 as the following letter will agreeably prove. 
 
 July 18, 1793, 
 
 My DE3R FRIEND, 
 
 Your kind letter relieved me very much. 
 I rejoice to find that you are to have the illustrious historian, Gibbon, shortly 
 your guest. I most ardently wish I could make one of the triumvirate. Jilas ! 
 I cannot stir, but you will hear from me again, in a post or two, and then I 
 can give you a more certain account of what I shall, or must do. 
 
201 
 
 / rejoice also to find our dear Flaxmans drazcings from Homer are ar- 
 rived.. Clarke informed me so to day, and you may be certain, that I shall 
 see them as soon as possible. Clarke dines with me to day, I like him much. 
 
 I am glad to hear the pleasing account of the tender-minded Cowper ; 
 and am delighted that he enters into the spirit of your schemes ; may Provi- 
 dence prosper them ! but I do not yet know the character of these sublimely in- 
 tended works, yet I am flattered with the prospect of shaiing in them. 1 con- 
 tinue to go to my little villa to breakfast, and make designs every morning, 
 which has been a delightful relief this hot weather. I have eight children to 
 zvait on me, and fine ones. I begin to feel the necessity of having these inno- 
 cent little spirits about one, they give more soft delight to the mind than I can 
 describe to soften the steps down declining life. 
 
 Adieu ! 
 
 G. R. 
 
 This letter may confirm a remark, that I formerly 
 made, concerning the peculiar interest and delight, 
 which Romney took in the contemplation of promising 
 children. His eight fairy attendants were the offspring 
 of the honest couple, in whose humble, but pleasant, 
 habitation, he had hired a room to breakfast in, at 
 seven shillings and sixpence a week. But his cheap 
 lodging proved a source of such expence, and of such 
 delight, to him, as he little expected. It happened 
 that he was one morning surprized by finding some 
 
 d d 
 
202 
 
 of his little chearful fairies in tears. On searching 
 into the source of their affliction, he discovered, that 
 their industrious father was in immediate danger of 
 sinking under the burthen of so numerous a family, 
 (and of losing the pleasant spot, where his labour had 
 promised him a comfortable livelihood) unless he could 
 speedily raise the sum of two hundred pounds, which 
 the poor afflicted man considered as an impossibility. 
 But the kind heart of Romney felt itself commission- 
 ed by Heaven to be the protector of meritorious indi- 
 gence. He instantly relieved his honest humble host 
 from the most bitter embarrassment, and found his 
 future breakfasts on that spot inexpressibly delicious, 
 it being sweetened by the cordial benedictions of a 
 very interesting family, whom he had rescued from 
 distress. The charity of Romney was not only great, 
 but genuine; for it was often conducted with absolute 
 privacy, and never with ostentation. 
 
 But to return to the series of his letters. A con- 
 tinuation of extracts from these, will afford a clear 
 insight into the heart and mind of a man, who had 
 
203 
 
 received from nature, that inestimable, though peri- 
 lous gift, extreme sensibility. A display of his pri- 
 mary characteristic, can hardly fail to interest in his 
 favor the feelings of those, who read with a lively re- 
 gard for the excellencies, and with compassion for the 
 infirmities of human nature. 
 
 August 2, 1793. 
 
 My dezr friend, 
 
 You have a right to blame me for my delay, 
 but if you knew how much trouble I have lately had, you would excuse me. 
 
 I have seen the book of prints jor the Odyssey, by our dear and admira- 
 ble artist Flaxman. They are outlines without shadow, but in the style of 
 antient art. They are simple, grand, and pure ; I may say with truth very 
 fine. They look as if they had been made in the age, when Homer wrote. I 
 must answer the other parts of your letter, when I have the pleasure of visit- 
 ing you, which I hope for soon. 
 
 August 12. 
 
 Your great kindness and attention have enlivened my drooping spirits. 
 I long to hasten down to you, and tell you all my feelings and complaints, and 
 to strip myself of drudgery in the shabby part of my art, for a while at least; 
 and I should be happy if 1 could do without ever taking it up again. I can* 
 not yet say what day I can move. 
 
 The tender artist arrived at Eartham in a few 
 
 d d 2 
 
204 
 
 days after the date of this billet ; and remained with 
 me till near the middle of September ; chiefly intent 
 on the improvement of his very delicate health, by 
 air and exercise, and contenting himself with a mo- 
 derate use of his pencil, in a few excursions of fancy. 
 
 The description of his approach to London, in 
 his first letter after his return, is at once a picture of 
 the scenes he passed through and of his own contem- 
 plative spirit. 
 
 September, 1793. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 It was some time, after I parted from you, before 
 I recovered from the grateful impression, your kindness and hospitality had 
 made on my mind ; and before I was able to contemplate the passing objects, 
 and change of scenery. 
 
 The variety was great ; and the approach to London affected me in va- 
 rious ways. I observed a sharpness of countenance in the people I met ; with 
 passions so strongly marked, I suppose none could mistake. Deep design, 
 disappointed ambition, envy, hatred, melancholy, disease and poverty. 
 
 These appearances one is for ever meeting in the skirts of London ; not 
 like the Sussex Peasants, with faces round with health, and expressions of 
 contentment every where. 
 
 The square and parti-coloured appearance of the buildings, the variety 
 of noises, and bustle had a very unpleasant effect on my senses ; and now I am 
 
205 
 
 arrived, how hard 1 have found it to reconcile my wind, so relaxed with the 
 beautiful scenes of Eartham, to the old habits of mechanical drudgery. 
 
 I find myself not well, ever since I left you, but hope to be better in' & 
 few days ; as I have now been at work, and find I can proceed in my old way. 
 IVhat a thing is habit ! 
 
 Let me hear from you soon, I am zviih affectionate gratitude for your 
 tenderness to me. Yours, 
 
 G. R. 
 
 The following' is a striking proof of that singu- 
 lar sensibility, which I regarded as the source of his 
 enchanting talents, and which I sometimes wished to 
 moderate, when its excesses appeared likely to injure 
 his comfort and his health. The spot which he fre- 
 quently mentions by the name of Pine-apple Place, 
 was the scene of his rural breakfasts. 
 
 Monday Evening, Sept. 19, 1792. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 At ten o'clock I returned from Pine Apple 
 Place. The first thing I asked for was a letter — No ! — / waited till eleven, 
 an hour beyond the usual time. — JVb letter. — / was so much overpowered with 
 disappointment, that I resolved not to work. Indeed I could not. — How much 
 it is in your power to torment me. 1 zoas afraid you were offended with me. 
 The joyful letter arrived at half past eleven. The agitation it caused, and the 
 tender circumstances of the christening at Petworth, and the pleasant day you 
 passed, had a very singular effect on my spirits. J am now sorry I did not re- 
 main with you some days longer, to have joined in your festivity. 
 
206 
 
 ^Apropos to all this, and perhaps in consequence of this ! My Lord 
 Egremont called on me on Saturday last, and expressed his concern at not 
 having seen me, when I was in his neighbourhood. He said he would have 
 employed me to paint two or three pictures ; and enquired, when I thought of 
 visiting your country again. I said, I believed next summer, and that I 
 should be happy to shew every attention to his wishes. 2 am at a loss to 
 know whether his Lordship can postpone what he wished me to do, till another 
 season ; at present I cannot stir. I am earnestly set in for work. Tou will 
 be kind enough to let me know all you know, and all you think of this affair. 
 
 Pray say every thing to Cowper for me. 1 have begun two pictures, 
 since I returned, both in the Corregiesque style, 
 
 it was a favorite object of Romney's ambition 
 to place some production of his own pencil among 
 the several fine works of art, that adorn the magni- 
 ficent villa of Petworth. Its noble possessor not only 
 expressed esteem for his talents, but in a future year, 
 received and treated him as a friend, by shewing the 
 most indulgent attention to the infirmities of his 
 guest. I have seen tears of gratitude in the eyes of 
 Romney, when he mentioned the kindness of Lord 
 Egremont, in offering to have a warm-bath of sea- 
 water prepared for him at Petworth, 
 
207 
 
 But to return to the letters of my friend. I shall 
 not suppress, in the following, some expressions of ex- 
 cessive partiality to me, because if they do no credit 
 to his judgment, they still reflect honor on the warmth 
 of his heart. The reader will perceive that they 
 flowed from the immediate feelings of genuine kind- 
 ness, and not from any intention to flatter, though it 
 is evident, that the commendation far exceeded the 
 desert of the person commended: but the noblest 
 minds are most apt to over-rate the little services of 
 those they love, and a friendly spirit is perpetually 
 subject to such pardonable and endearing illusion. 
 
 London, October 11, 1793. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I must answer your first kind letter by telling 
 you, lam much concerned to hear you have suffered in your eyes. 1 hope they 
 are recovered, as I do not know any calamity so teizing, particularly to you, as 
 one of your greatest pleasures is derived from objects, that pass through those 
 delicate organs to the imagination. I am delighted with the ideas you have 
 suggested. 1 must say you are more happy in forming in your mind subjects 
 suitable for pictures, than all the men of learn ing and taste y I ever met with, 
 put together. I shall be ever grateful for those you have suggested at various 
 times for my improvement and pleasure, and request you will never neglect me 
 in that point. 
 
208 
 
 Hodges has brought with him from Russia, drawings of some admira- 
 ble subjects for pictures. 1 endeavoured to persuade him to visit you at 
 JEartham, and paint some of them in my painting room there. 
 
 If you and Cowper would join in a work zoith prints, from designs of 
 Flaxman, and your humble servant. — But more of this when I have the plea- 
 sure of seeing you. As I hope to see you very soon, I shall stop short and 
 only tell you how much I am devoted to you. 
 
 Pine Apple Plzce, December 12, 1793. 
 
 My DEZR FRIEND, 
 
 I thank you for your kind letter, and 
 your great kindness when in town. You have given me fresh spirits, and raised 
 me from apprehensions. But I have been low some days past, which prevented 
 my zvriting. I had not power; perhaps it is the weather that affects me. Yet 
 I have not been negligent in my ideas of pictures. I have been arranging 
 some of the subjects in the Seven Ages, and think I shall be able to make some 
 of them out soon. Then, I mean to send them to you for your approbation. I 
 think of making my pictures the size of my Indian woman, and the number of 
 the set twelve. What do you think of my plan ? 
 
 The favorite project of my friend, at this period, 
 was to delineate, in a series of pictures, the whole life 
 of man, and not to confine himself to Shakespeare's 
 celebrated description of the different ages. Romney 
 was willing to take a leading idea from one of our 
 great poets, but he had an excursive vigour and rich- 
 ness of fancy, that made him delight in adding images 
 
209 
 
 of his own creation to those, that were furnished by 
 the author, from whom he caught the ground work 
 of his intended composition. For example, in a pic- 
 ture that he began of the first age, he did not repre- 
 sent the Infant 
 
 " Meivling and puking in the nurse* s arms." 
 
 But on the bosom of its reclining mother, whose 
 couch is surrounded by several attendants, and among 
 them her husband, a young man of florid health in 
 the habiliments of a hunter, who seems eager to give 
 a kiss of benediction to his wife and child before he 
 sets forth for the chace. This picture like all its in- 
 tended companions was never completed, though 
 several parts of it, had exquisite expression, and 
 beauty. 
 
 In the commencement of the year 1794, Romney 
 appears to have exercised his pencil in the higher 
 province of art, with a diligent and chearful spirit. 
 
 e e 
 
210 
 
 For in his first letter of the year just mentioned, 
 January 10, he said : 
 
 My Ophelia is nearly finished, and the Seven Ages are going on well. 
 I mean to paint the first directly — but silence ! 
 
 His second letter, of the same month, touches on 
 a recent loss that afflicted us both, the death of that 
 great historian whom Romney had painted for me, 
 with the faithful and perfect expression of his social 
 and friendly character. " Poor Gibbon !" exclaims 
 the friendly artist, in a letter of January 29. 
 
 His last zoords were, mon dieu, bon dibu. They have affected me 
 so much. I shall turn my thoughts more to Christianity than I have done. 
 The approach of death convinced him t that there is something more than he 
 had formerly believed. 
 
 I could wish to persuade myself, that the infide- 
 lity of Gibbon was nothing more than what he him- 
 self called it, in a letter to me, only supposed infidelity; 
 but of Romney I can say, with the most satisfactory 
 conviction, that he had a most sincere and cordial re- 
 verence for the Gospel. I used often to tell him, 
 that I expected to see his old age as devout as that of 
 
211 
 
 his favorite Michael Angelo, and it was in truth his 
 intention to devote his pencil, and his mind, in the full 
 maturity of their powers, to subjects derived from 
 that religion, which not only surpasses every other, as 
 a rule of life, but affords also the richest and purest 
 fund of pathetic and sublime imagery to exercise, and 
 ennoble, all the finest of the arts. His devotional 
 feelings were naturally so strong, that if he had em- 
 ployed his talents entirely on sacred subjects, he would 
 have greatly resembled that amiable and devout 
 painter of Italy, Fra Giovanni Angelico, who never 
 resumed his pencil without a prayer, and had his eyes 
 filled with tears in representing the sufferings of our 
 Saviour. 
 
 The tenderness and the sublimity of Milton were 
 equally the objects of Romney's admiration, and if 
 his own powers had been fairly and fully exerted, 
 they would have rendered equal justice to each cha- 
 racteristic of that divine poet, to whom he devoted, 
 at this time, many of his private hours, as he says him- 
 self in the following letter. 
 
 e e 2 
 
212 
 
 Pine Apple Place, Feb. 15, 1794. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I like yonr new plan, but it would be a work 
 of many years, and much depends on my health and spirits. I had formed a 
 plan of painting the Seven Ages, and also the Visions of Adam with the An- 
 gel, to bring in the flood, and the opening of the ark, which would make six 
 large pictures, ( but this is a profound secret.) Indeed to tell you the truth, I 
 have made designs for all the pictures, and very grand subjects they are. I 
 beg no human creature may have a hint of it. My plan was, if I should live 
 and retain my senses and sight, to paint six other subjects from Milton : three 
 where Satan is the hero, and three of Adam and Eve. Perhaps six of each. 
 1 have ideas of them all, and 1 may say sketches ; but alas ! I cannot begin 
 any thing for one year or two, and if my name was mentioned, I should hear 
 nothing but abuse, and that I cannot bear. 
 
 Fear has been always my enemy. My nerves are too weak for support- 
 ing any thing in public. 
 
 I beg you will soon answer this, and be assured of my truth and affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Romney was perfectly conscious of that exces- 
 sive awe, which he felt of the world, and sometimes 
 he would jest, with great humour, on his own extra- 
 vagant timidity. His imagination was indeed singu- 
 larly used to start and tremble at phantoms of its 
 own creation ; but in a field of battle I am persuaded 
 he would have shewn not only manly valour, but even 
 
213 
 
 a spirit of adventurous heroism. One of his endearing* 
 qualities was an eagerness to encourage and befriend 
 the early dawning of genius in any young mind. Many 
 proofs of this will appear in his letters of a later date, 
 and it is tenderly displayed in the following extract 
 from one of this period. 
 
 March 29, 179t4. 
 
 I thank you for giving me the agreeable account 
 of dear Tom and his growing passion for the noble art of design, which will 
 encrease in proportion as he advances. I have seen him grow up, and he has 
 grown into my mind as a relative. Poor Cowper ! 
 
 The compassion of Romney and my own were 
 most painfully excited, at this period, by the recent 
 sufferings of our beloved poet at Weston. 
 
 I hastened to him in April, in a fruitless endea- 
 vour to chear his dejected spirit. The weeks, that I 
 passed under his roof in those unsuccessful efforts, 
 and the hour in which I left him,were painful beyond 
 expression ; and in my return through London, I had 
 the additional affliction of finding Romney very far 
 from well. But for him, (I thank Heaven) a few more 
 
2U 
 
 years of chearful activity were yet in store, and the 
 following letter describes his recovery. 
 
 May 27, 1794. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I think I remember observing once before to 
 you, that of all the qualities belonging to man, that of tender compassion, in 
 pouring consolation into the sick or wounded mind, approaches nearest to the 
 divinity. When you first called on me, I was in a very weak state both of body 
 and mind; or the first stage of recovery : but before you left London, you 
 might observe how much my health improved, though I had not resolution 
 to take your kind advice, and follow you to Eartham. I have still profited by 
 your kindness ; the consolation, it gave my spirits, has advanced my health^ 
 which I shall always remember with gratitude. 
 
 I suppose there are five degrees or stages of recovery in a sick man, before 
 he reaches robust health. I think I am now in the beginning of the fourth, and 
 when I shall arrive at four and a half (which is as high as my feeble health 
 will admit, and which is robust health in me ), I shall begin to look about me, 
 and jostle in the world again. Yes I and bend my bow at those, that kick and 
 and tread upon me. It is a hard fate that a painter is obliged to live in a state 
 of warfare, and jostling. I never more earnestly wished myself out of the 
 bustle of business than at present. O for tranquillity and peace / 
 
 I am delighted from your account to find dear Tom discovers a growing 
 passion for the noble art of sculpture. 1 hope and wish, I was going to say, 
 to see him as great as Phidias and Palladio, when I am looking down from 
 the stars. Some day I hope I shall see him in his full splendour. 
 
 \ 
 
215 
 
 The interest which the great artist took in the 
 talents of the youth, of whom he spoke so fervently, 
 was friendly in the highest degree. Several proofs 
 will appear, as this narrative proceeds, of their reci- 
 procal regard, which did honor to them both. 
 
 The playful infancy of my son had endeared him 
 to Romney, for whom he used to prepare little arti- 
 cles in his painting apparatus, with the sprightly 
 quickness of that smiling fairy, in whose character he 
 was painted. When I reflect on the innumerable 
 sweet and socially studious hours, that J fiave enjoy- 
 ed with these two fellow students, and with Cowper, 
 I seem astonished that having lost all the trio, so in- 
 expressibly dear to me» I can yet retain in my own 
 mind any particles of chearful activity; but the ten- 
 der delight I have taken in commemorating, with 
 zealous fidelity, the meritorious and endearing quali- 
 ties of my lost associates, has preserved me, under 
 Heaven, from that deep and calamitous depression, 
 which reduces a mind naturally active to absolute and 
 wretched inactivity. Still happy, in some degree, if 
 
216 
 
 the warmth, and permanence, of my attachment to 
 each of these very dear departed friends, may yet en- 
 able me to render to them all such an honorable tri- 
 bute of truth, and affection, as all most assuredly have 
 deserved from me, and such as they all perhaps, had 
 they foreseen, that I was destined to survive them, 
 would have wished me to pay to their memories, 
 
 Let me now return to Romney, in the summer of 
 1794. A kind letter in July informed me, that he 
 was preparing- to visit the Isle of Wight with his son, 
 and a young 1 friend of his ; that the little party 
 hoped to call at Eartham in their way, and that he 
 intended, after their excursion, to return to me by 
 himself. His letter contained a friendly suggestion 
 of a tour to Holland. He invited me and my son to 
 embark with him and Mr. John Romney, because he 
 wished to purchase pictures in that country, and be- 
 cause he thought the state of my health required such 
 a relaxation from sedentary studies. 
 
 The projected excursion to the Isle of Wight 
 
317 
 
 was soon accomplished; but his own precarious health, 
 and that of his friend also, at this time much impair- 
 ed, induced him to give up the idea of visiting Hol- 
 land. The following letter shews, in a lively manner, 
 the passion of the painter for romantic scenery. 
 
 Cowes, Isle of Wight, July 17, 1794. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 Though I cannot say much for my health 
 since I arrived here, I can say how much your kindness has charmed my two 
 fellow travellers. 
 
 We arrived here on Saturday evening ; on Sunday we crossed the island 
 to Steep Hill t the villa of Tollemache. The sudden appearance of the sea, and 
 rocky scenery struck me more forcibly than any thing of the kind, I had ever 
 seen before. It was a bird's eye view of the sea, with ships of war sailing 
 below us. The blue sea (for that was the colour J broad and extensive, and 
 marbled beautifully by several streams of wind. We descended about half a 
 mile (which was very steep) to a little village amongst rocks, cascades, 
 and large trees, where this villa is most romantically placed. If 1 were to 
 dwell on the beauties, and the grandeur of the assemblage of objects, it would 
 detain me an hour. In short, it is the thing that hit my taste. What must 
 such a scene be in winter, and in a tempest ? Good God ! I think I see the 
 waves rolling, and a ship striking upon the rocks, Stc. fyc. 
 
 I have not yet bathed: my stay will, I believe, be about a fortnight 
 longer, and then I think of returning by Eartham to stop with you, but I shall 
 $oon be wanted in London — more of that hereafter. 
 
 Ff 
 
218 
 
 My friend dispatched two more letters to Ear- 
 tham before he quitted the Isle of Wight. They re- 
 late chiefly to his impaired health, but some expres- 
 sions in one of them display so forcibly his intense 
 love of art, and his zeal for its prosperity, that the pas- 
 sage I allude to seems justly to claim a place in this 
 volume. 
 
 July 28> 
 
 / have a plan in contemplation of a little academy next winter in the 
 room under my gallery. I think Flaxman will approve of it. The advan- 
 tage will be much greater, when each can set his figures, as suits him, and 
 with the quiet of only three persons. Do you approve of this? 
 
 It is the more incumbent on me to notice this 
 idea, as I believe it originated in a most friendly so- 
 licitude for the success of my son, who in a visit to 
 Derbyshire had been so much encouraged to draw 
 by Wright the artist, whom he frequently attend- 
 ed as a kind instructor, that he conceived a passion 
 for art, which our intimacy with Romney had a con- 
 tinual tendency to raise and encrease. As we had 
 all a most chearful confidence in the genius and 
 
219 
 
 in the friendship of Flaxman, now returning from 
 Rome, it was a general wish, that the promising 
 youth, whose early love of the pencil had been occa- 
 sionally fostered by two friendly painters, should be- 
 come a regular disciple of a benevolent and admira- 
 ble sculptor. 
 
 The delight that Romney took in his early ta- 
 lents, and in the highly-promising commencement of 
 his studies, under a master so esteemed, and beloved, 
 will appear in the sequel. I have now to notice the 
 return of the painter from the Isle of Wight to 
 Eartham. His excursion had not improved his health 
 to the extent of our hopes, and wishes, and he was 
 prevented from resting more than a few days in 
 rural quiet by a pressure of business, that hurried 
 him to London. His first letter, after his return to 
 town, is dated on the 8 th of August; it was soon fol- 
 lowed by a second, that I hasten to insert, because 
 though it speaks not of his professional occupation, it 
 
 Ff2 
 
220 
 
 will I think endear him to my reader, by throwing 1 a 
 lustre on his character as a friend. 
 
 August 20, 1794. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I am quite overcome with the melancholy re- 
 fections in your hind letter, and your still greater kindness in wishing to be 
 serviceable to me while in this troubled state. I hope this impression on your 
 spirits is only transitory, and that autumnal air and bathing will restore your 
 health. Indeed if you should go before me, I should lose every thing that is 
 dear to me, and the best friend I ever had. I hope you will trust me. I have 
 gratitude in my heart, and true kindness to render every service I can to your 
 dear boy for my life time, whatever may happen to you. My dear bard chear 
 up ! and finish the poem you have so happily begun ! The arrival of Flax- 
 man will give a spring to your mind. I have heard good tidings of him. His 
 father received a letter from him last Friday, and expects him in England in 
 about three weeks. I have been poorly since I got home, but am better in the 
 last two days. 
 
 September 13. 
 
 I am happy to hear from your kind letter, that 
 you are better, and that you have been amused. I wish I could say I am better, 
 or that my mind is agreeably amused. To divert my mind a little 1 have 
 begun the first stage of man, and the prison scene; also a great cartoon. I 
 am now without a friend here that I dare speak to. They ask me why I do 
 not finish my pictures? <5fc. <Sfc. I wish to God you could contrive to come 
 and stay all the winter. Forgive me ! 
 
221 
 
 London, September 26, 1794. 
 
 My vezr friend, 
 
 Your kind invitation has raised my drooping 
 spirits, but I have much to do before I can stir from this place. You are the 
 man of all others, who know how to administer consolation in the tenderest and 
 most encouraging manner. Doctor Kinsley happened to call when I was in 
 my disturbed state, and sent for my son to come up from Cambridge. He came 
 directly and his readiness gave me pleasure ; but he was obliged to return to 
 do church duty. I have suffered much, and the impression still hangs iipon 
 me. I am quite opprest. Bear with me, I am afraid 1 talk too milch of my- 
 self I was delighted with dear Tom's exquisite feeling when you were buf- 
 feting the waves. Flaxman is gone round by Venice : though he is not here 
 in person, I have caught a portion of his soul from the beautiful images of his 
 Homer and Dante. I am charmed with them, they have thrown a light upon 
 " my mind, that has dissipated some of its thick gloom. Flaxman' s taste leans 
 much to the old cathedral, simple, and pure. I long to see him return, and if 
 he arrives soon I think of accompanying him to your lovely abode, 
 
 London, Oct. 10, 1794. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I am happy to find you accomplish your wishes in riding 
 and bathing. I feel myself so much recovered that 1 am hard at work again ; 
 and not certain at present, if I shall be able to stir. I) the weather should 
 clear up, 1 still think of visiting you, as I wish much to see you, though my 
 plans at present are going on well in my art. No account of Flaxman yet ! 
 do tell me if you are near well, and if you are advancing in any of your great 
 works. 
 
222 
 
 The year 1794 was unfavorable to the health 
 of Romney, and to that of his Sussex friend — Our 
 spirits had been saddened in the early part of it, 
 first by the death of Gibbon, an event universally la- 
 mented from the social and friendly qualities of the 
 man, not to mention the great talents of the historian; 
 an event peculiarly affecting to me, from the circum- 
 stance of my having been engaged by Gibbon, in the 
 kindest manner, not indeed to travel with him in his 
 return to Lausanne, but to follow him so rapidly, as 
 to allow him only a few days to prepare his hospitable 
 mansion to receive his expected guests, myself and 
 my son. We had both promised him to be punctual 
 to this very kind appointment on meeting him in 
 Northamptonshire in the Autumn of 1793, and this 
 intended visit, of friendly delight, was settled for 
 the beginning of May, in the following Spring; a 
 Spring which the benevolent projector of a plan so 
 pleasant was destined alas! never to behold. Had 
 not his unexpected death annihilated this chearful vi- 
 sion, it is highly probable, that my solicitude for 
 Romney's declining health, and Gibbon's just esteem 
 
223 
 
 for his character, would have conspired to make the 
 beloved artist one of our party. Instead of enjoying' 
 in the beautiful scenery of Lausanne the hospitable 
 historian's instructive and enlivening conversation, it 
 was our lot to lament, at this time, in our own coun- 
 try his early death, and the calamitous fate of our be- 
 loved Cowper, who sunk this year into that over- 
 whelming dejection of spirit, from which he never 
 perfectly revived. There was however at this period 
 a ray of light, that seemed to promise his speedy re- 
 covery. On my dispatching- these glad tidings to 
 Romney, he sent me the following very tender reply, 
 in which he speaks of mental decay in terms so pa- 
 thetic, that we might almost fancy them inspired by 
 a presage of his being destined to suffer in his own 
 person, that most deplorable of mortal evils, before his 
 final release from the sufferings ofmortality. 
 
 Pine Apple Plzce, October 18, 1794. 
 
 My BE2tR friend, 
 
 I rejoice with all my heart at the tidings you 
 have conveyed to me. If there is a blessing in nature above all others, it is, 
 when a man recovers his lost reason. And if there is a situation more deplo 
 
224 
 
 ,-rable than any other in nature, it is the horrible decline of reason, and the de 
 rangemcnt of that power, we have been blest with. How hard it is for a man 
 with a feeling mind to preserve that balance in his understanding, that car- 
 ries hiw well through life ! Bless all those who dedicate their time to the 
 weakness of the human mind! I rejoice at your happy recovery. I am not 
 settled yet ; but still think of visiting you, either with Flaxman or without. 
 He is expected in a jew days. 
 
 The very tender state of Romney's health and 
 spirits induced him to hasten into Sussex without 
 waiting* for the friend so eagerly expected, after a stu- 
 dious excursion of several years. When the painter 
 arrived at Eartham, our first object was to amuse, 
 and fortify his mind against the encroachment of that 
 insidious malady the hypochondria, which has so fre- 
 quent and cruel a tendency to impede the exertions 
 of active g-enius. For this purpose I and my son 
 attended him into Hampshire. We amused our- 
 selves in a survey of Portsmouth, and enjoyed on 
 our road home, a few chearful hours with the late 
 Doctor Warton, at Wickham. That goodnatured, 
 and lively, critic contributed not a little to invigorate 
 the tender spirits of Romney by the fervent praise he 
 bestowed on his cartoons, in black chalk, from scene* 
 
225 
 
 of Greek tragedy ; subjects peculiarly interesting to 
 this ardent lover of antient literature, who, if I remem- 
 ber right, particularly commended a design of Rom- 
 ney, that he had lately seen in London, describing the 
 dream of Atossa from the Persse of iEschylus ; a fa- 
 vorite drama of Warton, and of every scholar, who 
 takes a lively interest in the glory of Greece. 
 The cartoon was so powerful in its spirit and expres- 
 sion, that it seemed worthy to have been applauded 
 by iEschylus himself. 
 
 From Sussex the artist was hastily recalled to 
 town by the pressure of business. The following let- 
 ter displays the exultation of his heart on a prospect 
 of Flaxman's arrival from Italy. 
 
 November 4, 1794. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 Huzza ! Huzza t tidings from Flaxman, my 
 dcarjriend. He was at Verona, and says he will be in London on the Lord 
 Mayor's Day. Your joy cannot be greater than mine. Our casts also are 
 arrived safe from Verona at the custom-house. 
 
 Thanks to your kindness I have received a kind note from Doctor War- 
 
 G g 
 
226 
 
 ton. I expect my academy to be ready soon, and I hope to be able to practice 
 all the winter in company with our dear Tom, and another promising young 
 artist. Rose dined with me yesterday, and you were often in our memory. 
 
 November 17, 1794. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I suppose you have had by this time an in- 
 spiring affectionate letter from our dear returned sculptor. 1 am still more 
 charmed with him than ever ; his company is delightful. Indeed I am quite 
 made happy by his return. I think he will go and see you, though he is very 
 anxious to get settled in a house. You flatter me very much by your kind 
 letter in remembering me with such affection, whenever you have an opportu- 
 nity to do me service. 
 
 December 19, 1794* 
 
 My dejsr friend, 
 
 I expect with great impatience to see you soon, 
 and shall delay saying any thing, till that time arrives, though many things 
 'very interesting to me have happened. However I must tell you, that 1 am 
 now in better health and spirits, than I have been for some time past. 
 
 I received a very pleasing letter from my dear inspiring and improving 
 little artist ; and rejoice with aU my heart and soul, at his growing passion, 
 which I do not doubt will lead him to every thing honorable to himself and his 
 art. Remember my best affections to him, and encourage him from me to 
 pursue with all his vigour, the noble art, that his mind seems truly turned for. 
 My blessing will ever attend him. 
 
 Do tell me my dear friend and consoler, how your health and spirits are, 
 and when I may expect the pleasure of seeing you in town. Flaxman is re- 
 turned from the Country, and has been very kind in getting my casts from the 
 
227 
 
 Custom house. 1 believe I may nozv say I have the best private collection in 
 London. He has fixed on a house, and near me, which is delightful to my 
 feelings. He is a most accomplished artist. 
 
 I trust I shall not painfully affect the feelings of 
 a living friend by the publication of praise bestowed 
 on him so cordially by the departed. It is an act of 
 justice, that I owe to the heart of Romney, to shew 
 with what affectionate and generous delight he con* 
 templated rising merit, instead of viewing it with 
 that supercilious austerity, or envious apprehension, 
 with which old and successful candidates for public 
 favor are sometimes inclined to retard the success of 
 their younger followers in a similar career. Romney 
 had in truth a paternal mind, (to use an expression 
 of Horace, notus in fratres animi paterni) towards his 
 brothers in art, as well as towards the brothers, that 
 nature had given him. Concerning his care and pa- 
 tronage of the latter, I shall have a future opportu- 
 nity to speak from the grateful testimony of his only 
 surviving brother, the Colonel, who has kindly pro- 
 mised to visit my retreat if his injured health will 
 
 Gg2 
 
328 
 
 allow him to do so, with fresh documents concerning 
 the fraternal tenderness and liberality of our deceased 
 friend, before* this volume can be completed at the 
 press. Let me now return to the painter in 1794 ; 
 the afflictions, that we both endured in the early part 
 of that memorable year, were happily counterbalanced 
 in the close of it, by the joyous interest, that we both 
 took in the advantages and honor, that our friend 
 Flaxman had acquired in his studious travels of seven 
 years, and in his prosperous return. 
 
 The year 1795 opened with an event, that had 
 a very chearful influence on the kind and tejider 
 spirit of Romney. This was the highly promising 
 establishment of his young friend, Thomas Hayley, as 
 the domestic disciple of Flaxman. The tender atten- 
 tion bestowed by the two great artists on the early 
 talents of this diligent youth, I can never sufficiently 
 acknowledge. The delight that Romney took in 
 cherishing and commending them, will appear in his 
 subsequent letters. 
 
229 
 
 At present I must borrow intelligence concern- 
 ing the occupation of the painter (and I have a 
 mournful gratification in doing so) from the papers 
 of that dear departed youth, whom he encouraged so 
 kindly in the chearful commencement of his brief 
 career. 
 
 It has happened by I know not what mischance* 
 that Romney's letters to me during the first half of 
 the year 1795, have been lost or mislaid. But the 
 letters of my son enable me to ascertain, in that pe- 
 riod, the beginning of a picture by our friend, in 
 which I took a peculiar interest, entertaining a san- 
 guine hope, that his admirers might in time regard 
 it as a most interesting example of his inventive 
 powers. — Alas ! it was never advanced even half way 
 to its completion, but the first unfinished idea of it 
 upon a very extensive canvas is still worthy of notice, 
 and the head of our Saviour appears so finely con- 
 ceived, that I trust an engraving from it will be 
 deemed a proper decoration of this volume, I will 
 now mention the rise of his design. In the year 1794, 
 
230 
 
 a passage in the Paradise Regained of Milton, so for- 
 cibly struck me as full of sentiment and picture, that 
 I desired my son to transcribe it for Romney. It was 
 the sublime description of our Saviour in the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 Infernal ghosts, and hellish furies, round 
 
 Environ d thee; some howVd, some yelVd, some shriek 'd, 
 
 Some bent at thee their fieri/ darts, zvhile thou 
 
 Satst unappall d in calm and sinless peace. 
 
 My son sent his transcript of the passage to our 
 beloved painter, and probably when he became his 
 neighbour, and frequent visiter in London, reminded 
 him of a subject for his pencil, that we thought so 
 peculiarly worthy of his genius. However this may 
 be, the following extract from a letter of the young 
 sculptor, will serve to shew at what time this great 
 sketch was begun. 
 
 March 29, 1795. 
 
 JVbw for myse/j! — J go on charmingly. The Flaxrnans I like more 
 and more. He is such a man, he cannot be praised too much. Mrs. Flaxman is 
 
27tamas2itrmjiliMaU 
 
231 
 
 very good to me : so is the immortal painter. He desires I will ch use any of his 
 casts to model from that I please : he intends to take lodgings at Ilampstead 
 to recruit his strength. He has begun his head of our Saviour in the wilder- 
 ness. It is very much the thing I think. 1 am quite in his confidence. 
 
 The happy juvenile spirit displayed in these few 
 lines from the new student of sculpture, then in his 
 fifteenth year, may interest such gentle readers as look 
 with indulgence on the gaiety of industrious youth. 
 
 The little boast of the lively boy as enjoying the 
 confidence of the great artist, was not destitute of 
 foundation, for Romney thought so highly of his pure 
 and intelligent mind, that he frequently consulted 
 him, and particularly on occasions relating to art. 
 This young counsellor who thought glory infinitely 
 preferable to gold, exhorted Romney continually to 
 relieve himself from the drudgery, of which he was 
 very apt to complain, by bidding adieu to portraits, 
 and devoting all his time to historical composition; 
 advice the more seasonable, as the painter seemed in 
 this year to have been almost overwhelmed by the 
 multitude of his sitters. 
 
232 
 
 The first of his letters bearing the date of 1795, 
 expresses in a very affectionate manner the extreme 
 tenderness of his own health, and the friendly interest 
 he took in the early studies of my son. 
 
 London, June 17, 1795. 
 
 My dezr friend, 
 
 Your kind letter came very opportunely. It 
 was quite a balm to my mind; indeed I may truly say, you have ever admi- 
 nistered comfort to my distressed spirits ; and as I know your readiness in 
 zoriting, 1 thought you rather delayed saying any thing to me, which raised an 
 anxiety in my mind : (I say it with tears in my eyes ) that should I be unfor- 
 tunate enough to lose your good opinion, my melancholy would have no end. 
 
 I am going to decline business, to wind up my bottom and then build me 
 a house, which I hope will inspire me with new vigour, and I pray God, I 
 may recover my spirits to go on anew. I have still the same passion for art, 
 and begin to feel at times a regeneration in my mind, that approaches to some- 
 thing more refined. Our dear little sculptor has made an excellent copy. He 
 surprises me more and more* I do not know lever saw such rapid progress 
 before in any art. You know I am always anxious to hear from you. 
 
 July 10, 11795. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 Your letter was of m ore value to me than 
 you are aware of The kindness expressed in it left an impression that dwelt 
 on my mind, and saved me from falling into some melancholy malady. I have 
 been very much under the impression of that dreadful feeling for many months 
 past. I believe it is partly constitutional, but I hope my spirits will clear up 
 
233 
 
 zvhen I am once settled. The time is now approaching. It will be near Au- 
 gust before I can disentangle myself from my portrait business. Whetlier 1 
 can take the advantage of your kind invitation I am not certain. I should zvish 
 much to accompany the two sculptors, ( Flax man and his pupil ). I find I 
 am getting better very fast, so God bless you and all your undertakings. 
 
 July SO, 1795. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I have not much to say at present, farther than 
 to thank you for your readiness and repeated kindness in answering my letters, 
 when I am distressed myself or for some friend* In the latter case I think 
 there is something more sacred, and that interests more deeply, than for one's 
 self. Our friend may not at all times be able to act, or think for himself. 
 Friendship is then the first of human blessings. Only whilst I can merit 
 friendship, do I wish to live, If it fades away in all I hope to die. 
 
 I am still unsettled where and when I shall fix my first stone, and make 
 my gravel walks, and plant my cedars; but to build my house and plant my 
 cedars, I am determined. God light up the imaginations of lawyers ! 
 
 I am concerned I do not hear what you are doing. I am sure no man 
 is more heartily interested, whatever it is. Believe me most sincerely yours, 
 and all alive to every thing that you do, whilst I am G. Romney. 
 
 September 3, 1795. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I am flattered with the notice Flaxman has 
 taken of my family picture, ( the Bosanquet family ). I think it has unity, 
 and sentiment. I certainly should be happy to execute the picture you men ■ 
 tion of Lord FgremonV s family . Perhaps it would be my last. But farther 
 
 ii h 
 
234 
 
 I cannot say yet, lam glad to hear the young Phidias is returning. I have 
 higher hopes of him, than I ever had of any young man of his age, in talents, 
 vigorous industry, and serenity of temper. His being so happily settled with a 
 man of profound knowledge of his art, and I may say every other science, with 
 religion and good temper will lead the young sculptor to every excellence : I hope 
 I may be considered as an auxiliary in every zoay good will can be turned. I 
 have many more things to say, but the heat of the weather is so great, I have 
 not the power of writing farther. 
 
 Sept. 8, 1795. 
 
 I certainly shall hasten to you in a few days with my pleasing compa- 
 nion Carwardine, I shall also send canvas and colours to begin the picture, 
 about which you have so much interested yourself for me. Since you have 
 spoken so decidedly, I long to run down and enjoy your conversation, and 
 country quiet; and sympathise in all your feelings. 
 
 I have before observed, that it had long been an 
 object of Romney's ambition, to place some work of 
 his pencil in the princely mansion of Petworth. Lord 
 Egremont had the kindness not only to employ him 
 on a large family picture, but to indulge him in his 
 wish of executing the work in his favorite painting 
 room at Eartham; for this purpose Romney visited 
 Sussex in September, and kindly obtained permission 
 from Flaxman to let his pupil attend him, although 
 the young sculptor had recently returned to his studies 
 
235 
 
 in the house of his master. That excellent master 
 knew it was never the wish of the painter to lead in- 
 genious youth into idleness, but rather to promote by 
 exhortation and example the utmost activity of laud- 
 able ambition. 
 
 The travellers enjoyed their social excursion : 
 the great picture was chearfully begun, and the 
 young sculptor in the course of his holidays contrived 
 to execute a medallion of the painter, which gave 
 rise to the following Sonnet, and will appear among 
 the engravings, that decorate this volume. 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 Dear Boy ! in spirit like the dawning day I 
 And more in temper, than in age mature ! 
 Let me applaud, with benediction pure, 
 Thy arduous purpose, of Promethean clay, 
 To form the friend, who in thy infant play, 
 Perceived, and wished zvith kindness to secure, 
 
 h h 2 
 
236 
 
 (What now may heaven with happiest aid ensure) 
 Thy bloom of early talents, rich, and gay. 
 
 In thy young ivork, the soid of Romney lives, 
 And gratitude for once performs the part 
 Of skill and practice.-*- Yet retain by heart 
 The lesson Flaxmans bright example gives ! 
 That e'en by genius excellence is bought 
 With length of labour, and a life of thought. 
 
 As I find that Romney's letters to me display 
 the tender singularities of his nature, much better 
 than I could describe them, I continue to insert such 
 extracts from them, as may render my readers inti- 
 mately, and I trust agreeably, acquainted with the 
 man. The following- is the first account of his re- 
 turn to London. 
 
 October Q, 1795. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 Thank God I am recovered from the dreadful 
 impression of returning to my old trammels, and of leaving those, whom I love 
 dearly. The great kindness I met with, the beauty of the scenery, and the 
 fineness of the season, had so much unhinged me, it was difficult to regain my 
 old habits of industry. 1 lay awake all the next morning to muse, and feed on 
 what had passed, for several hours. JVhen I look around me, I am obliged 
 to suffer those things, that delighted me so much to jade away, and remove 
 
237 
 
 into the back ground of time, and every now and then to regret with a tear, 
 what perhaps may never return. 1 long to hear of Earlham, and Petworth, 
 of my elves and fairies. I have seen the Flaxmans and they are very kind. 
 Dear Tom seems settled and happy. I have been not well, which prevented 
 my writing so soon as 1 ought. 
 
 October 16, 1795, 
 Y our very kind letter, my dearest of friends, 
 was a cordial to my mind, and especially all the information you have given 
 me of Pet worth. But as I hope to see you soon I shall only tell you I am 
 much better. My head by dear Tom comes out very well, and every one 
 thinks it extremely like. 
 
 The painter closed the year 1795, by a second 
 visit to Sussex, to advance the large picture he had 
 begun. His health and spirits were in so tender a 
 state, that I was apprehensive a little mischance might 
 frustrate his intention. For the indisposition of a 
 child rendered it impossible for the little party to at- 
 tend him in his favorite painting room, but by cross- 
 ing the hills to Petworth every morning, and return- 
 ing to Eartham every night, he improved his health 
 and forwarded his business beyond his expectation. 
 At Petworth he found every encouragement, every 
 indulgence ; and often did he speak with the most 
 lively gratitude of the infinite kindness he experienced 
 in that mansion. 
 
238 
 
 The kind artist began the year 1796, by a very 
 endearing act of friendship in dispatching to me the 
 following account of the young sculptor, whose juve- 
 nile performances he continually regarded with indul- 
 gent partiality, and generous encouragement, 
 
 January 19, 1796. 
 
 My DE2R FRIEND, 
 
 Though I have many things to say in answer 
 to your last letter, I must for the present wave saying any thing in answer ; 
 and turn my mind to give some account of the extraordinary talents Tom has 
 discovered in a design he has made from the New Testament, of the two Angels 
 and Mary at the tomb of Christ. 1 speak with a degree of amazement. It is 
 simple, grand, and beautiful, better conceived and with more good sense, than any 
 design of the same subject I have ever seen. I give you joy of this first and 
 bright example of his irtvention. I could not delay communicating what must 
 give you so much joy. Tom informs me you are at work. Huzza I 
 
 As it is my great ambition to display in this me- 
 morial the peculiar benignity and spirit of Romney's 
 character as a friend, I trust the considerate reader 
 will pardon all the egotism, which I have vainly 
 wished to exclude from the volume, because I found 
 it impossible to do justice to all the affectionate feel- 
 ings of my companion and correspondent, without in- 
 troducing much of myself, and much of my son, whose 
 
239 
 
 talents as a very young artist, Romney was ever in- 
 clined to encourage and commend. If he lavished 
 excessive praise on his juvenile productions, it flowed 
 from the genuine warmth and kindness of his own 
 feelings, for being familiar with the infancy of a 
 sprightly and engaging child, he had been gradually 
 led to regard him with great partiality. 
 
 The busy painter seems at this period to have 
 almost forgotten his resolution to disentangle himself 
 from the troublesome part of his profession, if we 
 may judge from the tenor of his next letter, in which 
 (after the history of a little vexation, he had endured 
 by not obtaining a piece of ground at Kilburn, on 
 which he had a fancy to build) he says : 
 
 Februarys, 1796. 
 
 My gallery has been much frequented. Among its visiters I have had 
 Charles Fox, fyc. The Prince has been zoith me again and promised to sit. 
 
 I have had an earlier opportunity of observ- 
 ing, that Romney never exercised his pencil with 
 so much pleasure, as when he employed it in a disin- 
 
240 
 
 terested manner, to indulge the feelings of friendship. 
 He spontaneously began in the country two pictures, 
 each containing several figures for this purpose. 
 The first contained his friend of Eartham, seated at a 
 table with Tully's Essay on Friendship before him. 
 Two young friends, Thomas Hayley and William 
 Meyer (the only remaining son of the celebrated artist) 
 are represented as standing by the side of the reader; 
 the former has a little statue of Minerva in his 
 hand, to denote his profession as a sculptor, and his 
 associate, wears the Gown of Trinity College, in Cam- 
 bridge, of which he was a student, when the picture 
 was painted. A head of the painter is also introduced, 
 but in too hasty a manner to be a faithful portrait 
 The larger performance, to which 1 have alluded, 
 was designed to express the friendly interest, which 
 the painter took in the promising establishment of 
 his young favorite, as the disciple of Flaxman. It 
 represents the three artists, and their old friend, all 
 at full length. Romney, when he began this kindly- 
 intended picture (which he never completed, for he 
 meant to repaint two of the heads) expressly declared 
 
241 
 
 his purpose, that the picture should be stationed with 
 me till my decease, that it should then descend to 
 Flaxman, and from him to his disciple; a remarkable 
 and endearing* proof of the minute and cordial atten- 
 tion which the painter often delighted in shewing to 
 the wishes and feelings of those, whom he was anxious 
 to gratify. 
 
 In the Spring of 1796, Romney had a short, but 
 very serious illness, which he described in the follow- 
 ing letter, with singular energy of expression. 
 
 March 15, 1796. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 Your kind letter was a cordial to my feelings. 
 You know what nerves are, after severe illness ; but I hope to re-establish my 
 health without indulging in your invitation. 
 
 I feel like one escaped from an enchantment, where some fiend pre- 
 sided. The tyranny of the disease was terrible for four days ; my throat burst 
 and the enchantment vanished. Carwardine was, and still is in town, which 
 was fortunate for me ; his cordiality made time pass more comfortably to my 
 spirits; I now feel recovered and can zoork, I cannot say hozo much I admire 
 dear Tom's progress. I shall never forget your kindness while I am 
 
 G. R. 
 
 i i 
 
242 
 
 Though the painter was soon restored to the use 
 of his pencil, and executed much professional business 
 in the course of this year, a subsequent letter shews, 
 in a very affecting manner, how much he suffered from 
 that insidious distemper, Melancholy. 
 
 Spring, 1796. 
 
 My dezr friend, 
 
 My spirits have been so very indifferent, I 
 have not been able to write; and now I can only say a word or two, and that is, 
 I long to hear from you. Perhaps when the days grow longer, and I can 
 sleep at Hampstead, I may get better, but alas ! my prospect of future life, 
 grows dreary. lean say no more at present, but I hope your spirits are good 
 and you may defy every other calamity. My affections hover round you, God 
 bless you. 
 
 The friends of Romney did not think his suffer- 
 ings the less entitled to their attention and pity, be- 
 cause they knew them to be merely imaginary : on the 
 contrary several of his associates were ever eager to 
 employ both reason and raillery, in freeing him from 
 those oppressive phantoms, which his powerful imagi- 
 nation under these transient clouds was so apt to pro- 
 duce. An amiable poet says happily on this barbarous 
 distemper, the Spleen. 
 
243 
 
 " Tlirow but a stone the giant dies" 
 
 I once had the pleasure of seeing Romney so 
 speedily delivered from the tyranny of this giant, that 
 I will relate the anecdote trifling as it may appear, in 
 the hope, it may suggest useful hints for the relief of 
 others, who may suffer a similar oppression. In July 
 1796, I happened to pass a few days at Kew, with my 
 young friend William Meyer, and my son, who came 
 to meet me in a house long endeared to us by the 
 kindness of its inhabitants. I had proposed to amuse 
 my young companions by a sight of the pictures in 
 Windsor Castle, but as the weather precluded us from 
 that projected excursion, Meyer kindly offered to in- 
 troduce us to the sight of some fine pictures much 
 nearer, the collection of his neighbour the late Mr. 
 Udney at Teddington. A lady of very elegant man- 
 ners received us so graciously, that we all rejoiced in 
 our exchange of Windsor for Teddington. On see- 
 ing two very interesting pictures of Salvator Rosa, 
 and Corregio, I could not help exclaiming that I 
 
 i i 2 
 
244 
 
 thought a sight of them would be a medicine to my 
 friend Romney, who was then suffering under nervous 
 depression. We were most kindly invited to make the 
 experiment. The next morning Meyer and I sur- 
 prized the sick painter in his chamber at Hampstead, 
 before he had quitted his pillow. We proposed to 
 him the specific, we had discovered for his depression. 
 No ! he replied, he was too ill to move. He was in 
 a state of health, that would not allow him to receive 
 entertainment even from fine pictures. By gentle 
 degrees, we reanimated him so far, as to pre vail on him 
 to attend us in our return to Kew, where we assured 
 him he would find only friends, that were used to chear 
 him. The ladies of Kew, and a little coffee in- 
 spirited him so much, that he ventured to Teddington. 
 Here, as we had predicted, Salvator Rosa, and Corre- 
 gio, proved such powerful magicians, that they com- 
 pletely banished all his complaints. We returned 
 to Kew, and our revived friend most agreeably re- 
 warded us, for the cure, we had so speedily wrought, 
 by acknowledging, that although he felt more than 
 half dead, when we entered his chamber, in the morn- 
 
245 
 
 ing, he had never passed a more delightful day in his 
 life. So easy is it for seasonable kindness to triumph 
 over the formidable legion of blue-devils. 
 
 The following letter happens to have no date, 
 but its allusion to the incidents I have just related, 
 and my friend's preparation for his next visit to 
 Sussex, clearly prove that it was written early in Au- 
 gust, 1796. 
 
 My VE2LREST OF FRIENDS, 
 
 The last time I had the pleasure of 
 seeing you was a day indeed; a day I shall never forget: it was so very 
 friendly and gallant to me. It teas the first step to my recovery ; the journey 
 to Cambridge afterwards with our friend Carwardine, contributed to what you 
 begun. The shaking of the coach, the scenery, the variety of company and 
 kindness from all contributed to bring me to a working mood. I have now 
 finished the Petworth picture, so that it may be removed, and I have also paint- 
 ed a lovely daughter of Lady Toxvnshend. I have not been able to form to my- 
 self any time, when I shall take my departure to the south, and visit the friend- 
 ly and lovely scenes of Eartham, till now, that my health is much recovered: 
 1 have been able to work hard for the last fortnight, and shall be still at work, 
 till Mr. Bunce the Architect, has agreed with me on my proposed building. 
 Then I hope it will not be longer than a day or two before I shall see you. I 
 must not forget dear Tom's fine head of the Goddess ofJVhdom (a small mar- 
 
246 
 
 lie bust of Minerva.) He has infused more of that attribute into the counte- 
 nance, than I have commonly seen. There is a tender softness about the 
 mouthy that is very affecting to me. 
 
 I have got the Birth and Triumph of Love, a poem with prints, and 
 shall bring it with me, and hope to be with you in a few days. 
 
 The mention that Romney made of his journey 
 to Cambridge, in the letter just imparted to the 
 reader, induced me to make enquiry concerning 
 the particulars of his visit to that university, whose 
 name can never occur to me without many pleas- 
 ing recollections of juvenile friendship and of social 
 study. 
 
 My enquiry produced a very kind and interesting 
 letter from his fellow traveller in that excursion, some 
 of whose excellent remarks on the works and merits of 
 our favorite painter, may find perhaps a more suitable 
 place in this volume. Here therefore I will only 
 transcribe what my obliging correspondent has said on 
 the subject immediately in question. " Our journey 
 to Cambridge was undertaken, more for the change 
 of air, and the recovery of our friend, after a severe 
 fit of illness, than from any hope of seeing good pic- 
 
247 
 
 tures, since our universities are rather repositories 
 for literature, than for painting-. However I recol- 
 lect, that when we dined with Doctor Craven, master 
 of Saint John's, we found in his rooms, a portrait of 
 Fisher, bishop of Rochester, and almoner to the Lady 
 Margaret Countess of Richmond, and mother of King- 
 Henry the Seventh. She, you know, was the foundress 
 of the college, and engaged the bishop to superintend 
 the progress of the building. The portrait was paint- 
 ed by Holbein, and to give you the opinion of Rom- 
 ney, it is one of the very finest portraits ever painted 
 by Holbein, or indeed by any painter. It is impossi- 
 ble to look at it long without forgetting that it is a 
 picture, and viewing it as a living and venerable old 
 man in the attitude of speaking to you. It is a half- 
 length, and the painter's initials are visible on a cor- 
 nelian, which decorates the finger of the good old 
 Bishop. You have now all I can recollect of our 
 Cambridge excursion." This excursion was proba- 
 bly planned by the benevolence of the dejected 
 painter's fellow traveller, and assuredly nothing could 
 be better suited to reanimate such an invalide, than 
 
248 
 
 the tenderness and vivacity of this intelligent associ- 
 ate, who had been for many years, his constant ad- 
 mirer, and his confidential companion. 
 
 The fortunate restoration of his spirits at this 
 season, enabled Romney to exercise his art through 
 the whole summer with peculiar comfort and pleasure. 
 He arrived at Eartham, with the family of Meyer, on 
 the eleventh of August, and very soon began to em- 
 ploy himself on the picture already mentioned, which 
 was a favorite of his affectionate fancy, and called by 
 himself the four friends. As William Meyer was now 
 of our party, the kind artist was eager to seize the 
 opportunity of finishing his head in the group. I 
 never knew the spirits of Romney so uniformly chear- 
 ful, as they were while his attention was engaged 
 on this performance ; but several circumstances con- 
 spired to give peculiar animation to his health in this 
 autumn. He had completed his Petworth picture to 
 his own satisfaction, and though an indifferent horse- 
 man, he was at last pursuaded by his friends, to 
 add frequent exercise on horseback to the salutary 
 
249 
 
 discipline of sea bathing". These were all incidents 
 propitious to his delicate health. Another circum- 
 stance contributed not a little to inspirit him at this 
 season ; the prospect of finding- ample amusement in 
 his projected building. He had recently purchased 
 an old house in Hampstead, with a spacious stable on 
 elevated ground behind it ; and there he intended to 
 form a villa, with every accommodation for the exer- 
 cise of his art. It chanced that his Sussex friend had 
 also at this time, a project of building at Felpham, 
 and Flaxman had particularly recommended a very 
 pleasing acquaintance of his as an architect. Romney 
 was so eager to consult this intelligent artist, that in- 
 stead of waiting for him in Sussex, where he was ex- 
 pected, he requested that we might hasten to London 
 together, which would afford him a double satisfaction, 
 that of consulting with the architect, and shewing me 
 the premises he was so anxious to improve. On the 
 29th of August we reached London, in the morning. 
 Romney was delighted in accomplishing the double 
 purpose of our excursion, and with the additional plea- 
 
 k k 
 
250 
 
 sure of conducting- to Eartham, on the 2d of Septem- 
 ber, the young sculptor, whose head he was now eager 
 to paint in the group of the four friends, that formed 
 at this time his favorite occupation. Through the 
 whole course of the autumn he was particularly active 
 and happy. Among the several portraits he executed 
 in the present year at Eartham, I must not omit to 
 mention an excellent head of a most amiable medical 
 friend, who had shewn much tender and generous at- 
 tention to the artist for several years, in his transient 
 fits of fanciful indisposition. He painted an admira- 
 ble likeness of our friend William Guy, the surgeon 
 of Chichester, whose countenance was doubly honored 
 by a great poet, and a great painter ; for Cowper said 
 of him, that he won his heart at first sight; and Rom- 
 ney declared, that he had never examined any manly 
 features, which he would sooner chuse for a model, 
 if he had occasion to represent the compassionate be- 
 nignity of our Saviour. 
 
 After painting with great spirit during the month 
 of September at Eartham, Romney kindly proposed a 
 
251 
 
 little excursion of pleasure, that we might gratify our 
 student of sculpture, with a sight of the celebrated 
 collection of statues at Wilton, and the stupendous 
 scenery of Stonehenge. By passing two nights at Salis- 
 bury, the 2d and 3d of October, we saw with great ease 
 and convenience the different objects of our curiosity, 
 including also the interesting pictures at the seat of 
 Lord Radnor. To Wilton we devoted the best part of 
 a day. Romney expressed the most friendly delight 
 in marking the lively intelligence, and the dawn of 
 genius in his juvenile friend, who made a hasty sketch 
 of an Amazon in the hall, and appeared so happy in 
 first beholding Lord Pembroke's collection of antient 
 art, that the kind painter said to him with great ten- 
 derness and spirit—" Tom, you and I will visit this 
 scene again, in some future time of leisure, and obtain 
 leave to draw here together for a month." A plea- 
 sant vision of benevolence and industry, that years of 
 sickness and sorrow annihilated! But these days of 
 social and studious entertainment were chearfully con- 
 cluded by a brief visit to our pleasant friend of Wick- 
 
 k k 2 
 
252 
 
 ham, Dr. Warton. On the 6th of October, the old and 
 thejuevnile artists, after breakfasting with their kind 
 patron, Lord Egremont, at Petworth, pursued their 
 journey together, to resume their respective studies in 
 London. 
 
 It was my lot to rejoin them much sooner than I 
 had expected. The situation of a very dear friend, 
 since dead, induced me to make a hasty visit to town 
 for a few days in November : I found Romney, as the 
 letters of my son had led me to apprehend, relapsing 
 into lowness of spirits. He was however able to work 
 on several large portraits. Towards the close of 1796, 
 though still dejected, he began a picture of the re- 
 spectable lecturer in philosophy, Mr. Walker and his 
 family, a gentleman endeared to the painter by an in- 
 timacy of many years, and to me, by his kindness to 
 my son. On the 25th of December, that young cor- 
 respondent informed me, that Romney was preparing 
 to finish the group in what he called his favorite pic- 
 ture of friendship, adding, that a poney recently pur- 
 chased continued in high favor, and seemed to keep the 
 
253 
 
 painter alive. His young friend had taken great de- 
 light in banishing his fears concerning the exercise of 
 riding, and in making him a tolerable horseman. The 
 new exercise was certainly of great service to his de- 
 licate health, but it could not eradicate the depres- 
 sive malady which lurked in his singular frame, and 
 often appeared to gain ground to the alarm and 
 anxiety of his friends. In replying to my son on the 
 day before the last of this year, 1796, 1 requested him 
 to exhort and animate Romney to exert all his powers 
 in finishing the head of Meyer and his own, in the 
 group then under his pencil, and particularly to do 
 more justice to his own expressive countenance, de- 
 siring him to remember, that as he was so kind as to 
 paint his own features to please me, they ought to be 
 full of intelligence and kindness, their proper and 
 native characteristics. 
 
 It is rather surprising, that the artist whose 
 pencil had delicately flattered so many faces, did not 
 seem to think himself entitled to be commonly civil 
 to his own. In the two pictures, where he was re- 
 
254 
 
 quested to introduce a good resemblance of himself 
 in the group of his friends. From an excess of mo- 
 desty, or from capricious indolence, to which the most 
 active mortals are now and then subject, he has so 
 slighted each portrait of himself, in the two pictures 
 I allude to, that both may be considered rather as ca- 
 ricatures, than fair likenesses of the painter. This 
 is so much the case in his picture of the four friends, 
 that a very judicious artist, who has great respect for 
 the talents of Romney, and who wished to make a 
 finished drawing of this group omitted the head in 
 question, to avoid being an accomplice with a man of 
 genius in treating his own character of countenance 
 with such glaring injustice. Fortunately we have 
 other representations of him more consonant to truth 
 and nature. The portrait, that forms a frontispiece to 
 this volume, represents him as he appeared in the 
 most active season of his existence ; and the head, to- 
 wards the close of the book, drawn from the me- 
 dallion executed by his friend the young sculptor, (a 
 likeness happily caught in a chearful moment) ex- 
 
255 
 
 presses with fidelity the tenderness of his character 
 in the decline of life. 
 
 In the commencement of the year 1797, the 
 spirits of Romney appear to have suffered still deeper 
 depression, and his future years grew more and more 
 gloomy from many symptoms of gradual decay. He 
 yet took a tender interest in whatever related to his 
 friend of Sussex, as the following letter will testify. 
 
 Jan. 7, 1797. 
 
 M.Y DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I have not much to say concerning myself 
 but that I have been extremely lozv-spirited and not able to work, which I feel 
 as the worst of evils. I cannot neglect speaking of dear Tom, and the advance- 
 ment he has^made in art. I speak with admiration and love, on his last pro- 
 ductions, they are of a pure gusto, they are original, and shezv strength and 
 improvement of mind : God prosper him, and he will one day make a figure, 
 
 I have not heard any thing of your new intended edifice. When is the 
 first stone to be laid ? 
 
 Commendations thus bestowed by age on youth, 
 and those also given by youth to age, appear parti- 
 cularly valuable, when both are evidently the result 
 of sensibility and truth. Under the influence of this 
 idea, I shall not scruple to insert here a passage from 
 
256 
 
 the letters of my son, in which he spoke of Romney 
 with that respectful admiration and attachment, which 
 great abilities, united to great benevolence, never to 
 fail to produce in a young- ingenuous mind. The date 
 of the letter I allude to, is January 8, 1797. The juve- 
 nile writer, after some lively remarks on the dullness 
 of long visits to the Houses of the opulent in London, 
 proceeds thus ; 
 
 But there is one great house, and really great man, whom it 
 delights me to visit at any time : I mean our old, and kind jriend, Mr, 
 Romney \ not only because he is an old, and very kind friend to me, but be- 
 cause I am certain, in the course of his conversation, oj hearing some excel- 
 lent sentiments and remarks ; and of seeing some fine works of art, either an- 
 tient or modern. He is so much alone, and sometimes so low spirited, that he 
 takes it as a kindness in me to call, and sit with him an hour or two : wherefore 
 I have a double pleasure in visiting him. 
 
 The next letter that I find of Romney, contains an 
 anecdote concerning one of his most pleasing pictures, 
 and also a striking proof of the sensibility, with which 
 he contemplated the affliction of a lovely woman, 
 whose person and talents he had greatly admired. 
 
 March 17, 1797. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 1 have still been very poorly since I received 
 your very kind letter, and consolotari/ invitation, but as I think 1 am getting 
 
257 
 
 better, I may be able to travel down with Tom for a week or two. I am better 
 in other respects, my feelings have undergone a change. In the first place I 
 have sold my picture of the Indian Woman, for a good price. There is also 
 a plan on foot to ornament St. Paul's with pictures and sculpture. Pray God 
 it may succeed. What an opening for dear Tom. 
 
 Alas poor Hodges ! his wife more to be lamented ! I shall never forget 
 what I saw one morning when I found her at breakfast with her little children; 
 her voice and face more enchanting and beautiful than I had ever thought 
 them before. The scene dwells upon my mind when I hear of her, poor 
 woman ! For the gratification of the same looks and voice, I think I could 
 travel a hundred miles* I must content myself with the vision ; the reality 
 I shall never see again. 
 
 I saw the Bishop ofLandaff' yesterday, he expects us both at Calgarth 
 Park in the summer. He goes in about a month — will you come to see him 
 here before he goes f 
 
 Among the several projects of pleasure that in- 
 terested the fancy and the heart of Romney, none 
 seemed to please him more, than our purpose of ac- 
 cepting together an invitation to pass some time 
 with the highly respected family at Calgarth Park ; a 
 purpose that time and chance never allowed us to ac- 
 complish, though we were equally disposed to honor 
 the character, and to take a pride in the kindness, 
 
 l1 
 
258 
 
 which we both experienced, from the friend so justly 
 described by Gibbon, as a prelate of a large and a libe- 
 ral mind. Romney had painted the Bishop of LandafF 
 with such fidelity of expression, that the portrait may 
 be said to illustrate the brief but forcible eulogy of 
 the historian. 
 
 The fancy-picture, which Romney mentioned as 
 sold so much to his satisfaction, was purchased to 
 adorn the costly mansion at Fonthill. The subject is 
 from Shakespeare, Titania and the Indian votaress of 
 her order, as described in Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 Romney sketched his first idea of the scene many 
 years before this period in oil-colours, at Eartham, and 
 kindly gave it to my son. He afterwards painted the 
 subject with variations on a larger canvas, of a different 
 shape, with great care and felicity. There is infinite 
 lustre, gaiety, and tenderness in this fanciful compo- 
 sition. 
 
 Romney had great esteem, and great pity for 
 the amiable man, and unfortunate artist, whose cala- 
 
259 
 
 mitous death he lamented in the last letter. He had 
 testified his regard for him by painting", at his request, 
 the small figure of Jaques,in the interesting landscape, 
 from a scene in As You like it, on which Hodges was 
 employed for the Shakespeare Gallery. Though the 
 greater artist certainly worked with perfect good-will 
 for his less prosperous brother, I cannot say that he 
 worked happily on this occasion, for the figure, that 
 he introduced appears not worthy of the landscape. 
 Ill fortune seemed continually to attend all the exer- 
 tions, and all the wishes of the kind-hearted and high- 
 spirited Hodges. With uncommon industry, and 
 considerable talents, he could not gain a comfortable 
 subsistence by his art, and when, in honest indigna- 
 tion, he renounced the pencil for the more lucrative 
 business of a provincial banker, the public storm, that 
 shook even the bank of the nation, utterly over- 
 whelmed this hapless adventurer, and all his hopes. 
 Death delivered him from a scene of unmerited dis- 
 tress. Unhappy as he was, to an astonishing degree, 
 in several incidents of his life, his destiny had given 
 
 l12 
 
260 
 
 him one blessing of superlative excellence. Perhaps 
 there never existed a woman more truly amiable in 
 person and talents, in manners and in heart than Mrs. 
 Hodges. I believe I cannot act more in conformity 
 to the feelings of Romney, than by inserting in the 
 volume devoted to his personal history, a poetical tri- 
 bute paid to the memory of this couple, (whom he ten- 
 derly regarded) in the following 
 
 EPITAPH, 
 
 ON 
 
 WILLIAM AND ANNE HODGES. 
 
 Ye men of genius, joirid to moral worth, 
 Whose merits meet no just rewards on earth, 
 Ye fair, who in your lot, thd* lovely, find 
 To grace and virtue fortune still is blind, 
 Sigh o'er the names recorded on this stone ! 
 And feel for characters so like your own ! 
 
 To active Hodges, who with zeal sublime, 
 Pursued the art, he lovd, in every clime ; 
 Who early traversing the globe with Cook, 
 Painted new life from nature's latent book; 
 
261 
 
 Who with a spirit that no bars controuVd, 
 Labour d in Indian heat, and Russian cold, 
 Yet closed (with virtues by the world allowed) 
 A life of labour in afflictions cloud ; 
 To him, whose name has well deservd to live, 
 This faithful record truth and friendship give. 
 Nor give to him alone, but doubly just 
 Hail his angelic Annas hallowed dust. 
 She lovely victim of affection true, 
 In pangs that piety could not subdue, 
 Perceivd (and felt the prospect a relief) 
 Her fair and gentle frame dissolved by grief 
 Ye ! who in virtuous love take tender pride, 
 Here honor her zvho as its martyr died. 
 
 The health of Romney revived a little, as the 
 year 1797 advanced, he began to amuse his fancy 
 with the prospect of his own intended building, and 
 also with that of his friend in Sussex, to whose habi- 
 tation he had promised to escort both the architect 
 and the young* sculptor. The trio of artists, arrived 
 at Eartham on the 13th of April, and after a day of 
 
262 
 
 repose, proceeded to the sea-coast, where they all took 
 a lively interest in laying" the foundations of a very 
 small marine villa, in the Hamlet of Felpham. Its 
 proprietor vainly hoped that it might conduce for 
 many years, to the health and social enjoyments of the 
 party, whose kind hearts gave utterance to the most 
 fervent good wishes on its commencement. How 
 merciful to man is that dispensation of Heaven, which 
 allows him not to see far into futurity. 
 
 Our architectural ceremony was a cheerful 
 scene of social delight, from the hope that all who 
 shared in it, and particularly the two youngest might 
 recollect and revisit the spot with pleasure, through 
 a length of time to come ; but what anguish of heart 
 must have seized the joyous group engaged in found- 
 ing this favorite little structure, had any prescience 
 informed them that all the three artists, taking so kind 
 an interest in the fabrick, would be sunk in the grave 
 within the brief period of six years from its founda- 
 tion! I am now sitting alone in the dwelling, which 
 their kindness has endeared, and which their inge- 
 
263 
 
 nuity has adorned ; and 1 feel a tender gratification in 
 employing the uncertain remnant of my days on such 
 literary works, as may faithfully commemorate the 
 talents and the virtues of those who still speak to 
 me in their works, and here daily remind me both of 
 their genius and their affection. 
 
 The kindness of Romney was further exerted this 
 year in a second visit to Sussex. He came to 
 Eartham again on the 29th of June, from a motive of 
 great tenderness, to escort the young sculptor, then in 
 a state of health, that filled Romney and me with great 
 anxiety for him; though three of his medical friends, 
 who all fatally mistook the seat of his malady, consi- 
 dered it of little moment. The affectionate spirit of his 
 master, was also anxious that his disciple (a^ his lungs 
 were affected, though without a cough) should breathe 
 his native air for some time, and therefore most kind- 
 ly suggested to him a plan, by which he might still 
 pursue his professional studies in the gallery of his 
 noble friend at Petworth. Romney allowing himself 
 
264 
 
 only a single day of repose in the country, returned 
 to business in town on the 1st of July. 
 
 We entertained a chearful hope that his very 
 kind alertness in thus attending to the slightly injur- 
 ed health of the young invalide, would invigorate his 
 own and enable him to advance with energy in his 
 many projected works ; but the first letter from him 
 on his return soon destroyed this comfortable expec- 
 tation. 
 
 July 12, 1797. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIENIX, 
 
 I have been so much depressed in spirits, since 
 I returned, that despair almost overturns me, and throws my building scheme 
 almost to the ground. 
 
 I hope dear Tom's health is better, and that he is hard at work at Pet- 
 worth. God preserve his health and he will take care of the rest. I shall be 
 much obliged to you if you zcill suffer me to enjoy again the fine balsamic air 
 of your country. If this agrees with your feelings, I hope to set jorward to- 
 wards the end of next week. 
 
 My son had appeared to revive by change of air ; 
 he and his father now therefore entreated Roniney 
 to hasten his return to Eartham, that they might 
 
265 
 
 contribute as much as possible to his health, and 
 amusement. He arrived on the 7th of August, with a 
 fellow-traveller, the Reverend James Stanier Clarke. 
 As the painter was too much of an invalide at this time 
 to support any application to his own art, the young- 
 sculptor amused him by modelling his bust; it was a 
 little less than life, a strong resemblance, a creditable 
 work for so young an artist, and particularly success- 
 ful in the great object of amusing and enlivening the 
 friend, whose features it represented. On the 18th 
 Romney visited the eastern part of our county under 
 the conduct of Mr. Clarke, and returned alone to Ear- 
 tham on the 24th. During the residue of the month, the 
 two artists in a state between sickness and health em- 
 ployed their time chiefly in morning rides to the 
 coast, for the sake of sea-bathing. On their return 
 from Felpham one day at noon, they happened to be 
 entertained by a succession of visiters, affording ample 
 scope to meditation, in which Romney often loved 
 to indulge, with a degree of solemn humour, resem- 
 bling the moody reflexions of Jaques, in As You 
 
 m m 
 
266 
 
 like it. The visiters alluded to were three noble 
 personages, now no more, the Duke of Richmond, the 
 Dutchess of Devonshire, and Lord Thurlow. When 
 they were all gone — ff we have been honored by a 
 curious trio of visiters to-day ; (said Romney) gran- 
 deur! beauty! and genius! but all so much in their de- 
 cline, that they now excite rather more pity, than admi- 
 ration." The latter words of this remark were at this 
 time very applicable to Romney himself. The discom- 
 fort of his nervous infirmities was sincerely pitied by a 
 person highly qualified to appreciate, and ever in- 
 clined to admire, his genius. — "I am glad (said Flax- 
 man, in a letter of September this year) I am heartily 
 glad, that Mr. Romney has betaken himself to Sussex 
 bathing, and friendly consolation for the recovery of 
 his health and spirits, though it imposes hard duty 
 upon you and friend Thomas. 1 hope your endea- 
 vours to revive him have been successful, and that the 
 invalide enjoys his powers again, with tranquillity of 
 mind. We all love his virtues, reverence his talents, 
 and therefore cannot be indifferent to his welfare." 
 
267 
 
 it was certainly a task of some anxious care to 
 preserve in the mind of. Romney, a tolerable degree 
 of social serenity, when his health was disordered ; for 
 with great mental powers, he had never acquired 
 that proper instantaneous command of an excellent 
 understanding*, so necessary to the preservation of 
 mental peace ; a species of dominion hardly ever ac- 
 quired by any mortal of such exquisite sensibility; for 
 his feelings were quick, and acute, to an astonishing 
 and perilous degree. He was subject to " thick-com- 
 ing fancies," concerning trivial variations in the 
 symptoms of his health; but whatever trouble his 
 friends of Eartham could take in their solicitude to 
 restore him, it was abundantly compensated by the de- 
 light they took not only in his talents, but in his af- 
 fectionate attachment to the scene, where he had 
 now been a favorite guest more than twenty years. 
 
 The zeal which the young sculptor exerted in 
 trying to chear and inspirit, the elderly declining 4 
 
 m m 2 
 
268 
 
 painter, was rewarded by the cordial gratification ofsee- 
 ing him not only perfectly sensible of such kindness, 
 but also animated by the continual encouragement of 
 his two friends to attempt, and accomplish new works 
 of the pencil, which he had almost despaired of ever 
 being able to resume. 
 
 He amused his imagination with his projected 
 building, having discarded rather rashly, our very in- 
 telligent and honest architect on the idea of conduct- 
 ins* the business more according to his own fancy. 
 He made an excursion from Sussex to Hampstead, on 
 the 6th. of September, to give directions to his work- 
 men in the formation of a gallery for pictures, and 
 statues ; and returning to Eartham on the 10th. he 
 painted there with spirit and success, to the end of the 
 month. By a little sea-bathing and moderate exer- 
 cise on horseback, he had so strengthened his tre- 
 mulous nerves, that he became able to execute, what 
 at first he was disposed from infirmity to decline, a 
 portrait of Miss Le Clerc, which at the earnest request 
 of his old acquaintance, the late Duke of Richmond, 
 
269 
 
 he consented to undertake in his favorite painting 
 room at Eartham. 
 
 The month of September appeared propitious to 
 the works, both of the old, and the young artist ; 
 for the juvenile sculptor added in the course of it, the 
 finishing touches to his bust of the painter, and com- 
 pleted a new bust of Lord Thurlow, who happening 
 to reside at Bognor this season, visited Eartham re- 
 peatedly, and was so indulgent to this promising youth, 
 as to sit to him, with great patience, while his un- 
 practised hand was employed in modelling, perhaps 
 the most awful features, that an artist so young, ever 
 aspired to represent. The friendly affability of the 
 learned peer on this singular occasion afforded me fre- 
 quent opportunities for unreserved conversation with 
 him : and in the course of it, I stated a question to 
 this experienced judge of mankind, which he answered 
 with a candid frankness, that proved he was aware of 
 his own mental peculiarities. Our mutual concern 
 for Romney's health led us to speak on the singular 
 state of his mind, and on the various mental infirmities 
 
270 
 
 so apt to overcloud the evening' of life. In discussing 
 this copious topic, I asked my contemplative visiter, 
 if he could resolve the following question: — suppose 
 two men of very powerful minds, but of minds differ- 
 ently exercised in different lines of life, one for in- 
 stance continually employed in scientific researches, 
 and the other in pursuits of imagination ; if both 
 their minds begin to shew T symptoms of decline at the 
 same age, which of the two will be troubled with the 
 darkest and most oppressive mental infirmities, the 
 man of reason, or the man of fancy ? assuredly the man 
 of reason said Lord Thurlow ; — I could not help re- 
 peating inwardly to myself, 
 
 " His own example strengthens all his Laws 
 
 silently comparing the fits of spleen, to which this 
 noble Lord, and our friend Romney, were occa- 
 sionally subject : the spleen of Romney burst out in 
 rapid and transient flashes, like the explosion of a 
 rocket : the spleen of Lord Thurlow rolled forth in 
 
271 
 
 a gloomy volume like an eruption of smoke, followed 
 by fluent fire, from the labouring Vesuvio. 
 
 Different as these two memorable men appeared 
 in their studies, in the texture, of their nerves, and in 
 their public capacities they greatly resembled each 
 other in one particular: whenever they wished to please, 
 the stile and tone of their conversation united uncom- 
 mon charms of entertaining vivacity and of delicate 
 politeness. 
 
 Let me now return to the paintings of Romney 
 at Eartham. Besides the portrait I have mentioned, 
 he began two historical pictures representing his 
 friends, the father and son, in the characters of Tobit 
 and Tobias. The first, in which the youth prepares 
 to heal the blindness of his father, was considerably 
 advanced in both the figures. Romney conveyed it 
 to London, intending to finish it speedily, but 1 believe 
 he never touched it again, and I know not its fate. 
 The second sketch, in which Tobias looks with tender 
 exultation on the restored eyes of the old man, was a 
 
272 
 
 little more than the hasty work of half an hour ; but 
 the face of the youth (brief beginning 1 as it is) has 
 such felicity of expression, and appears so sweetly 
 perfect as a resemblance of him, who stood for the 
 features, that it has been preserved with the fondest 
 care and delight; it is valued as the singular pro- 
 duction of such happy moments, as genius itself can- 
 not command or recall. 
 
 After exercising his art again with such personal 
 comfort and animation, as he apprehended his deject- 
 ed spirits could never regain, Romney prepared for 
 his return to London with chearful hopes concerning 
 his own improved health, and that of his young friend; 
 hopes that a very few years were destined to termi- 
 nate in the darkest affliction! 
 
 Although cheared by this double prospect of re- 
 viving health, Romney felt himself affected with pe- 
 culiar tenderness in taking leave of Eartham this year, 
 as his old companion of that favorite spot had thoughts 
 of resigning it to a tenant in the following spring, 
 
273 
 
 and of retiring* to the little marine villa, which he had 
 begun to form and to regard, according to a phrase 
 of Pliny, as the nest of old age. The probability, that 
 they should never converse again in the beautiful 
 scene, which had been favorable during so many years 
 to their cheerful intercourse, and to their social studies 
 gave a sort of melancholy charm to the last evening, 
 that the two old fellow-students passed at Earth am 
 this Autumn, a circumstance, to which Romney al- 
 ludes in the first letter after his return to London. 
 
 London, October 10, 1797. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 Since I returned, and have looked round me, I 
 find, that I have a very fine gallery to rest my mind upon. It may hatch some 
 future projects that may amuse, and perhaps delight me. 
 
 I grow anxious to hear how things are proceeding with you and dear 
 Tom. I hope he is advancing, with great spirit, his fine antique figure, which 
 I think will do him great credit, as well as his extraordinary head of Lord 
 Thurlow. I still look back with a tender regard for the peaceful shades of 
 JLartham, and almost sigh for some of its social walks, that probably I may 
 never see more. Adieu dear Eartham ! and its inhabitants, adieu ! 
 
 The antique figure, which the painter mentioned 
 
 n n 
 
274 
 
 so kindly in this letter, was a small copy in clay, that 
 his young* friend was executing* at Petworth, a sitting- 
 philosopher, the size of life in marble, and dignified 
 with the name of Seneca. The copy was thought high- 
 ly creditable to the young artist ; but I do not mean 
 in this work to expatiate on any productions of this 
 very dear student ; I shall endeavour to mention him 
 only incidentally, as connected with his constant 
 friend and admirer the main subject of this memorial. 
 In the commencement of 1798, the health ofRomney 
 appeared to improve in a very promising degree. 
 My son, who had returned to his studies in London 
 gave me the following account of him in January. 
 
 I worked yesterday on my little copy of your portrait, at the good pain- 
 ter's who is very much pleased with it, as far as it is done. He has acquired 
 excellent spirits by walking to, and from Hampstead, an exercise that does him 
 more good than riding. He works now with spirit, and he hasjound his long 
 lost picture of Cupid and Psyche, which he is soon to finish. 
 
 The picture, here mentioned as newly found, was 
 a work, that Romney began many years before this 
 period: it represented with great tenderness and 
 
275 
 
 delicacy of expression, the two most interesting* of 
 allegorical personages. In design and colouring it 
 was rather a favorite production with the painter 
 himself, and he had promised to complete it for a 
 friend, whom he highly regarded, and saw continually 
 in London ; but such was the multitude of sitters per- 
 petually engaging his attention, that I believe this 
 long neglected performance never received the finish- 
 ing touches of his hand. 
 
 1 have introduced the circumstance of the young 
 sculptor's copying a portrait in the house of Romney, 
 that I may not omit to mention with due praise, an 
 instance of the painter's considerate attention and 
 forecast in favor of his juvenile companion. In his 
 attendance on Romney at Eartham in the course of 
 the two last years, he had been tempted to handle 
 his pencils in oil colours, and executed a large por- 
 trait of a favorite spaniel with such fidelity and force 
 of expression, that his generous old friend said to him 
 with infinite tenderness : 11 My dear Tom, I seriously 
 
 n n 2 
 
276 
 
 believe you might surpass me in my own profession ; 
 but you have chosen, I think, the nobler art of the 
 two, and I heartily wish, and expect, to see you pros- 
 per in it, under your incomparable master : yet I 
 think you will do well to acquire the management 
 of colours, which seems already a matter of siich ease 
 to you, because if the more laborious process of sculp- 
 ture should chance to be any ways injurious to your 
 health, you will then have the immediate resource 
 of a second profession!" With these friendly ideas, 
 Romney encouraged the young student to persevere 
 in his ambitious desire of trying to make himself able 
 to acquire distinction in either art. Indeed the 
 constant readiness of Romney to befriend every 
 young person, whom he could assist, or encour- 
 age in professional pursuits, was a striking feature of 
 his character; and in the course of his active life, he 
 enioyed many opportunities of exerting such consider- 
 ate and useful benevolence to a variety of persons. 
 At this period he looked on my son with an eye of 
 very tender anxiety concerning his health; and so did 
 
277 
 
 more than one of the young 1 student's medical friends, 
 who to equal kindness added great prof s! ssional expe- 
 rience and sagacity. They all, and Uomney in par- 
 ticular, exhorted me to convey him again into that 
 air, by which he had been so evidently reviv d during 1 
 his last residence in the South. His strength was so 
 much impaired, that the journey fatigued him ex- 
 tremely. His difficulty of breathing encreased. His 
 medical friend of Sussex still thought with those, who 
 had attended him with equal kindness in London, that 
 his complaint was not of dangerous tendency, but 
 merely seated in the muscles of the breast, and pro- 
 bably contracted from the habit of sitting many hours 
 and bending forward to draw. Encreasing langour 
 and pain soon proved, that all the sufferer's medical 
 advisers had laboured under an astonishing and peri- 
 lous mistake. In March it was discovered, that all 
 the symptoms which they supposed to arise from a 
 trifling injury on the muscles of the breast, had really 
 proceeded from that very formidable malady, a curva- 
 ture of the spine. Sanguine hopes were still enter- 
 tained, that a clear detection of the disorder would 
 
278 
 
 lead to a speedy cure ; but mistake in the first treat- 
 ment of internal maladies has a fatal tendency, and I 
 have specified the medical error which proved so 
 deadly to this lamented youth, in the hope, that his 
 sufferings may conduce to preserve others in similar 
 circumstances from becoming victims of a similar 
 mistake. Romney however still looked forward with 
 a lively hope of witnessing the recovery of his young 
 friend, and of promoting his future studies, a hope that 
 he expressed in the following letter. 
 
 Jpril 18, 1797. 
 
 My DE2LR FRIEND, 
 
 I am much concerned to hear of dear Tom's 
 indifferent health, and the langour that accompanies the complaint. I hope 
 summer will complete his recovery, and that I may see you and him the next 
 winter upon the hill at Hampstead, where I hope to have my new mansion tho- 
 roughly dried, Jit for your reception, and my gratification, as it is now in a very 
 advanced state, and much to my liking* It will equal my most ardent expect- 
 ation in every respect for beauty and convenience. 
 
 Mr. Cocking has been ill of a slow fever ever since you left London, and 
 1 am afraid it will continue much longer. 1 have intended to go into the north 
 as soon as I can, and to continue there two or three months, which I hope will 
 restore an enfeebled constitution. 
 
 My Hampstead-house will be very warm, and very convenient for every 
 study. I really think it may be a desirable plan for dear Tom to come and 
 
279 
 
 stay for two or three months, and employ his masterly hand there after his re- 
 covery I hope by this time he is in a fair way^ and may soon begin to prac± 
 tice his art again. I have suffered much lately with relaxation and debility. 
 Tell me particularly how Tom is, and L beg you will let me hear from you soon. 
 
 The Mr. Cocking mentioned in this letter, was 
 at this time the guest of the writer. He was a man 
 of simple manners, and solid integrity ; he had been 
 intimate with Romney in early life, and came from 
 the north for the kind purpose of superintending the 
 declining health of his old friend, when he unfortu- 
 nately contracted that severe lingering low fever which 
 rendered him so unfit for his benevolent intention. 
 He was the son of a writing master in Kendal, and in 
 exercising the same humble profession he had con- 
 trived to acquire extensive knowledge and to compose 
 some works of considerable merit ; one of these I shall 
 have occasion to mention in noticing his death, which 
 happened before that of Romney, with whom he con- 
 tinued to reside. 
 
 The tender spirits of the artist, were much affect- 
 ed by the illness of his different friends and this year 
 
280 
 
 was so unpropitious to the exercise of his pencil, 
 that he advanced in no very interesting picture, and 
 did little, I believe, except trying to finish some of 
 his neglected portraits. I endeavoured to dissipate 
 his melancholy by imparting to him my improving 
 hopes concerning the restoration of his favorite 
 young friend. His reply shewed too clearly that 
 his own dejection had encreased to a deplorable 
 degree. 
 
 Having- occasion to make a brief visit to London 
 in May, I found him with an appearance of health in 
 his countenance, yet complaining of extreme weakness, 
 not visible in his limbs, but affecting his mind. Few 
 conditions in human existence appear more pitiable 
 than that degree of weakness, produced by excessive 
 application to a favorite study, when a man of a very 
 active and enterprizing spirit, finds that his faculties 
 are beginning to desert him. Such was the state of 
 my unhappy friend at this time. His mind was full 
 of noble desires and intentions to form a little do- 
 mestic academy, and improve himself in directing 
 
281 
 
 the studies of a few selected young friends and disci- 
 ples. Had he entered on such a beneficent project 
 earlier in life, he might possibly have produced much 
 good ; but he was now greatly enervated by that pre- 
 mature old age, which he had brought upon himself 
 by excessive application to his art, and by the unwhole- 
 some custom of painting in a room immoderately hot. 
 At present he suffered much from lassitude of body, 
 and restlessness of mind; yet he looked forward, with 
 some degree of hope, to expected seasons of more per- 
 sonal comfort and activity. Before I left him, I had 
 the pleasure of attending him to the family of our de- 
 parted friend Meyer, a family, who had cheared his 
 spirits in a former fit of depression. Here he was 
 again very chearfully amused by sitting to a lady of 
 the house, for his portrait; it was an extempore pro- 
 duction ; a rapid sketch; but a very striking resem- 
 blance. 
 
 I will not dismiss my old companion from the 
 house of our friends at Kew, without indulging my- 
 
 o o 
 
282 
 
 self in the gratification of observing, that the house 
 contains a pleasing proof of that attentive and fer- 
 vent kindness, and liberality, with which Rornney in 
 his days of energy delighted to gratify the feelings 
 of his particular friends. I allude to a picture of 
 George Meyer, the eldest son of the artist. When 
 that highly promising youth, who rose to singular dis- 
 tinction, both as an Oriental scholar, and as a public 
 character, in India, was preparing to embark for that 
 country, Romney, perfectly sensible of all, that his 
 parents must feel in parting from such a son, entreat- 
 ed their permission to present to them his portrait, 
 which he executed with a felicity of pencil, that gave 
 the most desirable effect to the consolatory benevo- 
 lence of his intention. 
 
 But the hand, that had so often laboured with 
 kind and disinterested zeal to gratify the eyes of 
 friendship and of parental affection, seemed now in 
 danger of losing all its firmness and power. Romney 
 felt that he could not paint with ease and satisfaction 
 to himself, and therefore hastened into the air of his 
 
283 
 
 native country. The climate of the north, and of the 
 south, for he tried them both in the course of this 
 summer, proved equally inefficacious to relieve him 
 from that nervous infirmity, and inquietude, which 
 proceeded from a life of intense application, not con- 
 ducted with due regard to the security of health. 
 
 On hearing in August, that he was returned not 
 well from the north, I wrote to remind him how often 
 he had found his injured nerves new braced and in- 
 vigorated by the marine air of Sussex. He passed 
 some part of September at Felpham, and took a very 
 anxious and kind interest in all the severe discipline, 
 by which the medical friends of the young sculptor, 
 who had now lost the free use of his limbs, were en- 
 deavouring to preserve his life, I still cherished a 
 sanguine hope, that I might yet enjoy the delight of 
 beholding both the young and the elderly artist, re- 
 stored by the mercy of heaven to a cheerful exercise 
 of their suspended talents, and I am truly thankful, 
 that I enjoyed this delight in a future season, though 
 
 o o 2 
 
284 
 
 by no means so complete, or so permanent, as I had 
 fondly expected. 
 
 This Autumn was peculiarly unpropitious to the 
 pencil, and it was the only Autumn of the last twenty 
 three, in which I had the mortification of seeing 
 Romney in a state of absolute manual inactivity, and 
 mental discomfort. He grew impatient to revisit his 
 new building" at Hampstead, and returned from Fel- 
 pham to London, on the 1 1th. of September. A desire 
 to obtain as much knowledge, as I could, that might 
 promote the mitigation, if not the cure of the severe 
 personal calamity, by which my son was afflicted, in- 
 duced me to pass some weeks in town, towards the 
 end of this year. I found Romney much dejected in 
 his new mansion on the hill of Hampstead, for want 
 of occupation and society : I advised him to employ 
 himself a little with his pencil, and offered to sit to 
 him merely for his amusement. He began a head, the 
 first attempt in his new painting- room, and though 
 his hand shook a little, yet he made a very creditable 
 beginning 1 , that pleased himself. The next morning' 
 
285 
 
 he advanced his sketch more happily, as the very 
 effort of beginnings to work again under the encour- 
 agement of an old friend, seemed to have done him 
 great good. 
 
 The singular fabrick, that Romney had now 
 completed for his residence at Hampstead, was parti- 
 cularly suited to his own fancy. He had an excellent 
 spacious gallery for the display of statues and pictures, 
 and without moving from his pillow, he could contem- 
 plate from his own chamber window, a very magnifi- 
 cent view of the metropolis. This situation and these 
 advantages, might have led him to execute many glo- 
 rious works, had the native strength of his mind and 
 body been unimpaired, or only so injured as to admit 
 of restoration, but his admirable faculties were deplo- 
 rably shaken, and undermined: still his imagination 
 could at times amuse him with grand projects, and his 
 affectionate heart still delighted in the idea, that he 
 might prove a valuable instructor to some deserving 
 youths devoted to art, particularly my son, and young 
 Mr. Isaac Pocock; the latter now attended him as a 
 
286 
 
 highly promising domestic disciple, and indeed, in his 
 present state, a most desirable companion. It was a 
 comfort to me to perceive, that it was yet possible to 
 animate the spirits of this beloved and dejected artist 
 to a little chearful exertion. My success in such en- 
 deavours I imparted to his young suffering friend in 
 Sussex, by the following account of my intercourse 
 with him at this period. 
 
 November 14, 1798, 
 
 It will please you to hear 1 have so happily stimulated our 
 Caro Pittore to new exertions in his suspended art, that he has just declared 
 in ending a long and prosperous mornings work, that the recent head on his 
 canvas, is one of the best he ever painted. He has drawn it in the same 
 point of view, as the head of the same person in the large picture with you 
 and Flaxman, which he intends to improve from this, changing both the dra- 
 pery and the countenance. Your portrait there, and Flaxman* s he considers 
 as very strong and pleasing resemblances, and he proposes to bring his own 
 and mine up to the same degree of excellence, that the whole picture may be 
 equally admirable. His success in working this morning has proved medicinal 
 to his spirits. 
 
 As we readily believe what we strongly wish, I 
 was sanguine in my persuasion, that by exhorting 
 Romney to fresh and fearless exercise of his pencil, 
 
287 
 
 I might render him the most friendly service ; but I 
 am now inclined to think, there was more of kindness 
 than of discretion, in that idea ; whenever there is a 
 perceptible decline, occasioned by age, in the men- 
 tal and manual powers of a man, who has obtained 
 celebrity in any art or profession, perhaps it should 
 be the aim of sincere friendship to lead him, if his 
 circumstances allow it, to what Pope calls 
 
 " The science of retreat" 
 
 It is however, as he describes it, a hard science, 
 to know exactly when to retire ; although as that 
 amiable moralist Mackenzie observes in his Man of 
 Feeling: — " There is a certain dignity in retiring from 
 life at a time when the infir nities of age have not 
 sapped our faculties." True as this maxim must ap- 
 pear to all, men are naturally unwilling to relinquish 
 utterly those implements of ingenuity, which they 
 have been used to exercise with dexterity, and ap- 
 plause; their friends are apt to mistake an incurable 
 decay of nature, for an oppression of accident, which 
 
288 
 
 they fainly hope to relieve, and under the influence 
 of that mistake excite the declining veteran to 
 labour, when they should only persuade him to rest. 
 The excellent admonition that Horace gives to an 
 author. 
 
 " Solve senescentem mature sanus equum" 
 
 is perhaps peculiarly applicable to an artist. Indeed 
 it is applicable to mortals of every description, and I 
 feel its general propriety so much at this time, that I 
 am anxious to conclude and deliver this often inter- 
 rupted work to the public, lest by my ow n advance in 
 the vale of years, I may be found trespassing against 
 the very maxim, which I am here recommending to 
 others. I did not, I confess, recommend it to Rom- 
 ney at the period, when, as I have since discovered 
 reason to believe, it might have been more seasona- 
 ble for him, than an opposite suggestion. I exhort- 
 ed him to new efforts, not knowing, at the time, 
 what, since his decease, I have learned from his 
 son, that one day before he quitted London, and 
 while he was eagerly employed on the chief of his 
 
289 
 
 designs to represent the various ages of man, he felt 
 a slight paralytic stroke, which in his own opinion 
 affected in some degree both his eye, and his hand. 
 This circumstance probably prevented his attempting 
 to execute the improvements, which as I have just 
 related, he intended to introduce into his large pic- 
 ture. There might be more imbecillity of pencil in 
 his latter productions, than either Romney or his 
 friend perceived at the time, when his being able still 
 to amuse himself with his colours, was a high gratifi- 
 cation to both. His work afforded amusement also 
 to the younger invalide, as my letters to my son re- 
 lated to him the cheerful progress of his old friend in 
 resuming the pencil. With this circumstantial nar- 
 rative I will not detain my readers, but they may be 
 amused with an extract of one anecdote from the 
 letters, I allude to, as it shews how strongly the 
 painter could yet feel the beauties of a very fine pic- 
 ture. 
 
 December 3, 1798, 
 1 read your excellently clear description of 
 yourself to Dr. Milman, this morning, and he confirmed the delightful pre- 
 
 pp 
 
290 
 
 sage of your approaching recovery. This friendly and accomplished physician 
 possesses some of the very finest pictures, I believe, in the world. He has one, 
 a Saint dgatha, by Guido, superior in expression ( the beauty, anguish, and 
 christian triumph of a lovely martyr! ) to every work of art, on a similar sub- 
 ject, that I ever beheld. He indulged me in the privilege of introducing 
 Homriey to see it to- day , and our Caro Pittore said with great feeling and 
 spirit: — " I have never seen Guido till this morning " — He was in a deplo- 
 rable state of nerves when he entered the physician's house, but the sight of a 
 lovely Saint by Corregio, and this superior and divine picture of Guido, proved 
 (as I hoped they might ) a most efficacious medicine, and gave him new life 
 for the day. 
 
 A subsequent letter of the same month, relates 
 that Romney had just sold the lease of his house, in 
 Cavendish Square, to Mr. Shee, and was engaged in 
 clearing a chaos of tattered canvas, and sending cart 
 loads of unfinished pictures and drawings from his old 
 house in town, to his residence on the hill of Hamp- 
 stead. I left him in this new mansion so well prepared 
 for the exercise of art, and surrounded by such loads 
 of unfinished works, as might supply him with amus- 
 ing occupation through many years of active health. 
 Such alas ! from the shattered state of his nerves, he 
 had little prospect of enjoying ; still however his san- 
 guine friends of Sussex, closed the year, not without 
 
291 
 
 a hope, that the recent exercise of his pencil, which 
 had appeared to inspirit him so much, might lead to 
 more happy exertion. 
 
 I am now arrived at the last of the many years, 
 in which I had the gratification of receiving Romney 
 at Eartham. To that favorite spot my son had re- 
 turned at his own desire, with the approbation of our 
 medical friend, from the milder air of Felpham, on 
 the third of January, 1799; and in the course of the 
 month, I received a flattering request from Romney, 
 conveyed to me in a letter from one of our friends, that 
 he also might pass some time in the scene, to which 
 we were all partial. The young artist was particu- 
 larly glad to receive him, and I desired him to bring 
 his disciple, the fellow student and friend of my 
 son. They arrived on the 7 th. of February, and to 
 encourage both the old and the young painter, in a 
 connexion, that seemed useful and honorable to both, 
 I addrest to my juvenile guest, the following 
 
292 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ingenious son of an ingenious sire ! 
 Pocock! zvith friendly joy I sazv thee start 
 For honor s goal in the career of art ; 
 And gladly bid the pencil-praising lyre 
 Applaud thy early skill, and just desire. 
 Long be it thine to play a filial part, 
 Pupil of docile mind, and duteous heart I 
 By honoring Romneys age his pozvers acquire ! 
 
 UnchilVd by time for those enchanting powers 
 His bard zvith love and admiration glows ; 
 May the great artist, in deserve! repose, 
 Enjoy of glorious life his evening hours ! 
 Round him improving youth new lustre throws, 
 And consecrates his fame in friendship 's bozvers. 
 
 The arrival of his pleasing fellow-student so 
 enlivened the young sculptor, that it tempted him 
 to resume a pencil, unable as he was to hold it, ex- 
 cept in such positions of his injured frame, as allowed 
 but a very slender portion of force and freedom to 
 the hand. Still his love of art, and social study, tri- 
 
293 
 
 umphed over his personal calamity. He worked a 
 little himself, and encouraged both the old, and the 
 young painter (who admired his astonishing patience 
 and alacrity of spirit) to continual exertions of the 
 pencil. We all united our influence to reanimate 
 the dejected Romney. He was inspirited by our 
 united exhortations to such a degree, that he began 
 a drawing of his two juvenile friends, one resting on 
 the other, and to shew the fervency of his re-kindled 
 spirit he made a fresh historical sketch from a scene 
 in Macbeth. On the first of March, he began another 
 portrait of himself, in spectacles. It was a singularly 
 affecting sight to behold youth and age struggling 
 under the severe disadvantage of personal calamities, 
 different in their nature, to exert all the talents, that 
 affection could still induce them to call forth : while 
 Romney with an infirm hand, was forming a new re- 
 semblance of himself, to gratify both his old and 
 young companions, the interesting cripple contrived 
 in his uneasy recumbent posture to execute his 
 sketch of the dying Demosthenes, to decorate his fa- 
 ther's Poem on Sculpture. 
 
£94 
 
 Romney on the 6th. of March, completed his 
 own portrait, and on the following day, returned 
 with his promising pupil, Mr. Isaac Pocock, to his 
 mansion at Hampstead, having* previously declared 
 himself wonderfully revived by his residence of a few 
 weeks in the south. Indeed the impression left by this 
 visit on my own mind from the comfortable recruit of 
 spirits, that my old friend appeared to derive from it 
 was so pleasing, that I could now wish it had proved 
 our last interview; but I saw him once more at Hamp- 
 stead on the 28th of April; when I had the grief of 
 perceiving, that his encreasing weakness of body, 
 and mind, afforded only a gloomy prospect for the re- 
 sidue of his life. He soon afterwards retired to Ken- 
 dal, where he had the comfort of finding an attentive 
 affectionate nurse, in a most exemplary wife, who had 
 never been irritated to an act of unkindness, or an ex- 
 pression of reproach, by his years of absence and ne- 
 glect. His early and long estrangement from a vir- 
 tuous partner and parent, so mild and meritorious, 
 was the great error of his life ; it appears the more 
 pitiable as it proceeded originally from mistaken ideas 
 
295 
 
 of professional ambition, and it continued from that 
 awkward pride, by which men of quick and apprehen- 
 sive spirits are too frequently deterred from confess- 
 ing, and correcting their own misconduct. 
 
 In his letters to me from Kendal my old friend 
 did not fail to do full, though late, justice to the vir- 
 tues of his excellent wife. He spoke of her kind atten- 
 tion with the tenderest gratitude, and professed himself 
 as comfortable in her indulgent care of him, as with 
 nerves so shaken, he could expect to be. He informed 
 me, that although obliged to renounce oil colours, he 
 could sometimes amuse himself in sketching a portrait 
 in crayons, and had pleased himself in purchasing a 
 pretty large estate in that country : I use the words 
 of the faithful Mr. Cocking, who, as the hand of my 
 infirm old friend, was no longer able to guide a pen, 
 obligingly acted as his secretary, in a letter of kind 
 condolence on the death of my son in the spring of 
 1800. In the distress of my heart on that event, I 
 had some degree of mournful satisfaction in thinking, 
 that age and infirmity had diminished that extreme 
 
296 
 
 acuteness of feeling in my old friend, which would 
 otherwise have rendered his sufferings on the occasion 
 deplorably poignant, for he not only loved the young* 
 artist sincerely, but had indulged his own fervent 
 fancy in such enthusiastic expectations of his future 
 excellence in art, as human faculties hardly could re- 
 alize. Much perhaps might be fairly expected from 
 the industrious health of a youth, whose patience and 
 mild magnanimity were so exemplary, that during 
 the lingering tortures of a very long illness, he never 
 uttered a single murmur, and accounted for the 
 astonishing serenity of his spirit, by observing, that 
 he thought it the duty of a mortal not to complain of 
 corporeal anguish, because our Saviour himself was 
 sanctified by suffering. 
 
 In the spring of 1801, Romney lost his worthy 
 amanuensis Mr. Cocking : he died under the roof of 
 
 his friend, sincerely regretted by all, who understood 
 the value of his upright and unassuming character. 
 His devout spirit is tenderly displayed in a posthumous 
 poem of considerable length, entitled the Rural Sab- 
 
297 
 
 bath in four books. This respectable work was pub- 
 lished with a few other poems in 1805, with a con- 
 cise and just account of their author, one of those 
 contemplative poets (to describe him in an expressive 
 verse of his own.) 
 
 " Who love their God, and wish the good of man" 
 
 I had some further epistolary intercourse with 
 the painter on the subject of pictures before he lost 
 his domestic secretary, and once on a very pleasing 1 
 occasion: I will briefly mention the circumstance. 
 When Lady Hamilton returned from Naples, she ex- 
 pressed to me the most friendly solicitude concerning 
 the health of our beloved artist, and an anxious wish 
 concerning 1 a portrait of herself, which he had most 
 kindly intended to present to her mother. On hear- 
 ing- these particulars, Romney replied in a letter 
 dated Kendal, December 7, 1800. 
 
 What you say respecting Lady Hamilton gives me great pleasure indeed; 
 if the picture, you mention, he at lUmptttcd, J ahfi/i le happy in gratifying 
 her mother with ii t and J trust you u ill take the trculk of conxeymg it to her 
 jn the properest manner. 
 
 Q q 
 
298 
 
 I had the good fortune to find, and present, this 
 admirable portrait, according to the request of the 
 painter, on the 13th of December, 1800. In the let- 
 ter, that conveyed to me the thanks of my old friend 
 for my having" executed a commission so consonant to 
 the kindness of his heart, he said, 
 
 The pleasure 1 should receive from a sight of the amiable Lady Hamil- 
 ton, would be as salutary, as great; yet I fear, except I should enjoy more 
 strength and better spirits at a better time of the year, I shall never be able to 
 see London again: I feel every day greater need of care and attention, and here 
 I experience them in the highest degree. 
 
 In the last letter, which I received from this dear 
 declining friend, he said, with particular satisfaction, 
 that the post had just brought him good tidings of his 
 brother, the Colonel, which led him to hope, that he 
 was then on his return from the East Indies to Eng- 
 land. Romney had ever shewn a paternal spirit, as I 
 have already observed, toward his brothers. The re- 
 turn of the Colonel was an event, that he most 
 tenderly and anxiously expected. The Colonel arrived 
 indeed in time to see his generous fraternal patron 
 alive, but the account, that the former gave me 
 
 4 
 
299 
 
 of their meeting 1 , is such, as I can hardly write 
 without a painful shudder of the heart. The in- 
 valide did not recollect the brother, whom he had so 
 anxiously wished to see ; on being asked if he did 
 not know him, he looked eagerly in his face, burst 
 into an agony of tears, that spoke his tender remem- 
 brance, and then immediately lost all recollection of 
 his person and character. He remained for some 
 time in that state of existence, which is infinitely 
 more afflicting to the friends, who behold, than to 
 the mortal, who endures it. In November, 1802, he 
 sunk into a grave, which Mr. Cumberland has called 
 (though I think improperly) inglorious : surely the ta- 
 lents, and the virtues of our departed friend,were suffi- 
 cient to dignify any sepulchre, in which it could be 
 his destiny to rest. He expired at Kendal on the 15th* 
 and on the 19th. he was buried, where he was born, 
 at Dalton. His grave, instead of proving inglorious, 
 will probably be visited by many a traveller, who may 
 either remember with tenderness the energetic charm 
 
 Q q2 
 
300 
 
 of his conversation, or may have a heart to revere the 
 fascinating powers of his pencil. 
 
 The person of Romney was rather tall, his fea- 
 tures were broad and strong, his hair was dark, his 
 eyes indicated much vigour, and still more acuteness 
 of mind. The feature of the human visage, which he 
 considered as the surest index of the heart, was in his 
 own countenance very remarkable. By the quick or 
 tardy movement of the fibres around the lips, he was 
 accustomed to estimate the degrees of sensibility in 
 his sitters ; and of himself, in this particular, it might 
 have been said with truth, 
 
 His oxvn example strengthens all his laws : 
 He is himself, the sensitive he draws. 
 
 For his heart had all the tenderness of nature ; never 
 I believe, were the lips of any man more quick to qui- 
 ver with emotions of generous pity at the sight of 
 distress, or at the relation of a pathetic story. His 
 feelings indeed were perilously acute. They made 
 
301 
 
 him a man of many frailties, but the primary charac- 
 teristic of his nature was that true christian charity, 
 which more than compensates for manifold imperfec- 
 tions : he had a deep and cordial veneration for the 
 Saviour of mankind, and was doubly attached to the 
 religion of Christ. In his season of mental health, it 
 animated and delighted hismind, in furnishing thefinest 
 subjects for the exercise of his art, and still more as af- 
 fording the only ground for a steadfast hope of eternal 
 felicity. His piety, which was sincere, was not the pro- 
 duce of study, but the offspring of feeling". He was 
 often disposed to direct his eye to the face of heaven, 
 and read in the skies, with a contemplative and devout 
 spirit, both the power and the beneficence of God. 
 He used to say, that he could find every sentiment in 
 the variations of colouring", that he observed in the 
 clouds. It must however be confessed, that with him, 
 as with most men, a quickness of perception to feel 
 and acknowledge the attributes of his Maker, had in- 
 finitely more influence on the contemplations of his 
 mind, than on the conduct of his life. Sensible that the 
 profession of a painter exposes a frail mortal to pecu- 
 
302 
 
 liar temptations, Romney was anxious to guard his 
 pupils against the perils of immorality by the kindest 
 admonition ; a proof of his considerate benevolence, 
 which his worthy disciple Mr* Robinson related to me, 
 with expressions of the warmest regard and veneration 
 for his memory. Asa companion, Romney was uncom- 
 monly entertaining from the force and originality of his 
 ideas. Though he had not the advantages of a polished 
 education, his extreme sensibility gave a great delicacy 
 to his manners, especially in the company of ladies : 
 he rapidly gained their esteem, and they delighted in 
 his conversation. In the course of his annual visits to 
 Sussex, a lady of brilliant talents, and extensive read- 
 ing, who has long been dead, used to say, " I love to 
 meet Romney at Eartham, because I am sure of hear- 
 ing from him such remarks, as we hear from no other 
 mortal." I have often regretted, that I never formed 
 a collection of his pointed sayings, for I am confident 
 I might have preseryed several, that would not have 
 disgraced the pages of a Caesar or Bacon, who were 
 both collectors of apophthegms. I recollect one of 
 
303 
 
 his replies to the questions of a lady, that afforded 
 some surprize and pleasure to a little party of his ad- 
 mirers in Sussex, The conversation happened to turn 
 on the effects of emulation among artists — a lady ob- 
 served, that " it often produced evil, but (she added) 
 it appears necessary to call forth their talents, for if 
 you take away the spirit of emulation, there seems 
 nothing left to animate the genius of a painter." — 
 " Yes, Madam, (replied Romney) there is; and a more 
 powerful incentive to laudable exertion/' — " Pray Sir 
 what is it?" — fct Religion, Madam." replied the seri- 
 ous artist. The force and justice of his reply was 
 duly felt, and acknowledged. Indeed Romney often 
 painted under the influence of this sublime principle ; 
 he frequently considered the act of painting as an 
 act of devotion, in which he was expressly thankful 
 to heaven for such talents, as were given him, by his 
 solicitude to exert them in a manner, that might 
 conduce to the great interests of mankind. Had 
 he retained health enough to complete his project- 
 ed picture of the temptation in the wilderness as 
 happily as he had begun it, in the figure of our Savi- 
 
304 
 
 our, it might have proved a glorious monument of his 
 devout and laudable ambition. Were I required to 
 declare what particular picture among the finished 
 works of Romney, I regard as the most excellent, I 
 should say, without hesitation, his infant Shakespeare 
 nursed by Tragedy and Comedy, in the possession of 
 Mr. Newberry, engraved by his friendly permission 
 to decorate this tribute to the memory of the great 
 artist, whom we equally esteemed. This picture has 
 charms of expression not inferior to the finest Greek 
 gems; each figure is perfect in its character, and the 
 whole is beautifully composed: with great admiration 
 for the art of the Greeks, we may doubt if their 
 sculpture, or their painting, if either Phidias or Apel- 
 les could have expressed the dawn of dramatic genius 
 in an infant bard, with greater feeling, or greater fe- 
 licity. Romney in this performance has rivalled the 
 tenderness of pencil, and the graceful sweetness of ex- 
 pression, that he greatly admired in his favorite Cor- 
 regio. I decline making any farther remarks on other 
 productions of his pencil, because I am eager to see 
 the merits of the painter fairly stated to the world. 
 
I'aMi/ht,/ . !pn7 I4*ISl't),k Thrums farm-. Pall . Wa/t '. 
 
305 
 
 not only with the warmth and sincerity of a friend, 
 but with the judgment and authority of an approved 
 artist. I therefore hasten to present to my reader* 
 what I have just received, the following 
 
 SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 R0MNEV*S PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER^ 
 BY FLAXMAN. 
 
 According to the maxim, that " every painter paints 
 himself," each picture presents in some measure a 
 transcript of its author's merits and defects. The ju- 
 dicious eye will easily discern whether the work was 
 produced with sensibility, or want of feeling*; the 
 choice and treatment of the subject will discover 
 whether his mind was elevated or low, as the detail 
 of parts will explain in what branches of knowledge 
 he was skilled or deficient, to what extent he had 
 chosen and analyzed the beauties of nature, and finally 
 
 r v 
 
306 
 
 whether the work was accomplished by painful patient 
 labour, or flowed with ease and rapidity, which in- 
 creased the delight and exultation of the progress. 
 These characteristics may be as easily traced in the 
 works of Romney, as in those of any artist that ever 
 existed. Modest in his opinion of his own talents, he 
 practised no tricks or deception to obtain popularity, 
 but as he loved his art fervently, he practised it hon- 
 estly, with indefatigable study and application. The 
 circumstances of his early life seemed wholly unpro- 
 pitious to the study of painting. His school educa- 
 tion was brief and common, as he was brought up to 
 the business of a cabinet maker. Yet these obstacles 
 great and insurmountable as they would have been to 
 many, were by him converted into so many steps in 
 the ascent to excellence. If his memory was not much 
 exercised in learning words at school, some of his 
 other faculties were not idle. His contemplative 
 mind was employed in observing carefully, inquiring 
 minutely into, and reflecting continually on the ob- 
 jects around him, and thus by comparing and adding 
 the results of his own observation, with the little he 
 
307 
 
 was taught, he gained perhaps as much useful know- 
 ledge as is commonly acquired, in the ordinary way, 
 with greater assistance from books and masters. His 
 employment of cabinet making, which to a common 
 observer, would seem little better than an ingenious 
 mechanical drudgery, led his inquisitive mind to con- 
 template the principles of mathematical science, and 
 to acquaint himself with the elements of architecture. 
 When he first began to paint, he had seen no gallery 
 of pictures, nor the fine productions of ancient sculp- 
 ture ; but men, women and children were his statues, 
 and all objects under the cope of heaven formed his 
 school of painting. The rainbow, the purple distance, 
 or the silver lake, taught him colouring; the various 
 actions and passions of the human figure, with the 
 forms of clouds, woods, mountains or valleys afforded 
 him studies of composition. Indeed his genius bore 
 a strong resemblance to the scenes he was born in ; 
 like them it partook of the grand and beautiful; and 
 like them also, the bright sunshine and enchanting 
 prospects of his fancy, were occasionally overspread 
 
 b r 2 
 
308 
 
 with mist and gloom. Among his early productions 
 two very opposite subjects proved the versatility of his 
 talents. The comic arrival of Dr. Slop, at Shandy-hall, 
 was one ; the other was the death of General Wolfe, 
 painted the size of life, universally admired for its sen- 
 timent and nature by crouds of spectators at the first 
 exhibition in the Strand. On his arrival in Italy, he 
 was witness to new scenes of art, and sources of study, 
 of which he could only have supposed previously, that 
 something of the kind might exist; for he there con- 
 templated the purity and perfection of ancient sculp- 
 ture, the sublimity of Michael Angelo's Sistine Chapel, 
 and the simplicity of Cimabue's and Giotto's schools. 
 He perceived these qualities distinctly, and judicious- 
 ly used them in viewing and imitating nature ; and 
 thus his quick perception, and unwearied application 
 enabled him by a two year's residence abroad, to ac- 
 quire as great a proficiency in art, as is usually at- 
 tained by foreign studies of much longer duration. 
 After his return the novelty and sentiment of his ori- 
 ginal subjects were universally admired. Most of these 
 were of the delicate class, and each had its peculiar 
 
309 
 
 character. Titania with her Indian votaress was arch 
 and sprightly; Milton dictating 1 to his daughters was 
 solemn and interesting. Several pictures of Wood 
 Nymphs and Bacchants, charmed by their rural beauty, 
 innocence, and simplicity. From the Triumphs of 
 Temper he painted several pictures of Serena, all beau- 
 tiful in idea, and striking in situation. But the most 
 pathetic perhaps of all his works was never finished : 
 Ophelia, with the flowers, she had gathered, in her 
 hand, sitting on the branch of a tree, which was break- 
 ing under her, whilst the melancholy distraction visi- 
 ble in her lovely countenance, accounts for the insen- 
 sibility to her danger. Few painters have left so many 
 examples in their work of the tender and delicate af- 
 fections, and several of his pictures breathe a kindred 
 spirit with the Sigismonda of Corregio. His cartoons, 
 some of which have unfortunately perished, were ex- 
 amples of the sublime and terrible, at that time per- 
 fectly new in English art. The dream of Atossa, from 
 the Persians of ZEschylus, contrasted the death-like 
 sleep of the Queen, with the Bacchanalian Fury of the 
 Genius of Greece. The composition was conducted 
 
310 
 
 with the fire and severity of a Greek bas-relief: the 
 ghost of Darius, with the Persians prostrated before 
 him, awed the spectator by grandeur and mystery. As 
 Romney was gifted with peculiar powers for histori- 
 cal and ideal painting, so his heart and soul were en- 
 gaged in the pursuit of it, whenever he could extri- 
 cate himself from the importunate business of por- 
 trait painting. It was his delight by day and study by - 
 night, and for this his food and rest were often ne- 
 glected. In trying to attain excellence in his art, his 
 diligence was as unceasing, as his gratification in the 
 employment. He endeavoured to combine all the 
 possible advantages of the subject immediately before 
 him, and to exclude whatever had a tendency to wea- 
 ken it. His compositions, like those of the ancient pic- 
 tures, and basso relievos, told their story by a single 
 group of figures in the front, whilst the back ground 
 is made the simplest possible, rejecting all unnecessary 
 episode, and trivial ornament, either of secondary 
 groups or architectural subdivision, In his composi- 
 tions the beholder was forciby struck by the sentiment 
 at the first glance, the gradations and varieties of 
 
311 
 
 which he traced through several characters, all con- 
 ceived in an elevated spirit of dignity and beauty, with 
 a lively expression of nature in all the parts. His 
 heads were various : the male were decided and grand; 
 the female lovely: his figures resembled the antique ; 
 the limbs were elegant, and finely formed; his drapery 
 was well understood, either forming the figure into 
 a mass with one or two deep folds only, or by its adhe- 
 sion and transparency discovering the form of the 
 figure, the lines of which were finely varied, with the 
 union or expansion of spiral or cascade folds, compos- 
 ing with, or contrasting the outline and chiaro oscuro: 
 he was so passionately fond of Grecian sculpture, that 
 he had filled his study and galleries with fine casts 
 from the most perfect statues, groups, basso relievos, 
 and busts of antiquity: he would sit and consider these 
 in profound silence by the hour; and besides the stu- 
 dies in drawing or painting he made from them, he 
 would examine them under all the changes of sun- 
 shine and day-light; and with lamps prepared on pur- 
 pose at night, he would try their effects lighted from 
 above, beneath, and in all directions, with rapturous 
 
312 
 
 admiration. No one could be more modest concerning 
 himself; seldom speaking of any thing he did, and never 
 in reference to its merits. But he was exceedingly libe- 
 ral respecting others, rarely finding faults in the works 
 of his contemporaries, and giving cordial praise where- 
 ever he saw excellence. An instance of his conduct 
 relating to Sir Joshua Reynolds deserves to be men- 
 tioned. Being present when some intimate friends 
 were delivering their opinions on Sir Joshua's picture 
 of Hercules strangling the serpents, painted for the 
 Empress of Russia. — " Gentlemen, (said he) I have 
 listened to all you have said; some observations are 
 true, and some are nonsense, but no other man in 
 Europe could paint such a picture." — A peculiar shy- 
 ness of disposition kept him from all association with 
 public bodies, and led to the pursuit of his studies in 
 retirement and solitude, which at the same time, that 
 it encouraged habits of great temperance, allowed 
 him the more leisure for observation, reflection, and 
 trying his skill in other arts, connected with his own. 
 And indeed few artists, since the fifteenth century, 
 have been able to do so much in so many different 
 
313 
 
 branches ; for besides his beautiful compositions and 
 pictures, which have added to the knowledge and ce- 
 lebrity of the English school, he modelled like a 
 sculptor, carved ornaments in wood with great deli- 
 cacy, and could make an architectural design in a fine 
 taste, as well as construct every part of the building. 
 Although his shyness confined him to a few intimates, 
 he was abundantly affectionate and gracious to them, 
 of which the following instance shall speak for the 
 rest. He was particularly delighted with youthful 
 talents, and never neglected an opportunity of en- 
 couraging and recommending them. Once he endea- 
 voured to press two hundred pounds on a young 
 man going abroad to study, who was not in affluent 
 circumstances, and on the money being refused, he 
 exerted himself by recommendation and every means 
 in his power, until he actually did render him much 
 more important services. 
 
 s s 
 
314 
 
 To this liberal eulogy, from the pen of Flaxman, 
 friendship seems to require, that I should add the fol- 
 lowing praise bestowed on the pictures of Romney 
 by the person, who, of all his companions, maybe said 
 to have contemplated his works and his character 
 through the greatest length of time, with increas- 
 ing esteem and admiration. — 44 I am satisfied that 
 whatever you may say of Romney, as a great ar- 
 tist, his works will justify in the fullest extent. If as 
 an old artist myself, I may be permitted to judge the 
 talents of so extraordinary a man, as our late beloved 
 friend, I should not hesitate to say, that after his re- 
 turn from his studies abroad, he was not less qualified 
 to excel in the highest walk of art, history, than for 
 the profession of portraiture. In support of what I 
 say, you have only to recollect his picture of Milton 
 and his daughters, and its intended companion, New- 
 ton displaying the colours of the Prism ; two compo- 
 sitions not surpassed in expression, colouring, and 
 simplicity, by those celebrated pictures, the dead Christ 
 of Annibal Caracci, the physician visiting his patient 
 by Poussin, or that of Alexander the Great, confidently 
 
315 
 
 drinkingthe supposed draught ofpoison,in the presence 
 of his physician, by Le Soeur. We have known from 
 innumerable instances how fertileRomney was in point 
 of invention, witness his history of Psyche, his Mac- 
 beth, his maid of Orleans, his two or three births 
 of Shakespeare, his Prospero, &c. &c. with the infi- 
 nite number of designs for pictures, which he intend- 
 ed to paint, and might have accomplished, had his va- 
 luable life been extended to a later period. Indeed 
 for luxuriance of invention he may be classed with 
 Rubens himself. There is one thing', that may still be 
 added to his other excellencies. I mean the exceed- 
 ing beauty of his draperies, both in his portraits and 
 his historical compositions, which surpass every 
 thing of the kind, that I have ever seen ; they were all 
 painted from models, and after he had finished adjust- 
 ing them upon the layman, he always said he looked 
 upon them as half done, so ready and certain was his 
 execution, that it is but doing him common justice to 
 say, that he stands unrivalled in this department of 
 the art," 
 
 s s 2 
 
316 
 
 To the foregoing remarks on the productions of 
 Romney from two more experienced judges of the 
 pencil, I will only add, that to my apprehension his 
 chief excellence consisted in strong and delicate de- 
 lineations of character, however dignified or refined. 
 He seemed to me most perfect in the powers of ex- 
 pression ; his own extreme sensibility gave him in his 
 happier hours, the rare talent of painting the counte- 
 nance in such a manner, as to make it a true repre- 
 sentative of the mind, and the heart. It has been 
 justly observed of Romney, by more than one of his 
 associates, that his habits of life were, (as Addison 
 says true happiness is) "of a retired nature." Few men 
 of any public profession, devote so many hours to 
 solitary meditation. The only club, to which he be- 
 longed, was one of few members, who dined together 
 once a fortnight, near Grays Inn ; of this society 
 the late well-informed, communicative and benevo- 
 lent Isaac Reed, was perpetual president : to Rornney 
 it had the additional attraction of including two of 
 his most intimate friends, Messrs. Long and Greene, 
 which induced him to attend it with great regularity. 
 
317 
 
 I must not yet cease to speak of him in his cha- 
 racter of a companion ; he never wished to be deli- 
 neated without some strong shadows in the portrait ; 
 truth and aiFection equally oblige me to say, that in 
 his fits of constitutional spleen he sometimes indulged 
 such a degree of petulance, as might fill a sympathe- 
 tic associate with serious concern, or with ludicrous 
 surprise. I will give but one example of the foible I 
 have mentioned: he happened one day to describe with 
 some asperity, an absent acquaintance : "you are too 
 severe, my dear Romney, (I exclaimed) you forget 
 that the person you speak of, has many good qualities 
 and a great deal of wit — " Wit ! he replied, what is 
 Wit ? Wit is a cursed impudent thing, and I hate it." 
 This brief and bitter invective against an object of 
 his general admiration struck me in so comic a point 
 of view, that it produced a hearty laugh, in which he 
 joined in perfect good humour, and with reflections 
 both comic, and serious, on his own irritability. If he 
 was like Horace, prone to anger, he was like him 
 also in a most endearing placability of temper, and 
 ever ready to condemn himself for any hasty or 
 
318 
 
 unguarded expression ; our intimacy of almost thirty 
 years was unclouded by a single serious quarrel. His 
 letters abundantly testify the genuine benignity of his 
 heart : I brave the hazard of being censured for va- 
 nity, in printing so many of them, because one of my 
 favorite aims in this publication, as I have repeatedly 
 declared, is to endear his memory to my readers by 
 truly displaying both the quickness, and the tender- 
 ness of his feelings. 
 
 I am here induced to transcribe what Mr. Cum- 
 berland has said very happily of his conversation. 
 — 44 When in company with his intimates * * * #* 
 he would give vent to the effusions of his fancy, 
 and harangue, in the most animated manner, upon 
 the subject of his art, with a sublimity of idea, and 
 a peculiarity of expressive language, that was en- 
 tirely his own; and in which education or reading 
 had no share. These sallies of natural genius 
 clothed in natural eloquence, were perfectly original, 
 very highly edifying, and entertaining in the extreme. 
 They were uttered in a hurried accent, an elevated 
 
319 
 
 tone, and very commonly accompanied by tears, to 
 which he was by constitution prone." — This de- 
 scription of Romney is a portrait drawn from the 
 life, with a delightful fidelity. I most heartily wish 
 that Mr. Cumberland for his own honor, and our reci- 
 procal gratificat ion, had always spoken of our depart- 
 ed friend with the same graceful truth and propriety. 
 That gentleman, if he ever peruses the present vo- 
 lume, will perceive, that I am not afraid to censure 
 him in defending those, whom he has treated injuri- 
 ously, yet ever willing to praise him, when he renders 
 honorable justice to the object of our regard, whom 
 each of us has presumed to commemorate. The terms 
 in which Mr. Cumberland has recently spoken of Cow- 
 per's biographer, and of Cowper, in the Appendix to 
 his own Memoirs, awaken pity, and not resentment,, 
 because they can be injurious only to himself. 
 
 It is yet incumbent on me to notice two early 
 disciples of Romney, who both retain an affectionate 
 veneration for his memory, and both do honor by their 
 talents, to the abilities, and the kindness of their 
 
320 
 
 master. The first, Mr. Rawlinson, of Derbyshire, is 
 known to the public by an excellent portrait of Dr. 
 Darwin, the poet, admirably engraved as a large print 
 by Heath. The second, Mr. Robinson of Windermere, 
 long settled in Ireland, under the patronage of the 
 poetical and venerable Bishop of Dromore, has con- 
 tributed to the improvement and decoration of this 
 volume, in a manner peculiarly obliging, first by fa- 
 voring me with anecdotes of the master, whom he re- 
 vered, and secondly by an exquisite drawing now en- 
 graved as the final ornament of my book. His grate- 
 ful remembrance of past instruction and kindness, in- 
 duced him to christen a son by the name of Roniney 
 as the youth had displayed the most promising poeti- 
 cal talents at a very early age I requested him to 
 write a poem to celebrate the kind instructor of his 
 father, that poem, and the portrait of the young poet 
 strewing flowers round an urn, inscribed to Romney, 
 will be thought I trust an offering of respect peculi-* 
 arly suited to the memory of an artist, whose tender- 
 ness of heart led him to delight in fostering and en- 
 couraging the ingenuity and the diligence of youth. 
 
321 
 
 After this introduction I will transcribe the particu- 
 lars relating* to my friend, that I received from his 
 pupil, and without changing' the expressions of Mr. 
 Robinson, as I cannot put them into any language 
 more fit for publication, than his own. — " Count Steel 
 (the master of Romney) was not so contemptible a 
 painter, as one would suppose, from Mr. Cumberland's 
 account. The giving him all the praise he deserved 
 can detract nothing from our admirable artist, who 
 often mentioned, that he drew with correctness : and 
 described him to me, as 4 a neat painter.' He once 
 shewed me his portrait by himself, which he said was 
 as good as the portraits of Hudson. I have conversed 
 with many people, that were intimately acquainted 
 with Steel, who all described him as an 4 ingenious* 
 inoffensive man;' and old Mr. Wright, the cabinet- 
 maker, (with whom Mr. Romney worked for some 
 time at Lancaster) related to me the liberal manner 
 in which Steel relinquished his engagement, that - he 
 might not retard the progress of a mind, that, he was 
 sure, would do wonders/ Oa my return to Winder- 
 
 t t 
 
522 
 
 mere, after leaving Mr. Romney, I had the curiosity 
 to see some of Steel's pictures, which were freely 
 painted in rather a broad manner ; the drawing* was 
 correct, and in one of them was the best imitation of 
 a lace cap and apron I remember to have seen. — 
 The manner, in which Mr. Romney spent the day, 
 Avhen alone, during the time I remained in his house. 
 He generally rose between seven and eight o'clock, 
 and walked to Gray's Inn to breakfast ; on his return, 
 while his servant was dressing his hair, he was em- 
 ployed on some drawing, with which he amused him- 
 self till ten o'clock, the hour at which he always had 
 a sitter appointed. His number of sitters was three, 
 four, and sometimes five. At noon he took broth, or 
 coffee, and dined at four, in the most simple manner ; 
 after dinner he walked into the country, and always 
 had his sketch book, in which were new thoughts 
 slightly marked, several different ways ; on his re- 
 turn home, he had again recourse to his port-folio, 
 and amused himself with the design, he had worked on 
 in the morning, till twelve o'clock, when he retired 
 to rest. This was his custom without any varia- 
 
323 
 
 tion, except it rained, while I remained with him. 
 Some of those sketches have great merit, and gave 
 me, at that time, a greater idea of his genius, than 
 even what he painted : he certainly had an idea of 
 having some of them engraved. The cartoons in black 
 chalk, on half length canvas, were all designed at 
 night; and at one time he had an idea of painting in 
 oil colours by candle-light, and was at considerable 
 expence for reflectors; but it did not answer his 
 expectation. Amusements he had none, but what 
 related to his profession, or in the company of 
 his particular friends. In his painting room he 
 seemed to have the highest enjoyment of life, and the 
 more he painted, the greater flow of spirits he 
 acquired. His pencil was uncommonly rapid and 
 to see him introduce the back ground into one of 
 his large pictures, was something like enchantment. 
 He was very anxious concerning the preparation of 
 his colours ; the arrangement of his flesh-palette was 
 very curious and simple, and in some of his figures 
 particularly in the arms, it is easy to trace the different 
 
 t 12 
 
324 
 
 gradations of tints, as they stood on the palette. This 
 may be observed in his most delicate flesh, particu- 
 larly in the arms of a Bacchante, with a dog, sent to 
 Sir William Hamilton, at Naples ; in his Serena in 
 the boat ; in the left arm of Mr. Henderson, in the 
 character of Macbeth: this last was the most finished 
 of all his flesh colour, and he told me he could go no 
 farther. At this period (1785) his pictures were 
 highly glazed, and though they have more effect, 
 want the delicacy of his former style, which may be 
 found in the half whole length of Wortley Monta- 
 gue, and in Euphrosyne from Milton's Allegro : the 
 foot of the last he thought nearer to nature than any 
 thing he had ever painted. The head of Creon's 
 daughter is less finished, than any other from the 
 same lady ; the child is very fine ; the drapery was 
 painted in an hour, from a living model, which man- 
 ner he preferred whenever he could accomplish it. The 
 Lions were by Gilpin, and the picture was purchased 
 by Admiral Vernon. Perhaps the girl spinning is the 
 best picture he painted at this period, he first caught 
 the idea from observing a coblers wife sitting in a 
 
325 
 
 stall. Mr. Curwen told me he gave two hundred 
 guineas for it. Saint Cecilia was the most laboured 
 of all his pieces. His portrait of Lord Thurlow he 
 esteemed as his best. The youngest son of Sir John 
 Trevelyan studied under Mr. Romney for a short 
 time, but died suddenly. Mr. Romney painted a num- 
 ber of portraits for this family. He began a whole 
 length of Mrs. Siddons, and I once told him, the pic- 
 ture was greatly admired, and thought to be superior 
 to that by Sir Joshua Reynolds; he said — 4 the people 
 know nothing of the matter, for it is not.' He has 
 been misrepresented by young artists, as a person, who 
 would not lend any pictures, or give any instructions. 
 This had no foundation in truth, for the fact was, 
 that he was pleased with any request of this nature, 
 but he was often applied to for pictures, that he could 
 not lend ; yet he always offered some other, that, if 
 the artist only wanted to improve himself, was more 
 for his purpose." 
 
 To this account of Romney's professional dili- 
 gence in the metropolis, I will subjoin a few parti- 
 
326 
 
 culars relating to his similar diligence during his 
 rural visits. What he said in one of his letters, that 
 he came into the country not to play, but to work, 
 was in general most literally true. In the time that 
 he passed with me in the early years of our intimacy, 
 when his muscular strength was entire, I was both 
 astonished and enlivened by the chearful ardour, and 
 persevereance of his application. I may truly say, that 
 labour was his delight: his first object was to prevail 
 on me to collect for him a copious variety of subjects 
 for fancy-pictures, by hunting through many books of 
 an extensive library. As soon as such a collection 
 was a little advanced, he would begin a multitude of 
 sketches on paper, and canvas. I recollect that on his 
 return to London, one autumn, (I cannot remember 
 the date of the year) he packed up more than twenty 
 very promising beginnings of pictures in oil, not one 
 of which did I ever see finished; one of these I have 
 the pleasure of possessing, his first idea of the Fairy 
 Queen, and her attendant, from Shakespeare, which 
 he discovered in his chaos of embrio pictures, on clear* 
 ing his London house. It was a misfortune to him, 
 
327 
 
 that he had such an eagerness to accumulate an enor- 
 mous stock of materials for future works, that he 
 might have said in the quaint expression of Ovid : 
 
 " His plenty made him poor.'* 
 
 And he fell at last, like a Titan overwhelmed by the 
 mountainous fragments, that he had piled upon him- 
 self. In the country he generally employed every 
 hour of the morning (when his health was unbroken) 
 in drawing or painting, with no other relaxation, than 
 about half an hour at noon, for a social cup of coffee. 
 I had so much pleasure in promoting his works, and 
 in contemplating their origin and progress, that when 
 he was with me, I generally put aside my own parti- 
 cular studies for the sake of assisting him in the ar- 
 rangement of his apparatus, or of reading to him, 
 while he painted. He thought rather contemptuously 
 of some applauded literary works relating to his own 
 art, and particularly Fresnoy's Poem, translated into 
 English prose by Dryden, and into rhyme by Mason. 
 He said that in his early life the precepts of it, had 
 perplexed and misled him exceedingly. He was par- 
 
328 
 
 ticularly pleased by my reading to him, Italian books 
 upon painting ; the custom of reading these to him 
 into English, soon made me able to do so without 
 hesitation, except in the long and intricate sen- 
 tences of Vasari's Lives of the Painters, whose anec- 
 dotes he delighted to hear. But of writers on art, in 
 Italian, he was most gratified by the works of Mengs, 
 as they are published by his friend Azara. Another 
 favorite book with him was the Collection of Letters 
 written by eminent Painters. I recollect that in read- 
 ing a letter of Salvator Rosa, I said to him, " here 
 Romney, here Salvator has drawn your portrait, as 
 well as his own, in a single short sentence — tutto spi- 
 rito, tutto fuoco, tutto bile — all spirit, all fire, all bile/* 
 In truth the imagination of my friend was his master 
 and his tyrant. It was the source of his pleasures, his 
 toils, and his troubles, especially of the latter, when 
 it became infected with the common timidity of age 
 and illness. Few mortals acquire that unworldly pru- 
 dence very strongly recommended by the precepts, 
 and the example of the great Sir Matthew Hale, which 
 consists in preparing an active mind for very advanced 
 
329 
 
 life, by beginning to educate the old man betimes. I 
 use not the words of Sir Matthew, but those of an ex- 
 cellent old personage long since deceased, who in 
 giving similar advice, to a younger friend, employed 
 this very expressive phrase of " beginning to educate 
 the old man betimes/* 
 
 When we reflect, what powers of mind and what 
 delicacy, force, and rapidity of pencil, were possessed, 
 and displayed by Romney,what prosperity attended him 
 and how much he hurt himself by an intemperance of 
 labour, and a waste of application, from the want of 
 deliberate forecast, and provident order in the regula- 
 tion of his studies, we are inclined to regret, that he 
 did not accomplish more for the extent and dignity of 
 his professional renown, and for his own mental enjoy- 
 ment in his evening of life. But if we look back to his 
 juvenile days, if we contemplate the unformed artist 
 sallying forth from obscurity in the north, with an ad- 
 venturous temerity of spirit, and with a frame, though 
 of great muscular strength, yet frequently subject to a 
 
 u u 
 
330 
 
 constitutional tremor of nerves ; if we behold this en- 
 terprising 1 yetmodestyoung man plunginginto a world 
 full of infinite perils, of which he knew nothing; if we 
 consider that without education,withoutpatronage,and 
 without money, he raised himself, by the mere force of 
 talents and industry, to intellectual eminence, to pro- 
 fessional distinction, to affluence and fame, that he was 
 for many years a favorite of the public, in the most 
 refined and enlightened city of the world, and that 
 when he felt himself utterly exhausted by labour, he 
 retired to lay his bones in the land of his fathers, and 
 to acquire in that land a very comfortable estate for 
 the sake of leaving it to a son, whom he had edu- 
 cated as a gentleman, and a divine, when we thus con- 
 sider the whole course and result of his activity, we 
 may repeat the strong though familiar expression, 
 which his generous master used prophetically in re- 
 leasing his young apprentice from his indentures, and 
 we may truly say with admiration both of his mind 
 and his heart, "they really did wonders?' 
 
 In my long attachment to Romney I have felt some^ 
 
331 
 
 thing like the very powerful charm, that attaches a 
 reader of feeling 1 to the Hamlet of Shakespeare. I 
 had high admiration and esteem for the rare endow- 
 ments of my friend, united to great pity for his melan- 
 choly excesses of sensibility, and for all the singulari- 
 ties of nature, and of habit, that seemed to preclude 
 him from accomplishing many great objects of his con- 
 tinual contemplation and desire. From our perfect 
 intimacy, I derive at this moment, that pleasing re- 
 novation and enjoyment of past life, which arises from 
 the tender recollection of innumerable hours employed 
 in sweet social study, or in unreserved, confidential, 
 and sympathetic discourse: I can hardly look into any 
 apartment of my house, without being reminded most 
 agreeably, that I have many reasons to love his memory 
 and to feel encreasing esteem for the professional mo- 
 numents of his regard. Happy, if I succeed in my great 
 wish to endear his name to my reader by this often in- 
 terrupted, yet faithful record of his Life, which I now 
 hasten to close, with a brief poetical summary of his 
 character, composed when my heart was full of aifec- 
 
 v u 3 
 
332 
 
 tionate emotion from the first tidings of his recent 
 decease, and eager to express my cordial sense of his 
 merits in the form of an 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 What off rings, Romney! to thy grave are due? 
 Verse like thy pencil exquisitely true : 
 Thou on lost friends could 9 st such a life bestow, 
 That all their virtues on thy canvas glow. 
 
 When mental health allow' d thy heart to feel, 
 Truth's tranquil charm, and f riendship *s fervent zeal, 
 Both blest thy presence in their social rites, 
 Thou peerless partner in their prime delights! 
 And both, thus faithful to thy honor d dust, 
 Hail thee zvith cordial praise devoutly just. 
 
 Pity, kind angel ! on thy tomb reclines, 
 Declares no earthly monument enshrines 
 A heart, whose fibres were more quick to pay 
 Humane obedience to her heavenly sway, 
 And to the Saviour God, on mercy's throne, 
 Leads thy freed spirit, tender as her own. 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
Drawn br iVaria Jlenmari . 
 
 jSynmi by Caroline liiilrori .i tnqmvrt- tv JIni Vq/eslx . 
 
 TaMi/hed.4pTilt4-*We ly ThemasfaYneTall. Ual/ 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 When I requested the very young author of the following Elegy, to join me in 
 these offerings to the departed, he was only a child of rare poetical facul- 
 ties, and I imagined his occasional composition might prove the means of 
 introducing him advantageously to the favour of the public, but from the 
 various circumstances, that have inevitably delayed from year to year the 
 appearance of this volume, the poet has so far anticipated the wish of the 
 biographer, that he has already made himself honorably known to the 
 world by a little volume of Poems, repeatedly printed. He has also most 
 creditably obtained a scholarship in the college of Dublin, and I have 
 only to hope, that his future progress in literature and science, in repu- 
 tation and prosperity y may be most suitable to the very singular and splen- 
 did promises of his juvenile days, in which his exertions have been so va- 
 rious, so laudable, and so happily rewarded, that I may chearfully 
 address to my young friend, the following words of a Latin poet : 
 
 Vade puer, tantisque enixus suffice donis. 
 — Vade alacer majoraque disce mereri ! 
 
Pefrft/hed ■ fyril P/%'Cy,dr Thomas Tqvnr. Tall . Af.aU 
 
AN ELEGY 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF GEORGE ROMNEY, Esq. 
 
 BY J, ROMNEY ROBINSON, 
 AGED TEN YEARS AND EIGHT MONTHS. 
 
 As oft a vapour blots the morning beam, 
 
 Or as the primrose droops beneath the storm, 
 
 The joys of life are but a transient dream, 
 
 And pain and sickness oft its charms deform. 
 
 E'en he,* who late rejoic'd in Percy's bow'rs, 
 
 Weeps at the memory of his earliest friend, 
 
 Who strew'd his path with art's unfading flow'rs, 
 And bade instruction on his steps attend* 
 
 * The Author's Father (formerly a pupil of Mr. Romney,) who had been hospitably 
 invited to spend some time at Dromore House, for the recovery of his health: Dr. Percy, 
 the present Bishop of Dromore, has displayed great taste in the improvements that surround 
 his elegant Mansion. When he came first into possession of the See, his Lordship found the 
 demesne lands in a naked rude uncultivated state, his predecessors having always resided in a- 
 nother part of the Diocese: but it now exhibits a charming variety of wood, lawn, and water 
 scenery, with a succession of beautiful cascades, &c. &c. In one of his groves he has placed 
 a fine column of the Giant's causeway, and in his museum are many rare and valuable curi- 
 osities. 
 
336 
 
 Come then ye pow'rs, to whom the lawn belongs, 
 At yonder tomb your flow'ry tribute pay ; 
 
 And ye Aonian nymphs, who guide my song, 
 Inspire to Romney's name the sorrowing lay. 
 
 No more when rosy light adorns the sky, 
 He views the beauty of the rural glade, 
 
 Where blushing nature mark'd his raptur'd eye, 
 As oft he woo'd her in the lonely shade. 
 
 She mark'd his soul with heav'nly ardour glow, 
 And bade the wilds of fancy all unfold ; 
 
 She bade the Graces guide with magic flow 
 
 His forming pencil, ting'd with Titian's gold. 
 
 She bade the spring select her softest bloom, 
 
 And fling a lively verdure all around, 
 She bade the groves a mellower tint assume 
 
 And autumn's yellow ruins strew the ground. 
 
 For him the whirlwind swept the angry main, 
 
 Whose waves impetuous hurl'd the bark on high, 
 
 Where sportive Ariel with his fleeting train 
 
 Spread the dark tempest* thro' the lowering sky. 
 
 * Alluding to his celebrated picture on the subject of Shakespeare's Tempest for Mr. 
 Boydell as the following Stanzas were suggested by other productions of hk pencil. 
 
 t 
 
337 
 
 Alecto whirl'd her flaming torch around 
 
 Midst red-wing d pestilence she mov'd along ; 
 
 Or in th' infernal cavern's dark profound, 
 
 Before Macbeth the grisly spectres throng. 
 
 His skill divine dispell'd oblivion's gloom, 
 
 Preserv'd the image of the long-lost friend, 
 
 Bade smiling youth defy the yawning tomb, 
 And lent to memory all, that art can lend. 
 
 He drew the hoary chief with wisdom crown'd, 
 
 Whose nerveless arm resigns the war-worn shield 
 
 Maternal fondness view'd her infants round, 
 As Flora first beheld the blooming field. 
 
 Pure as etherial flame his colours shine, 
 
 When wond'ring Newton scans the solar rays ; 
 
 Reflected light, in many a hue divine, 
 
 Around the sage with heav'nly lustre plays.* 
 
 On beauty's cheek his glowing pencil shone, 
 With living fire iUum'd the sparkling eye ; 
 
 As when the sun assumes his radiant throne, 
 And orient blushes tinge the azure sky. 
 
 * Alluding to his picture of Sir Isaac Newton with the Prism. 
 
338 
 
 And as the modest flower adorns the wild, 
 
 Dispensing fragrance to the morning dew, 
 
 Thus o'er his youth benignant genius smil'd, 
 And on his canvas endless glory threw. 
 
 And while his mind the powers of art inspire, 
 His generous heart each nobler passion led, 
 
 The zeal of friendship wak'd each latent fire, 
 
 Glow'd in his eye and all its influence shed. 
 
 For as in gold the sparkling diamond gleams, 
 
 He shone amidst the joys, fair science brings, 
 
 Who chear'd each busy hour with brightest beams, 
 And scatter'd blessings from her balmy wings. 
 
 But not the tints of light's resplendent ray, 
 
 Nor friendship's power, nor fame's resounding breath, 
 Could turn heaven's fiat from it's destin'd way, 
 
 Borne on the fleeting minutes wing'd with death. 
 
 Oft shall the muse resume her youthful lyre, 
 
 And oft in plaintive strains deplore his doom, 
 
 Where ruthless time invades yon mould 'ring spire, 
 And painting bends in sorrow o'er his tomb. 
 
 Belfast, December, 1803. 
 
EPISTLES TO ROMNEY, 
 
 FIRST 
 
 PRINTED IJY THE 
 1788. 
 
 t/; eifxCPoiv aval QuvTXcrict, 
 
 Philostratus. 
 
 I EAR, 
 
 Patet omnibus Ars, nondum est occupata, mud-turn ex did etiam futuris re- 
 lic turn est. 
 
 Sen ec. Epist. 33. 
 
EPISTLE THE FIRST. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Introduction ; the flourishing state of art in this country ; disadvan- 
 tage attending the modern painter of portraits ; short encomium 
 on this branch of art, with the account of its origin in the story of 
 the Maid of Corinth ; superiority of historical painting : some 
 account of the Greeks, who excelled in it : its destruction and re- 
 vival in Italy ; short account of the most eminent Italian and Spa" 
 nish painters ; those of Flanders and France 3 * the corruption 
 of art among the latter. 
 
 xjlest be the hour, when fav'ring gales restore 
 The travell'd artist to his native shore ! 
 His mind enlighten'd, and his fancy fraught 
 With finest forms by ancient genius wrought ; 
 Whose magic beauty charm'd, with spell sublime, 
 The scythe of ruin from the hand of time, 
 And mov'd the mighty leveller to spare 
 Models of grace so exquisitely fair. 
 
 While you, whom painting thus inspir'd to roam, 
 Bring these rich stores of ripen'd judgment home ; 
 
342 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 While now, attending my accomplish'd friend, 
 
 Science and taste his soften'd colours blend ; 
 
 Let the fond muse, tho' with a transient view, 
 
 The progress of her sister art pursue ; 
 
 Eager in tracing from remotest time 
 
 The steps of painting through each favor'd clime, 
 
 To praise her dearest sons, whose daring aim 
 
 Gain'd their bright station on the heights of fame, 
 
 And mark the paths, by which her partial hand, 
 
 Conducts her Romney to this radiant band. 
 
 Painting, sweet nymph! now leaves in lifeless trance 
 
 Exhausted Italy, and tinsel France, 
 
 And sees in Britain, with exulting eyes, 
 
 Her vot'ries prosper, and her glories rise. 
 
 Yet tho', my friend, thy art is thus carest, 
 
 With public homage eminently blest, 
 
 And flourishes with growing beauty fair, 
 
 The child of Majesty's adoptive care, 
 
 The youthful artist still is doom'd to feel 
 
 Obstruction's chilling hand, that damps his zeal : 
 
 Th' imperious voice of vanity and pride 
 
 Bids him from fancy's region turn aside, 
 
 And quit the magic of her scene, to trace 
 
 The vacant lines of some unmeaning face : 
 
 E'en in this work his wishes still are crost, 
 
 And all the efforts of his art are lost ; 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 343 
 
 For when the canvas, with the mirror's truth, 
 Reflects the perfect form of age or youth, 
 The fond affections of the partial mind 
 The eye of judgment with delusion blind : 
 Each mother bids him brighter tints employ, 
 And give more spirit to her booby boy ; 
 Nor can the painter, with his utmost art, 
 Express the image in the lover's heart : 
 Unconscious of the change, the seasons bring, 
 Autumnal beauty asks the rose of spring, 
 And vain self-love, in every age the same, 
 Will fondly urge some visionary claim. 
 The luckless painter, destin'd to submit, 
 Mourns the lost likeness, which he once had hit, 
 And, doom'd to groundless censure, bears alone 
 The grievous load of errors not his own. 
 
 Nor is it pride, or folly's vain command, 
 That only fetters his creative hand ; 
 At fashion's nod he copies as they pass 
 Each quaint reflection from her crowded glass. 
 The formal coat, with intersecting line, 
 Mars the free graces of his fair design ; 
 The towering cap he marks with like distress, 
 And all the motley mass of female dress. 
 The hoop extended with enormous size, 
 The corks, that like a promontory rise ; 
 
344 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 The stays of deadly steel, in whose embrace 
 
 The tyrant fashion tortures injur'd grace. 
 
 But art, despairing over shapes like these 
 
 To cast an air of elegance, and ease, 
 
 Invokes kind fancy's aid ; she comes to spread 
 
 Her magic spells ; the gothic forms are fled ; 
 
 And see to crown the painter's just desire, 
 
 Her free positions, and her light attire ! 
 
 Th' ambitious artist wishes to pursue 
 
 This brilliant plan with more extensive view, 
 
 And with adopted character to give 
 
 A lasting charm to make the portrait live ; 
 
 All points of art by one nice effort gain, 
 
 Delight the learned, and content the vain ; 
 
 Make history to life new value lend,* 
 
 And in the comprehensive picture blend 
 
 The antient hero with the living friend. 
 
 Most fair device ! " but, ah ! what foes to sense, 
 
 What broods of motley monsters rise from hence !" 
 
 The strange pretensions of each age and sex 
 
 These plans of fancy and of taste, perplex ; 
 
 For male and female, to themselves unknown, 
 
 Demand a character unlike their own, 
 
 Till oft the painter in this quaint distress 
 
 Prefers the awkward shapes of common dress. 
 
 Verse 77. Note 1. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 345 
 
 Sweet girls, of mild and pensive softness, choose 
 
 The sportive emblems of the comic muse ; 
 
 And sprightly damsels are inclin'd to borrow 
 
 The garb of penitence, and tears of sorrow ; 
 
 While awkward pride, tho' safe from wars alarms* 
 
 Round his plump body buckles ancient arms, 
 
 And, from an honest justice of the peace, 
 
 Starts up at once a demi-god of Greece; 
 
 Too firm of heart by ridicule to fall, 
 
 The finished hero crowns his country hall, 
 
 Ordain'd to fill, if fire his glory spare, 
 
 The lumber-garret of his wiser heir* 
 
 Not less absurd to flatter Nero's eyes* 
 
 Arose the portrait of colossal size ; 
 
 Twice fifty feet th' enormous sheet was spread, 
 
 To lift o'er gazing slaves the monster's head, 
 
 When impious folly sway'd oppression's rod, 
 
 And servile Rome ador'd the mimic God, 
 
 Think not, my friend, with supercilious air, 
 I rank the portrait as beneath thy care. 
 Blest be the pencil, which from death can savef 
 The semblance of the virtuous, wise, and brave 3 
 That youth and emulation still may gase 
 On those inspiring forms of ancient days, 
 And, from the force of bright example bold, 
 Rival their worth, M and be what they behold*" 
 
 • Verse 100. Note 2. 1 Verso 108. Note 3, 
 
 T T 
 
346 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Blest be the pencil ! whose consoling pow'r, 
 Soothing soft friendship in her pensive hour, 
 Dispels the cloud, with melancholy fraught, 
 That absence throws upon her tender thought. 
 Blest be the pencil ! whose enchantment gives 
 To wouuded love the food, on which he lives. 
 Rich in this gift, tho' cruel ocean bear 
 The youth to exile from his faithful fair, 
 He in fond dreams hangs o'er her glowing cheek, 
 Still owns her present, and still hears her speak : 
 Oh I Love, it was thy glory to impart 
 Its infant being to this magic art ! 
 Inspir'd by thee, the soft Corinthian maid* 
 Her graceful lover's sleeping form pourtray'd : 
 Her boding heart his near departure knew, 
 Yet long'd to keep his image in her view : 
 Pleased she beheld the steady shadow fall, 
 By the clear lamp upon the even wall : 
 The line she trae'd with fond precision true, 
 And, drawing, doated on the form she drew ; 
 Nor, as she glow'd with no forbidden fire, 
 Conceal'd the simple picture from her sire : 
 His kindred fancy still to nature just, 
 Copied her line, and form'd the mimic bust. 
 Thus from thy power, inspiring love, we trace 
 The modelPd image, and the pencil'd face ! 
 
 * Verse 126. Note 4. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 347 
 
 How weak seems genius, when, by interest led, 
 His toils but reach the semblance of a head ; 
 Yet are those censures too severe and vain, 
 That scorn the portrait as the painter's bane* 
 Tho' up the mountain winds the arduous road 
 That leads to pure perfection's bright abode. 
 In humbler walks some tempting laurels grow, 
 Some flowers are gather'd in the vale below : 
 Youth on the plain collects increasing force, 
 To climb the steep in his meridian course. 
 While nature sees her living models share 
 The rising artist's unremitting care, 
 She on his mind her every charm imprints, 
 Her easy postures, and her perfect tints, 
 Till his quick pencil, in maturer hour, 
 Becomes her rival in creative power. 
 
 Yet in these paths disdain a long delay, 
 While eager genius points a nobler way : 
 For see ! expanding to thy raptur'd gaze, 
 The epic field a brighter scene displays ! 
 Here stands the temple, where, to merit true, 
 Fame gives her laurel to the favor'd few s 
 Whose minds, iilumio'd with ccelestial fire, 
 Direct the pencil, or awake the lyre ; 
 Who trace the springs of nature to their source. 
 And by her guidance, with resistless force, 
 
 Y y a 
 
348 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 The tides of terror and of transport roll, 
 Thro' every channel of the human soul ! 
 
 How few, my friend, tho' millions boast the aim, 
 Leave in this temple an unclouded name ! 
 Vain the attempt, in every age and clime, 
 Without the slow conductors, toil and time ; 
 Without that secret, soul-impelling power, 
 Infus'd by genius in the natal hour ; 
 And vain with these, if bright occasion's ray 
 Fail to illuminate the doubtful way. 
 
 The elders of thy art, ordain 'd to stand 
 In the first circle of this honor'd band, 
 (Whose pencil striving for the noblest praise, 
 The heart to soften, and the mind to raise, 
 Gave life and manners to the finish'd piece) 
 These sons of glory were the sons of Greece ! 
 Hail ! throne of genius, hail ! what mighty hand 
 Form'd the bright offspring of this famous land ? 
 First in the annals of the world they shine : 
 Such gifts, O Liberty, are only thine ; 
 Thy vital fires, thro' kindling spirits run, 
 Thou soul of life, thou intellectual sun ; 
 Thy rays call forth, profuse and unconfin'd, 
 The richest produce of the human mind. 
 First taught by thee, the Grecian pencil wrought 
 The forceful lessons of exalted thought, 
 
 X 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 349 
 
 And generously gave, at glory's call, 
 The patriot picture to the public ha!l. 
 
 Twas then Panaeus drew, with freedom's train,* 
 The chief of Marathon's immortal plain, 
 In glorious triumph o'er the mighty host, 
 That Persia pour'd in torrents on their coast. 
 
 There Polygnotus scorning servile hire,")- 
 Displayed the embattled scene from Homer's lyre. 
 His country view'd the gift with fond regard, 
 Aud rank 'd the painter with their noblest bard. 
 
 Thy tragic pencil, Aristides, caughtj 
 Each varied feeling, and each tender thought ; 
 While moral virtue sanctified thy art, 
 And passion gave it empire o'er the heart, 
 
 Correct Parrhasius first to rich design§ 
 Gave nice proportion, and the melting line, 
 Whose soft extremes from observation fly, 
 And with ideal distance cheat the eye. 
 
 The gay, the warm, licentious Zeuxis drewj| 
 Voluptuous beauty in her richest hue: 
 Bade in one form her scatter' d rays unite, 
 And charm'd the view with their collected light. 
 
 But grace consign J d, while her fair works he plamvd, 
 Her softest pencil to Apeiles' hand ; 
 Yet oft to gain sublimer heights he strove, C 
 Such strong expression mark'd his mimic Jove, 
 
 * Verse 194 Note 5. + Verse 1 9S Note 6. J Verse 20Q Note 7. 
 
 § Verse 206 Note 8. || Verse 210 Note 9. 1f Verse 216 Note 10. 
 
350 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Inimitably great he seem'd to tower, 
 And pass the limits of the pencil's power. 
 
 Ye sons of art, tho' on the gulph of years 
 No floating relict of your toil appears, 
 Yet glory shews, in every cultur& clime, 
 Your names still radiant thro' the clouds of time. 
 
 Thy pride, O Rome ! inclin'd thee to abhor 
 Each work that callM thee from thy sphere of war: 
 By freedom train'd, and favor'd by the nine, 
 The powers of eloquence and verse were thine, 
 While chilling damps upon the pencil hung,* 
 Where Tully thunder'd, and where Virgil sung, 
 Yet Grecian artists had the splendid fate 
 To triumph o'er the Romans' scornful hate. 
 Their matchless works profusion toil'd to buy, 
 Their wonders glitter'd in the public eye, 
 Till Rome's terrific pomp, and letter'd pride, 
 Were sunk in desolation's whelming tide. 
 
 Oh ! lovely painting ! long thy cheering light 
 Was lost and buried in barbaric night ; 
 The furious rage of Anarchy effac'd 
 Each hallow'd character, thy hand had trac'd, 
 And ign'rance mutt'ring in her monkish cell, 
 Bound thy free soul in her lethargic spell. 
 
 At length from this long trance thy spirit rose, 
 In that sweet vale where silver Arno flows ; 
 
 * Verse 228. Nute 9. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 351 
 
 There studious Vinci treasur'd every rule,* 
 To iorm the basis of a rising school : 
 Like early Hesiod, 'twas his fate to shine, 
 The herald of a master more divine. 
 
 Inflam'd by Genius with sublimest rage, 
 By toil unwearied, and unchill'd by age, 
 In the fine frenzy of exalted thought 
 Gigantic Angelo his wonders wrought ;-f 
 And high, by native strength of spirit rais'd, 
 The mighty Homer of the pencil blaz'd. 
 Taste, fancy, judgment, all on Raphael smil'd.J 
 Of grandeur and of grace the darling child : 
 Truth, passion, character, his constant aim, 
 Both in the human and the heavenly frame, 
 Th' enchanting painter rules the willing heart, 
 And shines the finished Virgil of his art. 
 
 The daring Julio, tho' by Raphael train'd,§ 
 Reach'd not the summit, where his master reign'd ; 
 Yet to no common heights of epic fame 
 True genius guided his adventurous aim. 
 Thus Statius, fraught with emulous regard, 
 Caught not the spirit of the Mantuan bard : 
 Tho' rival ardour his ambition hYd, 
 And kindred talents his bold verse inspir'd. 
 
 More richly warm, the glowing Titian knew|| 
 To blend with nature's truth the living hue : 
 
 * Verse 244 Note 12 t Verse 251 Note 13. J Verse 254 Note 14. 
 
 § Verse 260 Note 15. || Verse 268 Note l6Y 
 
352 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 O I had sublime design his colours crown'd f 
 Then had the world a finish 'd painter found : 
 With powers to seize the highest branch of art, 
 He fix'd too fondly on a humbler part ; 
 Yet this low object of his partial care 
 Grew from his toil so exquisitely fair, 
 That dazzled judgment, with suspended voice, 
 Fears to condemn the error of his choice. 
 Thus pleas'd a flowry valley to explore, 
 Whence never poet cull'd a wreath before,* 
 Lucretius chose the epic crown to lose 
 For the bright chaplets of an humbler muse. 
 
 Soft as Catullus, sweet Corregio play'd-f- 
 With all the magic charms of light and shade. 
 Tho s Parma claim it for her rival son, J 
 The praise of sweetest grace thy pencil won : 
 Unhappy genius ! tho' of skill divine, 
 Unjust neglect and penury were thine. 
 Lamenting o'er thy labours unrepaid, 
 Afflicted art opprest with wrongs decay'd, 
 Till the Caracci in a happier hour§ 
 Raising to energy her injur 'd power, 
 Reclaim'd the pencil of misguided youth 
 From affectation's glare to tints of modest truth. 
 
 * Unde prius nulli velarunt Tempera Musce. 
 
 Lucietius, Lib. iv. Ver. 5. 
 
 f Verse 2S2 Note 17. J Verse 284 Note 13. § Verse Q90 Note 19- 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 353 
 
 They form'd the pencil, to whose infant fame 
 Young Zampieri ow'd his nobler name :* 
 Profoundly skilPd his figures to dispose, 
 The learned Lanfranc in their school arose, -f 
 And, train'd to glory, by their forming care, 
 The tender Guido caught his graceful air. J 
 
 Nor shall ye fail your well-earned praise to gain, 
 Ye I who adorn' d with art your native Spain ! 
 The unfrequented shore, that gave you birth, 
 Tempts not the faithful muse to hide your worth : 
 Just to all regions, let her voice proclaim 
 Titian's mute scholar, rival of his fame.§ 
 The power, that nature to his lips denied, 
 Indulgent art, with fonder care, supplied : 
 The cruel bar his happy genius broke ; 
 Tho' dumb the painter, all his pictures spoke. 
 
 And thou, Velasquez, share the honor due|| 
 To forceful tints, that fascinate the view ! 
 Thy bold illusive talents soar'd so high, 
 They mock'd, with mimic life, the cheated eye. 
 Thou liberal artist ! 'twas thy praise to guide 
 Thy happy scholar with parental pride ; 
 Thy care the soft, the rich Murillo form'd,^ 
 And as thy precept taught, thy friendship warm'd. 
 Yet other names, and not a scanty band ! 
 Have added lustre to th' Iberian land 5 
 
 • Verse 295 Note 20. f Verse 297 Note 21. J Verse 299 Note 22, 
 
 § Verse 305 Note 23. \\ Verse 310 Note 24. 11 Verse 3l6 Note 25. 
 
 Z 2 
 
354 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 But, generous Italy, thy genial earth 
 Superior numbers bore of splendid worth ! 
 And rais'd amidst them, in thy golden days 
 No mean historian to record their praise.* 
 
 On thee, whom art, thy patroness and pride, 
 Taught both the pencil and the pen to guide ; 
 Whose generous zeal and modest truth have known 
 To blazon others' skill, not boast thy own ; 
 On thee, Vasari, let my verse bestow 
 That just applause, so freely seen to flow 
 From thy ingenuous heart and liberal hand, 
 To each great artist of thy native land ! 
 Tho' many shine in thy elaborate page, 
 And more have risen since thy distant age, 
 Their various talents, and their different fame 
 The muse, unskilful, must decline to name, 
 Least in the nice attempt her judgment fail 
 To poise their merits in precision's scale. 
 
 E'en public taste, by no determin'd rule, 
 Has class'd the merit of each nobler school : 
 To Rome and Florence, in expression strong, 
 The highest honors of design belong ; 
 On her pure style see mild Bologna claim -f 
 Her fairest right to secondary fame ; 
 Tho' prouder Venice would usurp that praise, 
 Upon the splendid force of Titian's golden rays. J 
 
 * Verse 323 Note 26. f Verse 342 Note 27. J Verse 345 — —Note 28. 
 
EPISTLES. 355 
 
 But ill they know the value of their art, 
 
 Who flattering the eye, neglect the art. 
 
 Tho' matchless tints a lasting name secure, 
 
 Tho' strong the magic of the clear-obscure, 
 
 These must submit, as a dependant part, 
 
 To pure Design, the very soul of art, 
 
 Or fame, misguided, must invert her course, 
 
 And Raphael's grace must yield to Rembrandt's force;* 
 
 Fancy's bold thought to labour's patient touch, 
 
 And Rome's exalted genius to the Dutch. 
 
 Yet Holland, thy unwearied labours raise *f 
 
 A perfect title to peculiar praise : * 
 
 Thy hum'rous pencil shuns the epic field, 
 
 The blazing falchion, and the sanguine shield ; 
 
 But strongly marks the group of rural mirth, 
 
 In social circle round the chearful hearth ; 
 
 And rustic joy, from busy cares releas'd, 
 
 To the gay gambols of the village feast s 
 
 While nature smiles her very faults to view, 
 
 Trac'd with a skill so exquisitely true. 
 
 These faults, O Rembrandt, 'twas thy praise to hide! 
 
 New pow'rs of art thy fertile mind supplied ; 
 
 With dazzling force thy gorgeous colouring glows, 
 
 And o'er each scene an air of grandeur throws: 
 
 The meanest figures dignity assume. 
 
 From thy contrasted light, and magic gloom, 
 
 ♦Verse 353 Note 29, f Verse 356 — -Note 30. 
 
 2z2 
 
356 EPISTLES. 
 
 These strong illusions are supremely thine, 
 And laugh at imitation's vague design ; 
 So near to blemishes thy beauties run, 
 Those who affect thy splendor are undone ? 
 While thy rash rivals, loose and incorrect, 
 Miscall their shadowy want of truth effect^ 
 And into paths of affectation start : 
 Neglect of nature is the bane of art. 
 Proud of the praise by Rubens' pencil won,* 
 Let Flanders boast her bold inventive son I 
 Whose glowing hues magnificently shine 
 With* warmth congenial to his rich design; 
 And him, her second pride, whose milder care 
 From living beauty caught its loveliest air ! 
 Who truth of character with grace combin'd, 
 And in the speaking feature mark'd the mind, 
 Her soft Vandyke, while graceful portraits please,-f* 
 Shall reign the model of unrivalPd ease. 
 Painting shall tell, with many a grateful thought, 
 From Flanders first the secret power she caught, J- 
 To grace and guard the offspring of her toil, 
 With all the virtues of enduring oil ; 
 Tho' charm'd by Italy's alluring views, 
 (Where sumptuous Leo courted every muse,§ 
 And lovely science grew the public care) 
 She fix'd the glories of her empire there ; 
 
 * Verse 380 Note 31. t Verse 388 Note 32. J Verse 391. Note 33. 
 
 § Veise 395 Note 34 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 There in her zenith soon she ceasM to shine, 
 
 And dated, passing her meridian line, 
 
 From the Caracci's death her period of decline. 
 
 Yet in her gloomy and disgraceful hour 
 
 Of faded beauty, and enfeebled power, 
 
 With talents flowing in free nature's course, 
 
 With just exertion ofunborrow'd force, 
 
 Untrodden paths of art Salvator tried,* 
 
 And daring fancy was his favorite guide. 
 
 O'er his wild rocks, at her command, he throws 
 
 A savage grandeur, and sublime repose ; 
 
 Or gives th' historic scene a charm as strong 
 
 As the terrific gloom of Dante's song. 
 
 His bold ideas, unrefined by taste, 
 
 Express'd with vigour, tho' conceiv'd in haste, 
 
 Before slow judgment their defects can find, 
 
 With awful pleasure fill the passive mind. 
 
 Nor could one art, with various beauty fraught, 
 
 Engross the ardor of his active thought : 
 
 His pencil pausing, with satiric fire 
 
 He struck the chords of the congenial lyre \ 
 
 By generous verse attempting to reclaim 
 
 The meaner artist from each abject aim. 
 
 But vain his satire ! his example vain ! 
 
 Degraded painting sinks with many a stain : 
 
 * Verse 405 Note 35. 
 
358 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Her clouded beams from Italy withdrawn, 
 On colder France with transient lustre dawn. 
 There, in the arms of Roman science nurs'd, 
 In every work of ancient genius vers'd, 
 The sage Poussin, with purest fancy fraught,* 
 Portray'd the classic scene, as learning taught : 
 But nature, jealous of her sacred right, 
 And piqued that his idolatry should slight 
 Her glowing graces, and her living air, 
 To worship marble with a fonder care, 
 Denied his pencil, in its mimic strife, 
 The bloom of beauty, and the warmth of life, 
 
 Then rose Le Brun, his scholar, and his friend,*!- 
 More justly skill'd the vivid tints to blend ; 
 Tho' with exalted spirit he present 
 The generous victor in the suppliant tent, 
 Too oft the genius of his gaudy clime 
 Misled his pencil from the pure sublime. 
 Thy dawn, Le Sueur, announc'd a happier taste, J 
 With fancy glowing, and with judgment chaste : 
 But art, who gloried in thy rising bloom, 
 Shed fruitless tears upon thy early tomb. 
 
 These lights withdrawn, confusion and misrule 
 Seize the vain pencil of the gallic school : 
 Tho' Fresnoy teaches, in Horatian song,§ 
 The laws and limits, that to art belong ; 
 
 • Verse 427 Note 36. t Verse 435 Note 37. 1 Verse 441 
 
 § Verse 447. Note 39- 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 359 
 
 n vain he strives, with attic judgment chaste, 
 To crush the monsters of corrupted taste : 
 With ineffectual fire the poet sings, 
 Prolific still the wounded Hydra springs : 
 Gods roll'd on gods encumber every hall, 
 And saints, convulsive, o'er the chapel sprawl. 
 Bombast is grandeur, affectation grace, 
 Beauty's soft smile is turn'd to pert grimace ; 
 Loaded with dress, supremely fine advance 
 Old Homer's heroes, with the airs of France. 
 Indignant art di^claim'd the motley crew. 
 Resign'd their empire, and to Britain flew. 
 
 EJ)TD OF THE FIRST EPISTLE. 
 
EPISTLE THE SECOND, 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The rise of painting in England, and the reasons for its happening so 
 late. The rapidity of its improvement, A slight sketch of the 
 most eminent living artists in England, The author's wish to 
 see his friend among the first of that number. His reasons for 
 hoping it. The reputation of a painter in some degree owing to 
 a happy choice of subjects, A few recommended from national 
 events^ and from Milton and Shakespeare, Conclusion^ author*s 
 wishes for his friend's success* 
 
 Ingenuous Romney, whom thy merits raise 
 To the pure summits of unclouded praise ; 
 Whom art has chosen, with successful hand. 
 To spread her empire o'er this honor'd land ; 
 Thy progress friendship with delight surveys, 
 And this pure homage to thy goddess pays. 
 Hail ! heavenly visitant ! whose cheering powers 
 E'en to the happy give still happier hours I 
 I next to freedom, and the muse design *d 
 To raise, ennoble, and adorn mankind ! 
 
 3 A 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 At length we view thee in this favor'd isle, 
 That greets thy presence, and deserves thy smile : 
 This favor'd isle, in native freedom bold, 
 And rich in spirit, as thy Greeks of old. 
 
 Tho' foreign theorists, with system blind,* 
 Prescribe false limits to the British mind, 
 And, warp'd by vanity, presume to hold 
 Our northern genius dark, confin'd, and cold : 
 Painting, sweet nymph, unconscious of their chain, 
 In this fair island forms her new domain, 
 And freely gives to Britain's eager view 
 Those charms, which once her fav'rite Athens knew. 
 
 'Tis true, when painting, on Italia's shore, 
 Display'd those graces, which all realms adore, 
 No kindred forms of English growth appear ; 
 Age after age the hapless pencil here 
 Dropt unsuccessful from the native's hand, 
 And faiPd to decorate this darker land. 
 But freely let impartial history say, 
 Why art on Britain shone with later ray. 
 
 When on this isle, the gothic clouds withdrawn, 
 The distant light of painting seem'd to dawn. 
 Fierce Harry reign'd, who, soon with pleasure cloyM,-f- 
 Now lov'd, now scornM, now worship'd, now destroy'd* 
 Thee as his wives, enchanting art ! he priz'd, 
 Now sought to crown thee, now thy death devis'd : 
 
 • Verse 15. Note 40. f Verse 33. Note 41. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 Now strove to fix, with liberal support, 
 
 Thy darling Raphael in his sumptuous court 5 
 
 Now o'er the hallow'd shrines, thy hand had grac'd* 
 
 " Cried havock and let slip the dogs of waste.' 5 
 
 When timid art saw ruin his delight, 
 
 She fled in terror from the tyrant's sight. 
 
 The virgin queen, whom dazzled eyes admire. 
 The subtle child of this imperious sire, 
 Untaught the moral force of art to feel,* 
 Proscrib'd it as the slave of bigot zeal ; 
 Or doom'd it, throwing nobler works aside, 
 To drudge in flattering her fantastic pride ; 
 And hence the epic pencil in the shade 
 Of blank neglect and cold obstruction iaid, 
 E'en while the fairy-sprite, and muse of fire, 
 Hung high in glory's hall the English lyre. 
 
 James, both for empire and for arts unfit, 
 (His sense a quibble, and a pun his wit) 
 Whatever works he patroniz'd debas'd. 
 But haply left the pencil undisgrac'd. 
 
 With fairer mind arose his nobler son, 
 Seduc'd by parasites, by priests undone : 
 Unhappy Charles ! oh I had thy feeling heart 
 But honor'd freedom as it valued art I 
 To merit just, thy bounty flow'd alike 
 On bolder Rubens, and the soft Vandyke 5 
 
 * Verse 45. Note 42. 
 
 3 A 2 
 
J 
 
 364 EPISTLES. 
 
 To this ennobled realm thy judgment brought 
 The sacred miracles, that Raphael wrought ; 
 But regal pride with vain ambition blind, 
 Cut off the promise of thy cultur'd mind. 
 By wounded liberty's convulsive hand 
 Unbound, fierce Anarchy usurps the land ; 
 While trembling art to foreign regions flies, 
 To seek a refuge in serener skies. 
 
 These storms subsiding, see her once again 
 Returning in the second Charles's train ! 
 She comes to copy, in licentious sport, 
 The minions of a loose luxurious court ; 
 From which the modest graces turn their eyes, 
 Where genius sees, and o'er the prospect sighs, 
 Lely's soft tints, and Dryden's nobler lyre, 
 Made the mean slaves of dissolute desire. 
 
 Once more, alarm'd by war's terrific roar, 
 The sweet enchantress quits the troubled shore ; 
 While sacred freedom, darting in disdain 
 Her vengeful thunder on th' apostate train, 
 And, pleasM the gloomy tyrant to disown, 
 Gives to Nassau the abdicated throne. 
 
 The peaceful prince may rising art defend, 
 And art shall crown her patron and her friend. 
 In tumults, from the cradle to the grave, 
 vTis thine, O William ! sinking realms to save. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 36! 
 
 To thee no leisure mightier cares allow, 
 
 To bind the laurel on the artist's brow : 
 
 Tis thine to fix, with tutelary hand, 
 
 The base of freedom, on which art must stand* 
 
 Yet to thy palace Kneller's skill supplied* 
 
 Its richest ornament in beauty's pride. 
 
 Unhappy Kneller ! covetuous though vain ; 
 
 Thee glory yielded to seducing gain : 
 
 While partial taste from modest Riley turn'd,-^ 
 
 By diffidence depriv'd of praise well earn'd. 
 
 Tho' in succeeding years the muses taught, 
 4 How Ann commanded and how Marlbro' fought ;" 
 And Thornhill's blaze of allegory gilt J 
 The piles, that Wren's superior genius built; 
 Contending factions, in her closing reign, 
 Like winds imprison'd, shook lair freedoms fane. • 
 Painting, soft timid nymph, still chose to ream, 
 And fear'd to settle in this shaking dome. 
 
 At length, the fury of each storm o'erblown, 
 That threaten'd Brunswick's race on Britain's throne, 
 Rebellion vanquish'd on her native shore, 
 Her clans extinguish'd, and her chiefs no more : 
 The youthful noble, on a princely plan,§ 
 Encourag'd infant art, and first began 
 Before the studious eye of youth to place 
 The antient models of ideal grace. 
 
 * Verse 93 Note 43, f Verse 97 Note 44. £ Verse 101. Note 45. 
 
 §. Yeise 1 U Note 4jS 
 
366 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 When Britain triumph'd thro' her wide domain 
 O'er France supported by imperious Spain, 
 And, sated with her laurels' large increase, 
 Began to cultivate the plants of peace ; 
 Fixt by kind Majesty's protecting hand, 
 Painting, no more an alien in our land, 
 First smil'd to see, on this propitious ground, 
 Her temples openM, and her altars crown'd : 
 And grace, the first attendant of her train, 
 She, whom Apelles wooed, nor wooed in vain, 
 To Reynolds gives her undulating line, 
 And judgment doats upon his chaste design. 
 Tho' envy whispers in the ear of spleen, 
 What thoughts are borrow'd in his perfect scene, 
 With glee she marks them on her canker'd scroll, 
 Malicious fiend ! 'twas thus that Virgil stole, 
 To the bright image gave a brighter gloss, 
 Or turn'd to purest gold the foreign dross. 
 Excelling artist ! long delight the eye ! 
 Teach but thy transient tints no more to fly,* 
 Britain shall then her own Apelles see, 
 And all the Grecian shall revive in thee. 
 Thy manly spirit glories to impart 
 The leading principles of Hb'ral art;-f 
 To youthful genius points what course to run, 
 What lights to follow, and what rocks to shun : 
 
 * Verse 131- Note 47. t Verse 138 Note 48. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 367 
 
 So Orpheus taught, by learning's heaverly sway. 
 
 To daring Argonauts their doubtful way, 
 
 And mark d to guide them in their bold career, 
 
 Th* unerring glories of the starrj sphere, 
 
 Thy hand enforces what .thy precept taught, 
 
 And gives new lessons of exalted thought; 
 
 Thy nervous pencil on the canvas throws 
 
 The tragic story of sublimest woes : 
 
 The wretched sons, whom grief and famine tear, 
 
 The parent petrified with blank despair, 
 
 Thy Ugolino gives the heart to thrill,* 
 
 W ith pity's tender throbs, and horror's icy chill. 
 
 The offspring now of many a rival hand, 
 Sublimity and grace adorn the land ; 
 Tho' but some few years past, this barren coast 
 Scarce one fair grain of native art could boast. 
 Of various form where'er we turn our eyes, 
 With strong and rapid growth new wonders rise ; 
 Like seeds that mariners, with generous toil, 
 Have wisely carried to some kindred soil, 
 Which, shooting quick and vig'rous in their birth, 
 Speak the fond bounty of the virgin earth : 
 The land o'erjoy'd a fairer fruit to see 
 Adopts, with glad surprize, the alien tree. 
 
 Now art exults, with annual triumphs gay,-f « 
 And Britain glories in her rich display ; 
 
 * Verse 151 Note 49. f Verse l£>5 Note 50, 
 
368 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Merit, who unassisted, and unknown, 
 Late o'er his unseen labours sigh'd alone, 
 Sees honor now his happier toils attend, 
 And in the generous public finds a friend. 
 
 O lovely painting, to whose cnarms I bow, 
 " And breathe my willing verse with suppliant vow," 
 Forgive me, if by undiscerning praise, 
 Or groundless censure, which false judgment sways, 
 My failing line with faint resemblance wrong 
 Thy sons, the subject of no envious song ! 
 
 Supremely skill'd the varied group to place, 
 And range the crowded scene with easy grace ; 
 To finish parts, yet not impair the whole, 
 But on the impassion'd action fix the soul ; 
 Through wondering throngs the patriot chief to guide, 
 The shame of Carthage, as of Rome the pride ; 
 Or, while the bleeding victor yields his breath, 
 Give the bright lesson of heroic death. 
 Such are thy merits West : by virtue's hand 
 Built on the human heart thy praise shall stand, 
 While dear to glory in her guardian fane, 
 The names of Regulus and Wolfe remain. 
 
 With kindred power a rival hand succeeds, 
 For whose just fame expiring Chatham pleads ; 
 Like Chatham s language, luminous and bold, 
 Thy colours, Copley, the dread scene unfold, 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 309 
 
 Where that prime spirit, by whose guidance hurl'd, 
 Britain's avenging thunder aw'd the world, 
 In patriot cares employ'd his parting breath, 
 Struck in his field of civic fame by death ; 
 And freedom, happy in* the tribute paid 
 By art and genius to so dear a shade, 
 Shall own, the measure of thy praise to fill, 
 The awful subject equall'd by thy skill. 
 
 To Dance's pencil, in precision strong, 
 Transcendent force, and truth of line belong. 
 Not Garrick's self, to Shakespeare's spirit true. 
 Displayed that spirit clearer to our view, 
 Than Dance expresses, in its fiercest flame, 
 The poet's genius in the actor's frame. 
 From Garrick's features, with distraction fraught, 
 He copies every trace of troubled thought ; 
 And paints, while back the waves of battle roll, 
 The storm of sanguinary Richard's soul. 
 
 The rapid Mortimer, of spirit wild, 
 Imagination's dear and daring child, 
 Marks the fierce ruffian, in the dungeon's gloom, 
 Stung with remorse, and shudd'ring at bis doom. 
 Yet still to nobler heights his genius springs, 
 And paints a lesson to tyrannic kings : 
 In his bright colours, see the Held appear 
 To freedom sacred, and to glory dear, 
 
 3 B 
 
370 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Where John, proud monarch, baffled on his throne, 
 Hears the brave chief his lawless pow'r disown, 
 And, for an injur'd nation, nobly claim 
 The glorious charter of immortal fame ! 
 
 But see far off the modest Wright retire ! 
 Alone he rules his element of fire : 
 Like meteors darting thro' the gloom of night, 
 His sparkles flash upon the dazzled sight ; 
 Our eyes with momentary anguish smart, 
 And nature trembles at the power of art. 
 May thy bold colours, claiming endless praise, 
 For ages shine with undiminish'd blaze, 
 And when the fierce Vesuvio burns no more, 
 May his red deluge down thy canvas pour ! 
 Art with no common gifts her Gainsb'rough grac'd, 
 Two different pencils in his hand she plac'd ; 
 This shall command, she said, with certain aim, 
 A perfect semblance of the human frame ; 
 This, lightly sporting on the village-green, 
 Paint the wild beauties of the rural scene. 
 
 In storms sublime the daring Wilson soars, 
 And on the blasted oak his mimic lightning pours : 
 Apollo triumphs in his flaming skies, 
 And classic beauties in his scenes arise. 
 
 Thy graces, Humphrey, and thy colours clear, 
 From miniature's small circle disappear : 
 
EPISTLES, 
 
 May their distinguish'd merit still prevail* 
 And shine with lustre on the larger scale. 
 
 Let candid justice our attention lead 
 To the soft crayon of the graceful Read :* 
 Nor, Gard'ner, shall the muse, in haste, forget 
 Thy taste and ease : tho* with a fond regret 
 She pays, while here the crayon's pow'r she notes* 
 A sigh of homage to the shade of Coates. 
 Nor, if her favor'd hand may hope to shed 
 The flowers of glory o'er the skilful dead, 
 Thy talents, Hogarth ! will she leave unsung ;-f" 
 Charm of all eyes, and theme of every tongue ! 
 A separate province 'twas thy praise to rule ; 
 Self-form'd thy pencil ! yet thy works a school 5 
 Where strongly painted, in gradations nice, 
 The pomp of folly, and the shame of vice, 
 Reach'd thro' the laughing eye the mended mind $ 
 And moral humour sportive art refin'd, 
 While fleeting manners, as minutely shewn 
 As the clear prospect on the mirror thrown ; 
 While truth of character, exactly hit, 
 And drest in all the dyes of comic wit § 
 While these, in Fielding's page, delight supply, 
 So long thy pencil with his pen shall vie. 
 Science with grief beheld thy drooping age 
 Fall the sad victim of a poet's rages 
 
 ♦ Verse 248 Note 51. t Verse 255.- — Note 53. 
 
 319 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 Bat wit's vindictive spleen, that mocks controul, 
 Nature's high tax on luxury of soul! 
 This, both in bards and painters, fame forgives ; 
 Their frailty's buried, but their genius lives. 
 
 Still many a painter, not of humble name, 
 Appears the tribute of applause to claim ; 
 Some alien artists, more of English race, 
 With fair Angelica our foreign grace, 
 Who paints, with energy and softness join'd 
 The fond emotions of the female mind ; 
 And Cipriani, whom the loves surround, 
 And sportive nymphs in beauty's cestus bound ; 
 For him those nymphs their every charm display, 
 For him coy Venus throws her veil away ; 
 And ZafFani, whose faithful colours give 
 The transient glories of the stage to live ; 
 On his bright canvas each dramatic muse 
 A perfect copy of her scene reviews ; 
 Each while those scenes her lost delight restore, 
 Almost forgets her Garrick is no more. 
 O'er these I pass reluctant, lest too long 
 The muse diffusely spin a tedious song. 
 
 Yet one short pause, ye pow'rs of verse allow 
 To cull a myrtle leaf for Meyer's brow ! 
 Tho' small its field, thy pencil may presume 
 To ask a wreath, where flowers immortal bloom* 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 373 
 
 As nature's self, in all her pictures fair, 
 Colours her insect works with nicest care, 
 Nor better forms, to please the curious eye, 
 The spotted leopard than the gilded fly; 
 So thy fine pencil, in its narrow space, 
 Pours the full portion of uninjur'd grace, 
 And portraits, true to nature's larger line, 
 Boast not an air more exquisite than thine. 
 Soft beauty's charms thy happiest works express, 
 Beauty thy model and thy patroness. 
 For her thy care has to perfection brought 
 The uncertain toil, with anxious trouble fraught; 
 Thy colour'd crystal, at her fond desire, 
 Draws deathless lustre, from the dang'rous fire, 
 And, pleas" d to. gaze on its immortal charm, 
 She binds thy bracelet on her snowy arm. 
 
 While admiration views, with raptur'd eye, 
 These lights of art, that gild the British sky ; 
 Oh ! may my friend arise with lustre clear, 
 And add new glory to this radiant sphere. 
 This wish, my Romney, from the purest source, 
 Has reason's warrant, join'd to friendship's force, 
 For genius breath'd into thy infant frame 
 The vital spirit of his sacred flame, 
 Which transient mists of diffidence overcloud, 
 Proving the vigor of the sun, they shroud. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 Nature in thee her every gift combin'd, 
 Which forms the artist of the noblest kind ; 
 That fond ambition, which bestows on art 
 Each talent of the mind, and passion of the heart 
 That dauntless patience, which all toil defies, 
 Nor feels the labour, while it views the prize. 
 Enlight'ning study, with maturing pow'r, 
 From these fair seeds has call'd the op'ning flow'r 
 Thy just, thy graceful portraits charm the view, 
 With every tender tint, that Titian knew. 
 Round fancy's circle when thy pencil flies, 
 With what terrific pomp thy spectres rise ! 
 What lust of mischief marks thy witch's form, 
 While on the Lapland rock she swells the storm ! 
 Tho' led by fancy thro' her boundless reign, 
 Well dost thou know to quit her wild domain, 
 When history bids thee paint, severely chaste, 
 Her simpler scene, with uncorrupted taste. 
 While in these fields thy judging eyes explore, 
 What spot untried may yield its secret ore, 
 Thy happy genius springs a virgin mine 
 Of copious, pure, original Design ; 
 Truth gives it value, and, distinctly bold, 
 The stamp of character compleats thy gold. 
 Thy figures rise in beauty's noblest scale, 
 Sublimely telling their heroic tale. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 Still may thy powers in full exertion blaze, 
 
 And time revere them with unrivall'd praise ! 
 
 May art, in honor of a son like thee, 
 
 So justly daring, with a soul so free, 
 
 Each separate province to thy care commend, 
 
 And all her glories in thy pencil blend ! 
 
 May tender Titian's mellow softness join 
 
 With mighty Angelo's sublimer line ; 
 
 Corregio's grace with Raphael's taste unite, 
 
 And in thy perfect works inchant the ravishM sight/ 
 
 How oft we find, that when, with noblest aim, 
 The glowing artist gains the heights of fame, 
 To the well-chosen theme he chiefly owes, 
 That praise, which judgment with delight bestows ! 
 The lyre and pencil both this truth confess, 
 The happy subject forms their full success. 
 
 Hard is the painter's fate, when wisely taught 
 To trace with ease the deepest lines of thought, 
 By hapless fortune he is doom'd to rove 
 Thro' all the frolics of licentious Jove, 
 That some dark Philip, phlegmatic and cold,* 
 (Whose needy Titian calls for ill-paid gold) 
 May with voluptuous images enflame 
 The sated passions of his languid frame ; 
 Abuse like this awakens generous pain, 
 And just derision mingles with disdain, 
 
 • Verse 369 Note 53. 
 
FT-TLES. 
 
 When such a pencil, in a Ionian hand, 
 While the rich abbess issues her command, 
 Makes wild St. Francis on the canvas sprawl, 
 That some warm nun in mimic trance may fall, 
 Or, fondly gazing on the pious whim, 
 Feel saintly love o'erload each lazy limb, 
 Mistaking, in the cloister's dull embrace, 
 The cry of nature for the call of grace. 
 
 But see th' historic muse before thee stand, 
 Her nobler subjects court thy happier hand ! 
 Her forms of reverend age and graceful youth, 
 Of public virtue, and of private truth, 
 The sacred power of injur' d beauty's charms, 
 And freedom fierce, in adamantine arms ; 
 Whence sympathy, thro' thy assisting art, 
 With floods of joy may fill the human heart. 
 
 But while the bounds of hist'ry you explore, 
 And bring new treasures from her farthest shore, 
 Thro' all her various fields, tho' large and wide, 
 Still make simplicity thy constant guide ! 
 And most, my friend, a syren's wiles beware, 
 Ah ! shun insidious Allegory's snare ! 
 Her flattery offers an alluring wreath, 
 Fair to the eye, but poisons lurk beneath, 
 By which, too lightly tempted from his guard, 
 Full many a painter dies, and many a bard. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 377 
 
 How sweet her voice, how dangerous her spell, 
 Let Spencer's Knights, and Ruben's Tritons tell ; 
 Judgment at colour'd riddles shakes his head, 
 And fairy songs are prais'd, but little read ; 
 Where, in the maze of her unbounded sphere* 
 Unbridled fancy runs her wild career. 
 
 In realms where superstition's tyrant sway 
 " Takes half the vigor of the soul away," 
 Let art for subjects the dark legend search, 
 Where saints unnumberM people every church ; 
 Let painters run the wilds of Ovid o'er, 
 To hunt for monsters, which we heed no more. 
 But here, my Romney, where, on freedom's wings, 
 The towering spirit to perfection springs ; 
 Where genius, proud to act as heav'n inspires, 
 On taste's pure altar lights his sacred fires ; 
 Oh ! here let painting, as of old in Greece, 
 With patriot passions warm the finish'd piece ; 
 Let Britain, happy in a gen'rous race, 
 Of manly spirit, and of female grace ; 
 Let this frank parent with fond eyes explore 
 Some just memorials of the line, she bore, 
 In tints immortal to her view recall 
 Her dearest offspring on the storied wall! 
 
 But some there are, who, with pedantic scorn, 
 Despise the hero, if in Britain born : 
 
 3 C 
 
378 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 For them perfection has herself no charms, 
 
 Without a Roman robe, or Grecian arms ; 
 
 Our slighted country, for whose fame they feel 
 
 No generous interest, no manly zeal, 
 
 Sees public judgment their false taste arraign, 
 
 And treat their cold contempt with due disdain ; 
 
 To the fair annals of our isle we trust, 
 
 To prove this patriot indignation just, 
 
 And, nobly partial to our native earth, 
 
 Bid English pencils honor English worth.* 
 
 Shall Bayard, glorious in his dying hour, 
 Of Gallic chivalry the finest flow'r, 
 Shall his pure blood in British colours flow, 
 And Britain, on her canvas, fail to shew 
 Her wounded Sidney, Bayard's perfect peer,-f 
 Sidney, her knight, without reproach or fear, 
 O'er whose pale corse heroic worth should bend, 
 And mild humanity embalm her friend I 
 Oh I Romney, in his hour of death we find 
 A subject worthy of thy feeling mind: 
 Methinks I see thy rapid hand display 
 The field of Zutphen, on that fatal day, 
 When arm'd for freedom, 'gainst the guilt of Spain, 
 The hero bled upon the Belgic plain ? 
 In that great moment thou hast caught the chief, 
 When pitying friends supply the wish'd relief; 
 
 * Verse 436. Note 54. f Verse 441. -Note 55. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 While sickness, pain and thirst his pow'r subdue, 
 I see the draught he pants for in his view : 
 Near him the soldier, who in anguish lies, 
 This precious water views with ghastly eyes, 
 With eyes, that from their sockets seem to burst, 
 With eager, frantic, agonizing thirst : 
 I see the hero give, oh ! generous care ! 
 The cup untasted to this silent pray'r ; 
 I hear him say, with tenderness divine, 
 " Thy strong necessity surpasses mine.'' 
 
 Shall Roman charity for ever share 
 Thro' every various school each painte r's care 
 And Britain still her bright examples hide 
 Of female glory, and of filial pride ? 
 Instruct our eyes, my Romney, to adore 
 Th' heroic daughter of the virtuous More,* 
 Resolv'd to save, or in th' attempt expire, 
 The precious relicts of her martyr'd sire : 
 Before the cruel council let her stand, 
 Press the dear ghastly head with pitying hand, 
 And plead while bigotry itself grows mild, 
 The sacred duties of a gratef ul child. 
 
 Forgive the muse, if Imply she commend 
 A theme ill-chosen to her skilful friend ; 
 She, tho* its pow'r commands her willing heart, 
 Knows not the limits of thy lovely art, 
 
 * Verse 468 Note 55. 
 
 3 B 2 
 
380 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Yet boldly owns an eager wish to see 
 
 Her darling images adorn 'd by thee. 
 
 Nor shall her social Love in silence hide 
 
 The just emotions of her grateful pride, 
 
 When thy quick pencil pours upon her sight 
 
 Her own creation in a fairer light ; 
 
 When her Serena learns from thee to live, 
 
 And please by every charm, that life can give. 
 
 Thou hast imparted to th' ideal fair, 
 
 Yet more than beauty's bloom, and youth's attractive air; 
 
 For in thy studious nymph th' enamour'd eye 
 
 May thro' her breast, her gentle heart descry ; 
 
 See the fond thoughts, that o'er her fancy roll, 
 
 And sympathy's soft swell, that fills her soul. 
 
 But happier bards, who boast a higher claim, 
 
 Ask from thy genius an increase of fame. 
 
 Oh ! let the sisters, who with friendly aid, 
 
 The Grecian Lyre, and Grecian pencil sway'd, 
 
 Who join'd their rival powers with fond delight, 
 
 To grace each other with reflected light, 
 
 Let them in Britain thus united reign, 
 
 And double lustre from that union gain ! 
 
 Not that my verse, adventurous, would pretend, 
 
 To point each varied subject to my friend ; 
 
 Far nobler guides their better aid supply : 
 
 When mighty Shakespeare to thy judging eye 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 Presents that magic glass, whose ample round, 
 Reflects each figure in creation's bound, 
 And pours, in floods of supernatural light, 
 Fancy's bright beings on the charmed sight. 
 This chief inchanter of the willing breast, 
 Will teach thee all the magic he possest; 
 Placed in his circle, mark in colours true 
 Each brilliant being, that he calls to view : 
 Wrapt in the gloomy storm, or rob'd in light, 
 His weird sister, or his fairy sprite, 
 Boldly o'erleaping, in the great design, 
 The bounds of nature, with a guide divine. 
 
 Let Milton's self, conductor of thy way, 
 Lead thy congenial spirit to portray 
 In colours, like his verse, sublimely strong, 
 The scenes, that blaze in his immortal song. 
 
 See Michael drawn, by many a skilful hand 
 As suits the leader of the seraph-band ! 
 But oh ! how poor the prostrate Satan lies,* 
 With bestial form debas'd and goatish eyes ! 
 How chang'd from him, who leads the dire debate, 
 Fearless tho' fallen, and in ruin great ! 
 Let thy bold pencil, more sublimely true, 
 Present this arch-apostate to our view 
 In worthier semblance of infernal pow'r, 
 And proudly standing like a stately tow'r, 
 
 * Verse 523 Note 57. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 While his infernal mandate bids awake 
 His legions, slumbering on the burning lake. 
 
 Or paint him falling from the realms of bliss, 
 Hurl'd in combustion to the deep abyss I 
 In light terrific let the flash display 
 His pride, still proof against almighty sway : 
 Tho' vanquish'd, yet immortal, let his eye 
 The lightning's flame, the thunder's bolt defy, 
 And still, with looks of execration, dare 
 To face the horrors of the last despair. 
 
 To these great Lords of fancy's wide domain, 
 That o'er the human soul unquestioned reign, 
 To their superior guidance be consigned 
 Thy rival pencil, and congenial mind. 
 Yet O ! let friendship, ere the verse she close, 
 Which in just tribute to thy merit flows, 
 The sanguine wishes of her heart express, 
 With fond presages of thy full success. 
 
 May health and joy, in happiest union join'd 
 Breathe their warm spirit o'er thy fruitful mind ! 
 To noblest efforts raise thy glowing heart, 
 And string thy sinews to the toils of art, 
 May independence, bursting fashion's chain, 
 To eager genius give the flowing rein, 
 And o'er thy epic canvas smile to see 
 Thy judgment active, and thy fancy free ! 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 383 
 
 May thy just country, while thy bold design 
 Recalls the heroes of her ancient line, 
 Gaze on the martial group with dear delight I 
 May youth and valour, kindling at the sight, 
 O'er the bright tints with admiration lean, 
 And catch new virtue from the moral scene ! 
 May time himself a fond reluctance feel, 
 Nor from thy aged hand the pencil steal, 
 But grant it still to gain increasing praise, 
 In the late period of thy lengthen'd days, 
 While fairest Fortune thy long life endears, 
 With Raphael's glory join'd to Titian's years! 
 
 EJVD OF THE SECOND EPISTLE. 
 
NOTES TO THE FIRST EPISTLE. 
 
 > 
 
 NOTE l. VERSE 77. 
 
 Mzke history to life new 'value lend. — One of the most elegant writers of the 
 present age has made an ingenious effort to introduce history into the dull 
 province of portrait-painting, " by representing a whole family in a single 
 picture, under some interesting historical subject suitable to their rank and 
 character." See Fitzosborne's Letters, p. 6. But as the beauties and advan- 
 tages of this plan struck forcibly on the imagination of this amiable author, the 
 infinite difficulties attending its execution were likewise fully open to his dis- 
 cernment. The success must depend on the choice of subject , where that is 
 not very happily adapted, the picture will probably contain some most ridicu- 
 lous absurdities. Perhaps the reader may recollect an unfortunate instance or 
 two of this kind. 
 
 NOTE 2. VERSE 100. 
 
 Not less absurd to fatter Nerd's eyes. — Pliny furnishes us with this singular 
 anecdote, as an instance of the extravagant abuse of portrait-painting in his 
 days, which, as he informs us, had arrived to a degree of madness. " Nero 
 had ordered himself to be painted under the figure of a Colossus, upon cloth or 
 canvas, a hundred and twenty feet in height." The same author informs us, 
 that this preposterous picture, when it was finished, met with its fate from 
 lightning, which consumed it, and involved likewise the most beautiful part 
 of the gardens, where it was placed in the conflagration. The reader may find 
 some ingenious remarks upon this subject, in the Notes sur l'Histoire de la 
 Peinture Ancienne, extraite de l'Histoire Naturelle de Pline. Fol, London, 
 1725. 
 
 3 D 
 
386 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 3. VERSE 10S. 
 
 Blest he the pencil which from death can save. — The sweet illusion of this 
 enchanting art is prettily expressed in a letter of Raphael's to his friend Fran- 
 cesco Raifolini, a Bolognese painter. The two artists had agreed to exchange 
 their own portraits, and Raphael on receiving his friend's picture, addresses 
 him in the following words : " Messer Francesco mio caro ricevo in questo 
 
 punto il vostro ritratto egli e bellissimo, e tanto vivo, che m* inganno ta- 
 
 lora, credendomi di essere con esso voi, e sentire le vostre parole." Raccolta 
 di Lettere sulla Pittura, &c. Tom. 1, Page 82. The charm of portrait paint- 
 ing is still more beautifully described in verse by a friend of Raphael's, the 
 amiable and accomplished Count Balthasar Castiglione. 
 
 Sola tuos Vultus referens Raphaelis imago 
 
 Picta manu, curas allevat usque meas : 
 Huic ego delicias facio, arrisuque jocoque 
 
 Alloquor, et tanquam reddere verba queat 
 
 Assensu, nutuque mini saspe ilia videtui 
 
 Dicere velle aliquid, et tua verba loqui, 
 Agnoscit, balboque Patrem puer ore salutat, 
 
 Hoc solor, longos decipioque dies. 
 
 These elegant lines are part of an epistle, written in the name of his 
 Countess, Hyppolyte, to her husband. See Pope's edition of the Poemata 
 Italorum, vol. 2. page 248. 
 
 NOTE 4. VERSE 126\ 
 
 Inspired by thee, the soft Corinthian maid. — Pliny has transmitted to us 
 the history of the maid of Corinth and her father. " Dibutades, a potter of 
 Sicyon, first formed likenesses in clay at Corinth, but was indebted to his 
 daughter for the invention ; the girl being in love with a young man who was 
 soon going from her into some remote country, traced out the lines of his 
 face from his shadow upon the wall by candle-light. Her father, filling up 
 the lines with clay, formed a bust, and hardened it in the fire with the rest of 
 his earthen ware." Plin. Lib. 35. Athenagoras, the Athenian philosopher, 
 
NOTES. 
 
 387 
 
 gives a similar account of this curious and entertaining anecdote, adding the 
 circumstance that the youth was sleeping when the likeness was taken from his 
 shadow. UtqiEyqa^sv olvth yioi^ujxeva ev voizv tw <ry.iuv. The same writer, 
 who lived in the second century of the Christian asra, informs us, that this mo- 
 nument of ancient art was extant at Corinth in his time, though Pliny seems 
 to intimate that it did not survive the taking of that city by Mummius. In the 
 Poesies de Fontenelle there is an epistle from the maid of Corinth, whom the 
 author calls Dibutadis, to her imaginary lover Polemon. She describes her 
 own work in the following stanzas : 
 
 Une lampe pretoit une lumiere sombre 
 
 Qui m'aidoit encore a rever : 
 Je voyois sur un raur se depeindre ton ombre, 
 
 Et m'appliquois a l'observer : 
 
 Car toutplait, Polemon, pour peu qu'il represente 
 
 L'objet de notre attachement. 
 C'est assez pour flatter les langueurs d'une amante 
 
 Que l'ombre seule d'un amant. 
 
 Mais je poussai plus loin cette douce chimere, 
 
 Je voulus fixer en ces lieux, 
 Attacher a ce mur une ombre passagere 
 
 Pour la conserver a mes yeux. 
 
 Alorsen lasuivant du bout d'une baguette 
 
 Je trace une image de toi ; 
 Une image, il est vrai, peu distincte, imparfaite, 
 
 Mais enfin charmante pour moi. 
 
 NOTE 5. VERSE 194. 
 
 'Twos then Panasus drew, with freedom's train, — Panaeus was the brother of 
 Phidias, the celebrated sculptor, whom he is said to have assisted in his noblest 
 works. Pausanias, in his Fifth Book, gives an account of several pictures by 
 this early artist, and particularly of the picture here alluded to. It was painted 
 
 3 D 2 
 
388 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 in the celebrated portico called TloMiXy, Poecile. Besides a general repre- 
 sentation of the conflict, the flight of the barbarians, and a distant view of 
 their ships, Theseus, Minerva, and Hercules were, according to this author, 
 exhibited in the piece. The most conspicuous figures among the persons en- 
 gaged were Callimachus, and Miltiadcs, and a hero called Echetlus: he men- 
 tions also another hero, who is introdcced into the picture, called Marathon, 
 from whom, he says, the field had its name. Pausanias, fol. 1696, p. 37. — 
 From Pliny's account of the same picture we learn that the heads of the ge- 
 nerals were portraits : " adeo jam colorum usus percrebuerat, adeoque ars 
 perfecta erat ut in eo Praslio iconicos duces pinxisse tradatur. Plin. lib. 35. 
 
 c. 8. Miltiades had the honor of being placed foremost in this illustrious 
 
 group, as a reward for his having saved Athens and all Greece. Cor. Nep. in 
 Vita Miltiadis.- Panaris flourished, according to Pliny, in the 83d. Olym- 
 piad, little more than forty years after the battle he painted. 
 
 NOTE 6. VERSE 198, 
 
 There Polygnotus, sco r ning servile hire. — Of the talents of Polygnotus 
 much honorable mention is made by many of the best authors of antiquity, as 
 Aristotle and Plutarch, Dionysius Halicarnassensis, &c. Pausanias speaks of 
 the pictures here alluded to, and in his tenth book introduces a very long de- 
 scription of other pictures by the same artist, painted also from Homer, in the 
 temple at Delphos. The passage however gives but a confused and imperfect 
 idea of the painter's performance. How much the art is indebted to this an- 
 tient master, what grace and softness he gave to the human countenance, what 
 embellishments he added to the female figure and dress, are much more hap- 
 pily described by Pliny : " Primus Mulieres lucida veste pinxit, capita earum 
 mitris versicoloribus operuit, plurimumque picturae primus contulit : siquidem 
 instituit os adaperire, dentes ostendere, vultum ab antiquo rigore variare." The 
 same author likewise bears honorable testimony to the liberal spirit of this 
 great artist, who refused any reward for his ingenious labours in the portico: 
 " Porticum gratnito, cum partem ejus Mycon mercede pingeret." Plin. lib* 
 35. cap. 8. He flourished about the 90th Olympiad. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 7- VERSE 202. 
 
 Thy tragic pencil, Aristides, caught — The city of Thebes had the honor 
 of giving birth to this celebrated artist. He was the first, according to Pliny, 
 who expressed character and passion, the human mind, and its several emo- 
 tions ; but he was not remarkable for softness of colouring, " His most cele- 
 brated picture was of an infant (on the taking of a town) at the mother's 
 breast, who is wounded and expiring. The sensations of the mother were 
 clearly marked, and her fear lest the child upon failure of the milk should 
 suek her blood." " Alexander the Great/' continues the same author, " took 
 this picture with him to Pella." It is highly probable, according to the con- 
 jecture of Junius, (in his learned Treatise de Pictura Veterum) that the fol- 
 lowing beautiful Epigram of iEmilianus was written on this exquisite picture* 
 
 EAJttfffOv vci[j,cc inula, Cpbi^evyg. 
 
 H Jvj <yct$ ^iCpesaai XiKOKVOog" aWa ret ^rqog 
 
 It is not ill translated into Latin by Grotius : 
 
 Suge, miser, nunquam quae posthac pocula suges ; 
 
 Ultima ab exanimo corpore poe'la trahe ! 
 Expiravit enim jam saucia ; sed vel ab orco 
 
 Infante m novit pascere matris amor. 
 
 But this is far inferior, and so perhaps is the original itself, to the very ele- 
 gant English version of it, which Mr. Webb has given us in his ingenious and 
 animated Inquiry into the Beauties of Painting. 
 
 Suck, little wretch, while yet thy mother lives, 
 Suck the last drop her fainting bosom gives ! 
 She dies : her tenderness survives her breath,. 
 And her fond love is provident in death. 
 
 Webb, Dialogue vii. p. 161 
 
 NOTE 8. VERSE 206. 
 
 Correct Parrhasiusfrst to rich design.— The name of Parrhasius is im- 
 
390 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 mortalized by many of the most celebrated ancient authors ; and his peculiar 
 talents are thus recorded in Pliny : Primus symetriam picturae dedit, primus 
 argutias vultus, elegantiam capilli, venustatem oris : confessione artificum in 
 lineis extremis palmam adeptus. He is one of the four ancient painters, 
 whose lives are written by Carlo Dati. This ingenuous Italian very justly 
 questions the truth of the singular story concerning Parrhasius, preserved in 
 Seneca, where he is accused of purchasing an old Olynthian captive, and ex- 
 posing him to a most wretched death, that he might paint from his agony the 
 tortures of Prometheus. The same author contradicts on this occasion a similar 
 falsehood concerning the great Michael Angelo, which was first circulated 
 from the pulpit by an ignorant priest, as we learn from Gori's Historical An- 
 notations to the Life of M. Angelo, by his scholar Condivi. 
 
 NOTE 9 VERSE 210. 
 
 The gay, the zmarm, licentious Zeuxis drew — The Helen of Zeuxis is be- 
 come almost proverbial : the story of the artist's having executed the picture 
 from an assemblage of the most beautiful females is mentioned (though with 
 some variation as to the place) by authors of great credit, Pliny, Dionysius 
 of Halicarnassus, and Cicero. The last gives a very long and circumstantial 
 account of it. De Inventione, Lib. 2. If the story is true, it is perhaps one 
 of the strongest examples we can find of that enthusiastic passion for the fine 
 arts, which animated the ancients. Notwithstanding her preeminence in 
 beauty, it seems somewhat singular that the painter should have chosen such 
 a character as Helen, as a proper decoration for the temple of Juno. A most 
 celebrated Spanish poet, though not in other respects famous for his judg- 
 ment, has, I think, not injudiciously metamorposed this Helen of Zeuxis into 
 Juno herself : 
 
 Zeusis, pintor famoso, retratando 
 
 De Juno el rostro, las faciones bellas 
 
 De cinco perfettissimas donzellas, 
 
 Estuvo attentamente contemplando. 
 
 Rimas de Lope de Vega. Lisboa, l605. p. 51-2* 
 
 Junius supposes this picture to have been rated a little too high. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 391 
 
 NOTE 10 VERSE 2 iff. 
 
 Yet oft to gain sublimer heights he strove. — Grace is the well known ex- 
 cellence of Apelles, but that he sometimes very happily attempted the sublime 
 we learn both from Plutarch and Pliny, who speak of his force and energy. 
 The Alexander of Philip, says Plutarch, was invincible, the Alexander of Apel- 
 les inimitable. He painted, says Pliny, things that surpass the power of 
 painting, quee pingi non possunt, Tonitrua, fulgura fulgetraque. 
 
 NOTE 11 VERSE 228. 
 
 While chilling damps upon the pencil hung. — That the Romans attained to 
 no degree of excellence in painting or sculpture, seems to be confestand ac- 
 counted for in the following passage of Tully's Tusculan Disputations, Lib. 1. 
 An censemus, si Fabio, nobilissimo homini, laudi datum esset quod pingeret, 
 non multos etiam apud nos futuros Polycletos, et Parihasios fuisse ? honos 
 alit artes, omnesque incenduntur ad Studia Gloria, jacentque ea semper, qua? 
 apud quosque improbantur. The fine arts necessarily languish without pub- 
 lic protection or encouragement ; but public honors at Rome flowed in a 
 very different channel. While the Roman boasted his consummate skill in ev T ery 
 art of empire and government, he avowed, in many works of genius and taste 
 his inferiority with an air of triumph. 
 
 Excudentalii spirantia mollius asra, 
 Credo equidem vivos ducent de marmore vultus : 
 Orabuiit causas melius, caelique meatus 
 Describent radio, et surgentia Sidera dicent. 
 Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento : 
 Hse tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere morem; 
 Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos. 
 
 Jineidos. Lib. 6. 
 
 NOTE 12 VERSE 244. 
 
 There studious Vinci treasured every rule. — Lionardo da Vinci was born 
 near Florence in 1445. He was perhaps a man as universally accomplished 
 as ever existed. Not only admirable beyond his predecessors in his own pro- 
 
392 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 fession of painting, but an excellent architect and musician, and of great skill 
 as an anatomist. Besides all these talents, he was, according to Vasari, the 
 best extempore rimer of his time. — His history and works are well known. — 
 The singular circumstance of his dying in the arms of Francis the first, king of 
 France is mentioned by a French poet of the present age, 
 
 Lorsque Francois premier, roi digne d' etre heureux, 
 Tint Leonard mourant dans ses bras genereux. 
 
 And the particulars of his death are thus curiously recorded by Vasari, who 
 
 speaks in raptures of his various and exalted talents. 
 
 Finalmente venuto vecchio, stette molti mesi ammalato, et vedendosi vi- 
 cino alia morte, si volse diligentement e infonnare de le cose catoliche, e 
 della via buona, et santa religione Christiana, et poi con molti pianti confesso 
 e contrito, se bene e' non poteva reggersi in piedi, sostenendosi nelle braccie 
 di suoi amici, e servi, volse divotamente pigiiare il santissimo sacramento, fuor 
 del letto : sopragiunseli il re che spesso amorevolmente le soleva visitare : 
 per il che egli per riverenza rizzatosi a sedere sul letto, contando il mal suo 
 
 e gli accidenti di quello mostrava tuttavia quanto aveva otfeso dio, et gli 
 huomini del mondo, non avendo operato nel arte come si conveniva : onde 
 gli venne un parosismo messagiero della morte. Per la qual cosa rizzatosi il 
 re, et presola la testa per aiutarlo, e porgerli Favore, accio che il male lo 
 allegerisse ; lo spirito suo, che divinissimo era, conoscendo non potere 
 havere maggiore honore, spird in braccio a quell re nella eta sua d'anni 75, 
 Vasari Vita di Lionardo da Vinci, p. 10, 11. 
 
 NOTE 13: • -"VERSE 25 1. 
 Gigantic An<?elo his wonders wrought. — Michael Angelo Buonarroti was 
 born near Florence 1474, and died at Rome 1563. This illustrious man is now 
 advantageously known to our country by the very interesting volume ofhis ex- 
 cellent English biographer, Mr. Duppa, in which Michael Angelo engages ad 
 miration and esteem as a painter, a sculptor, an architect, and a poet. His Rime 
 were fiist printed by the Giunti.atFIorence, in quarto, in 1623. The following 
 Sonnet, which, is to be found in Vasari, to whom it is addressed, isatoncea 
 rVWvif of 1>?* vs^etical talents, and his religious turn of mind : it may serve also 
 
NOTES, 
 
 393 
 
 as a lesson to vanity, in shewing that even a genius of the sublimest class 
 entertained great apprehension concerning the mortality of his fame. 
 
 Giunto e gia. '1 corso della viia mia, 
 
 Con tempestoso mar per fragil barca, 
 
 Al comun porto, ov' a render si varca 
 Conto e ragion d' ogni opra trista, c pia. 
 
 Onde 1' affettuosa fantasia 
 Che 1' arte mi fece idolo e monarca, 
 Cognosco hor ben quant 'era d'error carca 
 E quel ch' a mal suo grado ognun desia. 
 
 Gli amorosi pensier, gia vani, e lieti 
 Che fien or' s'a due morti mi avicino ? 
 
 D'una son certo, e 1' altra mi minaccia. 
 Ne pinger ne scolpir sia piu che queti 
 Uanima volta a quell' amor divino 
 
 Ch' aperse aprender noi in croce le braccia. 
 
 A letter, addressed to his friend Vasari, on the death of Urbino, his old 
 and faithful servant, shews that he united the soft virtues of a most benevolent 
 heart, to the sublime talents of an elevated mind. This letter is printed both 
 in Vasari, and in the first volume of Raccolta de Lettere sulla Pittura, &c.p. 6. 
 
 NOTE 14 VERSE 254. 
 
 Taste, fancy, judgment, all on Raphael smil'd, — RafTaello da Urbino was 
 born in 1483, and died in 1520. His amiable and endearing qualities as a man 
 were not inferior to his exalted talents as an artist. The reader will not be 
 displeased to see the singular eulogium which the honest Vasari has bestowed 
 on the engaging manners of this most celebrated genius. Certo fra le suedoti 
 singulari ne scorgo una di tal valore che in me stesso stupisco ; che il cielo gli 
 diede forza di poter mostrare nell' arte nostra uno efFetto si contrario allecom- 
 plessioni di noi pittori : questo e che naturalmente gliartefici nostri, non dico 
 soli i bassi, ma quelli che hanno umore d 1 esser grandi (come di questo umore 
 
 3 E 
 
394 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 l'arte ne produce infiniti) lavorando nell' opere in compagnia di RafTaello, 
 stavano uniti e di concordia tale che tutti i mali umori in veder lui s'amorzava- 
 no : e ogni vile e basso pensiero cadeva loro di mente. La quale unione mai 
 non fu pin in allro tempo che nel suo. E questo aveniva perche restavano 
 vinti dalla cortesia e dall' arte sua, ma piu dal genio della sua buona natura. 
 Vasari Vita di Raff. p. 88. The two great luminaries of modern art, Michael 
 Angelo and Raphael, have been duly honored by the artists of our country, 
 their characters are eloquently compared in the fifth discourse of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, and the life and genius of each, have been yet more illustrated by 
 the pen and the pencil, of their congenial biographer, Mr. Duppa. 
 
 NOTE 15 VERSE 260. 
 
 The daring Julio, though by Raphael train* d. — Julio Romano was born 
 at Rome 1492, and died at Mantua 1546. His singular character is forcibly 
 drawn by Vasari. He was, according to this writer, the most successful imita- 
 tor of Raphael, the greater part of whose scholars became eminent, and were 
 almost infinite in number. Raphael was particularly attentive to Julio, and 
 loved him with the affection of a parent. Vasari Vita di Giulio. 
 
 NOTE 16" VERSE 26s. 
 
 More richly warm, the glowing Titian knew. — We find frequent censures 
 thrown upon Titian by the critics, for confining himself " to flattering the eye 
 by the richness and truth of his colouring, without a proper attention to the 
 higher branch of his art, that of interesting our feeling by affecting subjects;" 
 the criticism is indeed extended to the painters of the Lombard school in gene- 
 ral. Du Bos, Tom 1. sect, 10. Why Titian chose not to follow the finished 
 method of his excellent cotemporaries, he declared toFiancesco de Vargas, the 
 ambassador of Charles the Vth at Venice. "I fear, (replied this eminent 
 painter to the question of Vargas) I should never equal the extreme delicacy 
 which distinguishes the pencils of Corregio, Parmegiano, and Raphael : and 
 even though I should be successful enough to equal them, I should always 
 rank below them, because I should be only accounted their imitator. In a word, 
 ambition, which always attends the fine arts, has induced me to choose a way 
 entirely new, in which 1 might make myself famed for something, as the great 
 
NOTES. 
 
 395 
 
 masters have done in the route they have followed." Antoine Perez, dans la 
 soixante-unieme de ses Secondes Lettres. This great artist enjoyed a long 
 life of uninterrupted health, and died during the plague at Venice, in 1576, at 
 the uncommon age of ninety-nine. 
 
 NOTE 17. VERSE 282. 
 
 Soft as Catullus, sweet Corregio play'd— Antonio da Corregio.— Very dif- 
 ferent accounts are given by different authors of the birth and fortunes of this 
 exquisite painter. His capital pictures were executed about the year 1512, ac - 
 cording to Vasari ; who relates, in a very affecting manner, the circumstances 
 of his poverty and death. Having taken a journey on foot, in extremely 
 hot weather, he imprudently drank cold water, which brought on a fever, of 
 which he died at about the age of forty His colouring was most exqui- 
 sitely adapted to the delicate softness of female beauty. To forma perfect 
 picture of Adam and Eve (says an Italian writer on painting) Adam should be 
 designed by Michael Angelo, and coloured by Titian . Eve designed by Ra- 
 phael and coloured by Corregio. The ill fortune of Corregio, and the gross 
 neglect of art, in the very city which he had adorned with the most exquisite 
 productions of his pencil, are expressed with great feeling in a letter of Anni- 
 bal Caracci, written while he was studying the works of Corregio, at Parma, 
 to his cousin Lodovico, in 1580. Vide Raccolta deLettere, &c. Tom. I. p. 88. 
 
 NOTE 18 VERSE 284. 
 
 Though Parma claim it for her rival son. — Francesco Mazzuoli was born 
 at Parma in 1504, and is thence usually called Parmegiano. His character is 
 thus distinctly marked by Vasari : "Fu dal cielo largamante dotato di tutte 
 quelle parti, che a un excellente pittore sono richieste, poi che diede alle sue 
 figure, oltre quello, che si e detto di molti altri, una certa venusta, dolcezza e 
 leggiadria nell attitudini, che fu sua propria e particolare." The same author 
 gives us a particular description of the singular d.nd admirable portrait, which 
 this delicate artist drew of himself reflected from a convex mirror : he relates 
 al^o some curious circumstances of his allegorical portrait of the emperor 
 Charles the V. which he painted by memory, and by the recommendation of 
 Pope Clement the VII. presented to the emperor at Bologna. The honest 
 
 3 E 2 
 
396 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 biographer laments, with great feeling, the errors and misfortunes of this most 
 promising painter, who being seized, early in life, with the frenzy of turning 
 alchemist, impaired his health and fortune by this fatal pursuit ; his attachment 
 to which however some authors have questioned : a delirious fever put a 
 period to his melancholy days at the age of thirty-six, in his native city of 
 Parma, 1540. 
 
 NOTE 19. VERSE 290. 
 
 Till the Caracciin a happier hour : — Lodovico Caracci, who with his cousins 
 Annibaland Augustin established the famous academy of Bologna, was born in 
 that city 1555. The circumstance that occasioned his death, as related by a 
 French author, affords a singular proof how dangerous it is for an artist to con- 
 fide in the partial judgment of his particular friends. Son dernier ouvrage, qui 
 est une annonciation peinte a fresque, dans une des lunettes de la cathedrale 
 de Bologne, ne reussit pas, son age, une vue affoiblie, & la grand e elevation 
 de l'Eglise, furent cause qu'il se confia a un ami pour voir d'en bas l'effet de 
 l'ouvrage. Cet ami luidit qu'il etoit bien, & qu'il pouvoit faire oter les Ec- 
 haufauds: il fut trompe; on critiqua fort cette peinture : Louis s'en chagrina 
 de maniere qu'il se mit au lit, et Bologne perdit ce grand Homme en 1619. 
 Abrege de la Vie des plus fameux Peintres. Paris, Svo. 1762. Tom. 2. p. 
 50, Augustin, who quittedthe pencil for the engraver, and is much celebrated 
 for his various accomplishments, died at Parma in 1602. Annibal, the immor- 
 tal painter of the Farnese gallery, whom Poussin did not hesitate to rank with 
 Raphael himself, died in a state of distraction at Rome, 1609. This melan- 
 choly event is described in a very affecting letter written by an Italian prelate, 
 who attended him in his last moments. Raccolta, Tom 2. p. 3S4. 
 
 NOTE 20. VERSE 295. 
 
 Young Zampieri ow'dhis nobler name. — Domenico Zampieri, born at Bo- 
 logna 1518, died at Naples, not without suspicion of poison, 1640. He 
 entered early in life into the school of the Caracci, and was there honored 
 with the affectionate appellation of Domenichino, from his extreme youth. 
 His Communion of St. Jerome was compared by the judicious Poussin to the 
 Transfiguration of Raphael : yet Du Fresnoy has passed a severe censure on. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 397 
 
 Domenichino, and affirms that he has less nobleness in his works than any- 
 other artist who studied in the school of the Caracci. So contradictory are 
 the opinions of the two most enlightened judges in this delicate art I 
 
 NOTE 21. VERSE 297. 
 
 The learned Lanfranc in their school arose. — Giovanni Lanfranco, born 
 at Parma 1581, was knighted by Pope Urban the 8th, and died at Rome 1647. 
 
 NOTE 22 VERSE 299- 
 
 The tender Guido caught his graceful air. — Guido Reni was born in Bolog- 
 na 1595: exquisite in grace, and sometimes admirable in expression, he was 
 held during his life in the highest estimation. A fatal passion for gaming in- 
 volved him in continued scenes of distress. His personal beauty was so great, 
 that his master Lodovico Caracci is said to have drawn his angels from the 
 head of Guido. 
 
 NOTE 23: VERSE 305. 
 
 Titian's mute scholar, rival of his fame. — Titian is said to have resided in 
 Spain from the year 1548 to 1553, and seems to have raised a strong passion 
 for art in that country. His most eminent disciple was Juan Fernandez Zi- 
 menes de Navairete, who is called by his Spanish biographer, the Titian of 
 Spain. Though born deaf and dumb, from whence he derives his title el 
 Mudo, he rose to great reputation as a painter, and was warmly patronized 
 by his sovereign, as appears from the following incident. In painting the 
 martyrdom of a Saint, he had introduced the figure of his personal enemy, who 
 happened to be the King's secretary, in the character of the executioner : the 
 secretary complained to his master, and petitioned that his features might be 
 effaced ; but his Majesty defended the painter, and ordered the figure to re- 
 main. In praising this singular genius, I have ventured to borrow something 
 like a conceit from the famous Spanish poet Lope de Vega, who has cele- 
 brated his talents in the following verses : 
 
 Del Mudo Pinlor famosissimo. 
 
 No quiso el cielo que hablasse, 
 Porque con mi entendimiento 
 Diesse mayor sentimiento 
 A las cosas que pintasse. 
 
398 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Y tanta vida les di 
 
 Con el pincel singular, 
 Que como no pude hablar, 
 Hize que hablassen por mi. 
 
 The poet also honored this favorite artist, who died 1572, with an epitaph, 
 which turns on the same idea, and which the curious reader may find in the 
 work, from whence I have taken this short account of him. Vidas de los Pit- 
 tores Espanoles, por Palamino Velasco, octavo, London, 1744. 
 
 NOTE 24. VERSE 310, 
 
 And thou, Velasquez, share the honor due. — Don Diego Velasquez de 
 Silva, the most accomplished of the Spanish painters, was born at Seville, 1594 
 and closed his honorable and splendid life at Madrid in 1660. His master 
 was Pacheco, a Spaniard, who united the sister am of painting and poetry. 
 Velasquez was patronized by the famous Oli/arez, and had the honor of paint- 
 ing our Charles the first, during his visit at Madrid : perhaps he contributed 
 not a little to form the taste and passion for art, by which that prince was so 
 eminently distinguished. The Spanish painter rose to great honors in hisown 
 country, and had, like Rubens, the singular fortune to unite the character of 
 an ambassador with that of an artist, being sent on an extraordinary commis- 
 sion, in 1648, to Pope Innocent X. One of his most striking historical pic- 
 tures was the expulsion of the Moors from Spain ; a noble national subject, 
 which he painted for Philip the third, in competition with three Artists of re- 
 putation, and obtained the preference. But he is particularly celebrated for 
 the spirit and energy of his portraits; concerning which there are two singu- 
 lar anecdotes related by his Spanish biographer ; and the following may possi- 
 bly amuse the reader: in 1639, he executed a portrait of Don Adrian Pulido 
 Pareja, commander in chief of an armament appointed to New Spain ; and 
 pleased himself so well in the execution, that he affixed his name to the pic- 
 ture; a circumstance not usual with him. He had painted with pencils of 
 uncommon length, for the sake of working at a greater distance, and with pe- 
 culiar force; so that the picture (says my Spanish author) when near, is not 
 to be distinguished, and at a distance, is a miracle. As Velasquez, after this 
 portrait was finished, was at work in the palace, the king as usual, went pri- 
 
NOTES. 
 
 399 
 
 varely to his apartment to see him paint ; when observing the figure of Pareja 
 and taking it for the real person, he exclaimed with surprise, « What f are 
 vou still here ? have you not your dispatches ? and why are you not gone ? " 
 but soon perceiving his mistake, he turned to Velasquez ( who modestly 
 doubted the reality of the deception) and said, " I protest to you it deceived 
 me." For this story, such as it is, I am indebted to the author whom I have 
 quoted in the preceding note. The celebrated Murillo, whose pictures are 
 much better known in England than those of his master, was a. disciple ofVe- 
 lasquez. 
 
 NOTE 25. VERSE 3 iff. 
 
 Thy care the soft, the rich Murillo form'd.— Don Bartolome Estevan Mu- 
 rillo was born in the neighbourhood of Seville, in 1613. His first master was 
 Juan de Castillo; but he soon settled in Madrid, under the protection of Ve- 
 lasquez, who contributed to his improvement in the most generous manner. 
 The Spaniards boast that Murillo became a great painter, without ever travel- 
 ling out of Spain He is said to have refused the offer of an establishment in 
 England from Charles the second, and to have pleaded his age as an excuse 
 for not quitting his own country ; where he died, and was buried with great 
 marks of honor, in 1685. 
 
 NOTE 26'. VERSE 323. 
 
 No mean historian to record their praise. — George Vasari, to whom we 
 are indebted for a most valuable history of Italian painters, was born at Arezzo 
 in Tuscany, 1511. Though the fame of the author seems to have eclipsed 
 that of the artist, he rose to considerable eminence as a painter, and has left 
 us a particular and entertaining account of himself and his pictures in the 
 close of his great work; it is introduced with an apology, in which he speaks 
 of his own talents, and extreme passion for his art, in the most modest and enga- 
 oin^manner. His generous desire of doing justice to the merit of others, is most 
 happily rewarded in the following eulogy, by the great Thuanus: " ob excel- 
 lentiam artis, quam historia accurate et eleganter scripta illustravir, Georgius 
 Vasarius meruit, ut inter viros ingenio et Uteris praestantes accenseretur. Is 
 Aretii in Etruria natus, pictor et architectus nostra astate praestantissimus, diu 
 
400 NOTES, 
 
 magno Etruriae duci Cosmo, omnium liberalium artium, inter quas pictura et 
 architectura ut referrentur obtinuit, fautori eximio navavit ; editis passim in- 
 genii sui adstupendum omnium spetaculum monumentis, et tandem hoc anno 
 climaeterico suo v kalend. Quintil, vivis exemptus est ; exinde sicuti testa- 
 mento caverat, Florentia ubi decessit, Arerium in patriam translatus ; quo loco 
 in principali secundum sedem episcopalem templo in sacello ab ipso juxta 
 sumptuoso et admirando artiiicio extrucco sepultus. Thuanus sub ann. 1574. 
 
 NOTE 27 VERSE 342. 
 
 On her pure style see mild Bologna claim.— The French author quoted 
 above, under the article of Caracci, not only speaks with the greatest warmth 
 of the obligation which painting owes to Lodovico Caracci, for having raised 
 it from that state of corruption, into which it had fallen in all the schools of 
 Italy; but at the same time points out also the various manierists who had 
 chiefly contributed to its debasement. The style introduced by Lodovico is 
 recommended by that excellent judge Sir Joshua Reynolds, see Discourse 
 1769, as better suited to grave and dignified subjects than the richer brilliancy 
 of Titian. 
 
 NOTE 28 VERSE 345. 
 
 Titian's golden rays. — This expression is borrowed from 
 
 the close of that elegant sentence of modern Latin, which the author of Fitz- 
 osborne's letters has so justly commended, " Aureo Titiani radio, qui per to- 
 tam tabulam gliscens earn vere suam denunciat," see his excellent letter on 
 Metaphors, p. 50. 
 
 NOTE 29 VERSE 353. 
 
 And Raphael's grace must yield to Remlrandt'sforce.—RembrantVzn Ryn, 
 born near Leydon 1606, died at Amsterdam 1674, or, according to some ac- 
 counts 1688. The numerous works of this great master, both with the engra- 
 ver and pencil, have rendered him universally known. His singular studies, 
 and the pride, which he seems to have taken in the natural force of his genius, 
 appear strongly marked in the two following passages of his French biogra- 
 pher : " Les murs de son attelier converts de vieux habits, de piques, et d'ar- 
 mures extraordinaires, etoient toutes ses etudes, ainsi qu'une armoire pleine 
 
NOTES. 
 
 401 
 
 d*efoffes anciennes, & d'autres choses pareilles, qu'il avoit coutume d'appel- 
 ler ses antiques. Rembrandt, qui se glorifioit de n 'avoir jamais vu lTtalie, le 
 dlt un jour que Vandick l'etoit venu visiter a Amsterdam : & qui lui repon- 
 dit " Je le vois bien." Rembrandt naturellement brusque reprit : "Qui es tu 
 pour me parler de la sorte ?" Vandick repondit ; " Monsieur, je suis Van- 
 dick, pour vous servir." Abrege de la Vie des plus fameux Peintres, Tom. 
 3, p. 1 13. 
 
 NOTE 30 VERSE 356, 
 
 Yet, Holland, thy unwearied lahours raise. — There is no article of taste,, on 
 which different writers have run more warmly into the opposite extremes of 
 admiration and contempt, than in estimating the painters of Holland. Those 
 who are enchanted by the sublime conceptions of the Roman school, are too 
 apt precipitately to condemn every effort of the Dutch pencil as a contempti- 
 ble performance; while those, who are satisfied with minute and faithful deli- 
 neations of nature, find absolute perfection in the very pictures, which are 
 treated by others with the most supercilious neglect. But sound and impartial 
 judgment seems equally to disclaim this hasty censure, and this inordinate 
 praise ; and ranking the most eminent Dutch artists below the great Italian 
 masters, yet allows them considerable and peculiar merit. A French author 
 says, I think not unhappily, of the Dutch painters, that they are "dans la pein- 
 ture, ce que le comique & le plaisant sonte dans la poesie." In design their 
 forte is certainly humour, and they have frequently carried it to great per- 
 fection. 
 
 NOTE Si — —VERSE 380. 
 Proud of the praise by Jiulens* pencil won.- — Sir Peter Paul Rubens, who 
 is happily styled by Mr. Walpole, u the popular painter," was born at Co- 
 logne 1577, and died of the gout at Antwerp 1640, The history of his 
 life furnishes a most striking incentive to the young painter's ambition. 
 The many accomplishments which he possessed, the infinitude of works he 
 produced, the reputation and esteem, the various honors and ample fortune 
 which he so justly acquired, present to the mind an animating idea of what 
 may be expected from a happy cultivation of talents in a course of constant 
 
 3 F 
 
402 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 and spirited application. Though he visited the court of Charles the first in 
 the public character of an ambassador, it does not appear how long he resided 
 here; Mr. Walpole conjectures about a year. His pictures in the ceiling at 
 Whitehall were not painted in England ; which perhaps is the reason he has 
 been at the pains of finishing them so neatly, that they will bear the nearest 
 inspection ; for he must have well known how greatly the reputation of any 
 work depends on its first happy impression on the public, and concluded his 
 pictures would be viewed by the king and court instantly on their arrival, and 
 that the critics would not be candid enough to delay their remarks on them 
 till they were elevated to their intended height. This noble work was falling 
 into decay, from which state it has been rescued by that excellent artist Mr. 
 Cipriani, to whose care it has been most judiciously committed to be cleaned 
 and repaired. Rubens received for this work s£3,000. 
 
 NOTE 32 VERSE 388. 
 
 Her soft Vandyke, while graceful portraits please. — Sir Anthony Vandyke, 
 the celebrated scholar of Rubens, died of the same disorder which proved 
 fatal to his master, and at a much earlier period of life. He was born at Antwerp 
 1598, expired in Black Fryars 1641, and wasburied in St. Paul's, near the tomb 
 of John of Gaunt. On his first visit to England he received no encouragement 
 from the court, but Charles becoming soon afterwards acquainted with his 
 merit, sent him an invitation to return. Vandyke embraced the offer with 
 joy ; and the king, who shewed him by frequent sittings, the most flattering 
 marks of esteem, conferred on him the honor of knighthood in 1632, reward- 
 ing him also with the grant of an annuity of ,,£200 for life. 
 
 NOTE 33 VERSE 39U 
 
 From Flanders first the secret power she caught, — The Low Countries, 
 though little celebrated for inventive genius, have given to mankind the two 
 signal discoveries, which have imparted, as it were, a new vital spirit both to 
 literature and to painting. This honor however has been brought into ques- 
 tion ; Germany made a strong, but unsuccessful effort to rob Holland of the 
 glory which she derives from "the first invention of printing: and painting in 
 oil (it has been said) was known in Italy before the time of John Van Eyck, 
 
NOTES. 
 
 403 
 
 or John of Bruges, as he is commonly called ; to whom that discovery is ge- 
 nerally ascribed, about the year 1410. But Vasari, in his Life of Antonello 
 da Messina, relates very particularly the circumstances of Van Eyck's invention, 
 and the subsequent introduction of the secret into Italy. A most learned an- 
 tiquarian and entertaining writer of our own time has supposed that Van Eyck 
 might possibly " learn the secret of usingoil in England, and take the honor of 
 the invention to himself, as we were then a country little known to the world 
 of arts, nor at leisure from the confusion of the times to claim the discovery 
 of such a secret." Walpole's Anecdote of Painting, Vol. 1, p 29. The con- 
 jecture is not without some little foundation; but the conjectural claims 
 which either Italy or England can produce to this excellent invention, are by 
 no means sufficiently strong to annihilate the glory of the happy and ingeni- 
 ous Fleming. Since the preceding part of this Note was written, the reputa- 
 tion both of Van Eyck, and his encomiast Vasari, has been forcibly attacked 
 in an Essay on Oil-painting, by Mr. Raspe ; an Essay which discovers such 
 a zealous attachment to the arts, and such an active pursuit of knowledge, as 
 do great credit to its ingenious author. But, though I have perused it with 
 the attention it deserves, it does not lead me to retract what I had said ; be- 
 cause, after all his researches on this subject, it appears that although oil- 
 painting was not absolutely the invention of Van Eyck, it was yet indebted to 
 him for those improvements, which made it of real value to his profession. 
 The ingenious Fleming seems therefore to be still entitled to those honors 
 that have been lavished on his name, as improvement, in such cases, is often 
 •more useful and more meritorious than invention itself, which is frequently the 
 effect of chance, while the former arises from well directed study. 
 
 NOTE 34 VERSE 395. 
 
 Where sumptuous Leo courted every muse. — The name of Medici s is fa- 
 miliar to everv lover of the fine arts. John de Mcdicis, the cardinal, was 
 raised to the papal see 1513. He continued that liberal patronage and en- 
 couragement to learning, which had before distinguished his illustrious family. 
 He was profuse and magnificent. The various and celebrated productions of 
 taste and genius under his pontificate, clearly mark the age of Leo the Xth 
 as one of the greatest seras of literature : an aera that has received recent il- 
 lustrations from the genius of Mr. Roscoe. 
 
 3 F 2 
 
404 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 35. VERSE 405. 
 
 Untrodden paths of art Sahator tried. — Salvator Rosa was born at a Vil- 
 lage near Naples, in 16 15. After a youth of poverty and adventure, he raised 
 
 himself by his various and uncommon talents into lucrative reputation. 
 
 Having passed nine years at Florence, in considerable employment, he settled 
 in Rome, and died there at the age of fifty-eight, in 1673. He was one of 
 the few characters who have possessed a large portion of pleasant vivacity and 
 satirical humour, with a sublime imagination. His talents as a painter are 
 universally celebrated ; but his social virtues, though perhaps not inferior, 
 are far from being so generally known. In the "Raccolta di lettere sulla 
 pittura" there are many of his letters to his intimate friend Ricciardi, an Italian 
 poet, and professor of moral philosophy at Pisa, which perfectly display the 
 warmth of his friendship, and the generosity of his heart. They contain also 
 some amusing anecdotes relating to his profession, and the great delight 
 which he took in discoveiing historical subjects of a peculiar cast, untouched 
 by other painters, and appearing to an ignorant eye almost beyond the limits 
 of his art. Though he must have been wonderfully pleasant as a companion, 
 and valuable as a friend, yet he laments that his satires had made him many en- 
 emies, and heartily wishes he had never produced them : in that which relates 
 to painting, he exposes indeed the vices of his brethren with great freedom 
 and severity. It is remarkable that his poetry abounds more with learned al- 
 lusions than with high flights of imagination ; yet in the satire I have men- 
 tioned, there is much whimsical fancy. An ape is introduced applying to a 
 painter, and begging to learn his profession, as nature he says has given him 
 a genius for the mimetic arts. The painter complies; bur his disciple, after 
 an apprenticeship of ten years, bids his master adieu, with many humorous ex- 
 ecrations against the art of painting. Other parts of the poem contain many 
 sensible and serious remarks on the abuses of the pencil; and as the author 
 has given us a portrait of himself in his poetical character, I shall present it to 
 the reader as a specimen of his style. 
 
 La state all ombra, e il pigro verno al foeo 
 Tra modesti dcsi V anno mi vede 
 1'inger per gloria, e poetar per jioco. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 405 
 
 Dclle fatiche mie scopo, e mercede 
 E sodisf'are al genio, al giusto, al vero : 
 Chi si sente scottar, ritiri '1 piede. 
 
 Dica pur quant o sa. rancor severo : 
 
 Contro le sue saette ho doppio usbergo : 
 
 Non conosco interesse, e son sinc<" r o : 
 Non ha l'invidia hel mio petto albergo: 
 
 Solo zelo lo stil m'adatta in mano, 
 
 F, per util commune i fogli vergo. 
 
 Satire di Salvator Rosa, p. 6*8, edit. Amsterdam, 1719. 
 
 NOTE 36 VERSE 427 
 
 The sage Poussin, with purest fancy fraught. — Nicolas Poussin was born 
 at Andely in Normandy 1594 : one of his first patrons was the whimsical Ita- 
 lian poet Marino, who being struck with some fresco works of the young 
 painter at Paris, employed him in some designs from his own poem, l'Adone, 
 and enabled him to undertake an expedition to Rome. He was recalled 
 from thence by Cardinal Richelieu in 1640, but upon the death of Richelieu 
 and the king, he returned to Rome, where he ended a life of primitive simpli- 
 city and patient application in 1665. 
 
 NOTE 37 VERSE 435. 
 
 Then rose Le Brun, his scholar and his friend — Charles Le Bum, univer- 
 sally known by his battles of Alexander, and his treatise on the passions, was 
 born in Paris 1619 : having presided over the French Academy, with great 
 reputation, more than forty years, he died in 1690, partly as the author of the 
 Abrege assures us, from the chagrin which he received from a cabal raised 
 against him in favor of his rival Mignard : but neither his own works, nor the 
 partial favor of his patron Louvois, nor the friendship of Moliere, who has 
 written a long poem in his praise, hare been able to raise Mignard to the 
 level ofLe Brun. 
 
406 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 38. VERSE 441. 
 
 TJiy dawn, Le Sueur, announced a happier taste. — Eustache Le Sueur 
 (who, without the advantage of studying in Italy, approached nearer to the 
 manner of Raphael) was a native of Paris. Le Brun, who came to visit him 
 in his last moments, is reported to have said on quitting his chamber, " Que 
 la mort alloit lui tirer une grosse epine du pied." If he was capable of ut- 
 tering such a sentiment, at such a time, he thoroughly deserved the fate which 
 is mentioned in the preceding note. 
 
 NOTE 39. VERSE 447. 
 
 Though Fresnoy teaches, inHoratian song. — Charles Alfonse du Fresnoy, 
 author of the celebrated latin poem de Arte graphica, very hastily translated 
 into English prose by Dryden, was himself a painter of some eminence, and 
 and the intimate friend of Mignard. He died in a village near Paris, at the 
 age of forty-four, in 1665. 
 
NOTES TO THE SECOND EPISTLE. 
 
 NOTE 40. VERSE 15. 
 
 'Though foreign theorists with system blind. — The vain and frivolous specie 
 lations of some eminent French authors, concerning our national want of 
 genius for the fine arts, are refuted with great spirit m an igenious essay by 
 Mr. Barry, entitled, f< an Enquiry into the real and imaginary Obstructions to 
 the Acquisition of the Arts in England." A.% this work highly distinguishes 
 the elegance of his pen, his Venus rising from the sea does equal honor to 
 his pencil. 
 
 NOTE 41 VERSE 33. 
 
 Fierce Harry reign' d, who, soon with pleasure cloy'd.—ln this short account 
 of the influence which the different characters of our Sovereigns have had on 
 the progress of national art, the author is indebted principally to Mr. Wal- 
 pole's Anecdotes of Painting. 
 
 NOTE 42. VERSE 45. 
 
 Untaught the moral force of art to feel. — An accomplished critic of our 
 own time has touched on the moral efficacy of picture, with his usual elegance 
 and erudition. After having illustrated the subject from the writings of Aris- 
 totle and Xenophon, he concludes his remarks with the following reflection : 
 "Yet, considering its vast power in morals, one cannot enough lament the ill 
 destiny of this divine art, which, from the chaste handmaid of virtue, hath been 
 debauched, in violence of her nature, to a shameless prostitute of vice, and 
 procuress of pleasure." Hurd's note on the following line of Horace : 
 " Suspcndit picta vultum mentemque tabella." 
 
408 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 To this let me add one observation for the hononr of our English artists! 
 the prostitution of the pencil, so justly lamented by this amiable writer, is 
 perhap ; less frequent in this kingdom, than in any country whatever, in which 
 painting has been known to rise to an equal degree of perfection. 
 
 NOTE 43: VERSE 93. 
 
 Yet to thy palace Kneller' s skill supplied. — Sir God frey Kneller, born at Lubec 
 1646, settled in England 1674, was knighted by King William, created a Ba- 
 ronet by George the first, and died 1723. No painter was ever more flattered 
 by the muses ; who gave him credit for talents which he never displayed. 
 Dryden says, in his enchanting epistle to Kneller: 
 
 Tliy genius, bounded by the times, like mine, 
 Drudges on petty draughts, nor dares design 
 A more exalted work, and more divine. 
 
 But the drudgery of the poet arose from the most cruel necessity ; that of 
 the painter, from avarice, the bane of excellence in every profession ! If Sir 
 Godfrey had any talents for history, which is surely very doubtful, we have, 
 as Mr. Walpole well observes, no reason to regret that he was confined to 
 portraits as his pencil has faithfully transmitted to us " so many ornaments of an 
 illustrious age." Though I have partly subscribed to the general idea, that 
 William, in whose reign this painter principally flourished, ''contributed no- 
 thing to the advancement of arts," yet I must observe, that his employing 
 Kneller to paint the beauties at Hampton Court, his rewarding him with 
 knighthood, and the additional present of a gold medal and chain, weighing 
 300 lb. may justify those lines of Pope, which desciibe "the hero, William'" 
 as an encourager of painting. 
 
 NOTE 44 VERSE 97. 
 
 While partial taste from modest llilcy turn'd. — John Riley was born ia 
 London 1646 ; Mr. Walpole relates an anecdote of his being much mortified 
 by Charles the Second ; who, looking at his own picture, exclaimed, " Is this 
 like me ? then, ods-fish, I am ugly fellow." The same author says happily of 
 this artist, " With a quarter of Sir Godfrey's vanity, he might have persuaded 
 
NOTES. 
 
 4m 
 
 the world he was a^ great a master." Notwithstanding his extreme modesty, he 
 had the goad fortune to be appointed principal painter soon after the revolu- 
 tion, but died an early martyr to the gout 1691. 
 
 NOTE 45. VERSE 101. 
 
 And Thornhilf's blaze of allegory gi/l. — Sir James Thornhill, born in Dor- 
 setshire, 1676, was nephew to the celebrated Sydenham, and educated by the 
 liberality of that great physician. He afterwards acquired a very ample for- 
 tune bv his own profession ; was in parliament for Weymouth, knighted by 
 George the second, and died 1732. His talents as a painter are universally 
 known, from his principal works at Greenwich, St. Paul's, &c. 
 
 NO TE +6. VERSE 1 1 1 . 
 
 The youthful noble, on a princely plan. — Many years ago, the late Duke 
 of Richmond opened, in his house at Whitehall, a gallery for artists, com- 
 pletely filled with a small, but well chosen collection of casts from the 
 antique, and engaged two eminent artists to superintend and direct the stu- 
 dents. This noble encouragement of art, though superseded by a royal esta- 
 blishment, is still entitled to remembrance and honor : it not only served as a 
 prelude to more extensive institutions, but contributed much towards form- 
 ing some capital artists. The name of Mortimer is alone sufficient to reflect 
 a considerable lustre on this early school. 
 
 NOTE 47 VERSE 134. 
 
 Teach but thy transient tints no more to fy. — Although the excellen- 
 cies of Reynolds make us peculiarly regret the want of durability in his 
 exquisite productions ; yet he is far from being the only artist, whos* 
 pictures soon discover an appearance of precipitate decay. Fugitive co- 
 louring seems indeed to be a prevalent defect among painters in oil - 
 and it must be the most ardent wish of every lover of art, that so great an 
 evil may be effectually remedied. As the royal academy is a society of en- 
 lightened artists, established for the improvement of every branch of paint- 
 ing, it may be hoped that they will pay attention to this mechanical point, 
 
 3 G 
 
410 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 as well as to the nobler acquirements of art, and employ some person, who 
 has patience and abilities for such an office, to discover, by a course of experi- 
 ments, to what cause this important evil is owing. If it be found to rise from 
 the adulteration of colours, oils, and varnishes, might it not be eligible for 
 the academy to follow the example of another profession, who, where health 
 and life are concerned, obviate the difficulty of getting their articles genuine 
 from the individual trader, by opening a shop at the expence of the Society, 
 to prepare and sell the various ingredients, free from those adulterations which 
 private interest might otherwise produce ? But there may be no just ground 
 of complaint against the integrity of the colourman, and this failure may per- 
 haps arise from the artist's mixing his colours and their vehicles, in improper 
 proportions to each other ; that is, instead of painting with oil properly thick- 
 ened with colour, using oil only, fully stained with it, to which a proper sub- 
 sistence (or body as the painters call it) is given by strong gum varnishes; 
 in short, using more vehicle than colour ; by which, although most brilliant 
 and transparent effects may be produced, yet the particles of colour are too 
 much attenuated, and divided from each other, and consequently less able to 
 with-stand the destructive action of light. If the deficiency complained of 
 originates from this source, the academy by a careful course of experiments, 
 may be able clearly to ascertain what preparations of the more delicate co- 
 lours are most durable; what oils and varnishes will best preserve the original 
 brilliancy of the paint ; what are the best proportions for this purpose, in 
 which they can be used ; and how far glazing (that almost irresistible tempta- 
 tion to oil painters) may or may not be depended on. All those points are at 
 present so far from being known with certainty, that perhaps there are not two 
 painters, who think perfectly alike on any one of them. The author hopes 
 that the gentlemen of the pencil will pardon his presuming to offer a hint 
 on this delicate subject, with which he does not pretend to be intimately ac- 
 quainted. The ideas, which he has thus ventured to address to them, arise 
 only from the most ardent wish, that future ages may have a just and ade- 
 quate sense of the flourishing state of painting in England in the reign of 
 George the third, and that our present excellent artists may not be reduced 
 to depend on the uncertain hand of the engraver for the esteem of posterity. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 411 
 
 A very liberal critic*, in his flattering remarks on the poem, seems, in speak- 
 ing of this note, to mistake a little the meaning of its author, who alluded 
 only to that defect in colouring, where the finer tints are so managed, for 
 the sake of an immediate and short-lived brilliancy, that they sink very soon 
 into no colour at all. He did not mean to touch on those changes in 
 painting, where the colours all grow darker, the lights all become brown, and 
 the shadows one mass of black. This is likewise a.great evil, and calls aloud 
 for redress. Perhaps the critic above mentioned has pointed out the true 
 cause of this defect, viz. the indiscriminate blending of the colours, and the 
 not using pure, simple, uncompounded tints. 
 
 NOTE 48 VERSE 138. 
 
 The leading principles of liberal art. — I embrace with pleasure the oppor- 
 tunity of paying this tribute to the great artist here mentioned, w ho was not 
 only at the head of his profession, but may justly be ranked among the 
 first writers of the age. His discourses, not merely calculated for the improve- 
 ment of the young artists to whom they are addressed, contain principles of 
 true and universal taste, embellished with great brilliancy of imagination, and 
 with equal force of expression. 
 
 NOTE 49. VERSE 151. 
 
 ThyXJgolino, fyc. — As the subject of this admirable picture is taken from 
 a poet so little known to the English reader as Dante, it may not perhaps be 
 impertinent to say, that in Richardson's discourse on the science of a conno- 
 isseur, there is a translation of the story in English blank verse. A noble 
 author, now living, has obliged the world with a translation of it in rhyme. 
 As to the picture, no artist could express more happily the wild and sublime 
 spirit of the poet from whom he drew. We may justly apply to him the com- 
 pliment which a lively Italian addressed to a great man of his own country, 
 but of far inferior expression : 
 
 " Fabro gen til, ben sai, 
 Ch' aticor tragi co casoo caro Oggetto, 
 E che spesso 1* horror va col uiU tt >." 
 
 Mvitiso 
 
 * f ide the Gentleman's Magazine for November 1778, p. 526. 
 
 3 G 2 
 
412 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 50. VERSE l65. 
 
 Now art exults with annual triumphs gay.— While we are delighted with 
 the increasing splendor of these annual entertainments, it is but just to re- 
 member, that we are indebted to the society of a i ts and sciences for our first 
 public exhibition of paintings. The different societies of artists soon followed 
 so excellent an example ; and our rapid and various improvements in this 
 lovely art reflect the highest honor on this happy institution. Our exhibi- 
 tions at once afford both the best nursery for the protection of infant genius 
 and the noblest field for the display of accomplished merit : nor do they only 
 administer to the benefit of the artist, and the pleasure of the public : they 
 have still a more exalted tendency ; and when national subjects are painted 
 with dignity and force, our exhibitions may justly be regarded as schools of 
 public virtue. 
 
 NOTE 51 VERSE 248. 
 
 To the soft crayon of the graceful Read. — I seem to owe an expression of 
 gratitude to this amiable female artist, as she afforded the encouragement of 
 praise to a poetical production of my childhood. When I was a boy between 
 nine and ten years of age, she painted a miniature of me as a bracelet for my 
 mother : and at that period I presented to her a copy of verses, in which I 
 presumed to describe several of her pictures, particularly a portrait in crayons 
 of that exquisite actress Mrs. Cibber, in the character of the Fair Penitent. 
 My reader has probably lost nothing by the destruction of the verses I ha/e 
 mentioned, but I confess my own curiosity would have been gratified, had I 
 chanced to discover in a collection of old papers, among which they were sup- 
 posed to exist, even a fragment of that early composition. 
 
 NOTE 52. VERSE 255. 
 
 Thy talents, Hogarth ! %c. — William Hogarth was born in London 1698, 
 and put apprentice to an engraver of the most ordinary class; but his comic 
 talents, which are said to have appeared first in the prints to Hudibras, soon 
 raised him to fame and fortune. He married a daughter of Sir James Thorn- 
 hill, and died 1764. The peculiar merits of his pencil are unquestionable. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 413 
 
 His analysis of beauty has been found more open to dispute ; but however 
 the greater adepts in the science may differ on its principles, it may certainly 
 be called an honorable monument of his genius and application. 
 
 NOTE 53 VERSE 370. 
 
 Whose needy Titian calls jor ill paid gold. Richardson has fallen into 
 
 a mistake concerning the famous Danae, and other pictures of Titian, which he 
 says (in quoting a letter of Titian's without considering its address) were 
 painted for Henry the VHIth of England; a tyrant indeed, voluptuous and 
 cruel, but still less detestable than the sullen and unnatural Philip the lid of 
 Spain, who filled up the measure of his superior guilt by the horrid assassin; - 
 tion of his son. Philip on his marriage with Mary, assumed the title of King 
 of England ; and to him Titian addressed the letter, which speaks of the pic- 
 tures in question : the painter frequently mentions his attachment to his un- 
 worthy patron. His solicitude to ensure his protection and favor, is strongly 
 marked in the following short passage of a letter which he addressed to one of 
 Philip's attendants. " Mando ora la poesia di Venere e Adone, nella quale V. 
 S. vedra, quanto spirito e amore so mettere ntll' opere di sua Maesta." Kac- 
 colta, torn. 2, p. 21. How poorlv this great artist was rewarded for his ill-di- 
 rected labour appears very forcibly in a long letter of complaint, which he 
 had spirit enough to address to the king on the many hardships he suffered in 
 being unable to obtain the payment of the pension which had been granted 
 to him by the emperor Charles the Vth, Raccolta, torn. 2, p. 379. 
 
 NOTE 51 VERSE 43fi. 
 
 Bid English pencils honor English worth. The great encouragement 
 
 given our painters to select subjects from English history, has of late years been 
 very observable. Many individuals of rank and fortune have promoted this 
 laudable plan with spirit and effect; and the society of arts and sciences have 
 confined their premiums to subjects taken from the British annals. 
 
 NOTE 55 VERSE 441. 
 
 Her wounded Sidney, Bayard's perfect peer. The gallant, the amiable, 
 
 and accomplished Sir Philip Sidney may be justly placed on a level with the 
 noble Bayard, " Le Chevalier sans peur & sans reproche whose glory has 
 
414 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 of late received new lustre from the pen of Robertson and the pencil of West: 
 The striking scene here alluded to, is forcibly described by the noble and 
 enthusiastic friend of Sidney, the Lord Brooke. See Biograph. Britan. 
 Art Sidney. The particulars are also minutely described, and with great 
 feeling, in a letter from his uncle Leicester to Sir Thomas Heneage, quoted in 
 Collins's Memoirs of the Sidneys. The tide of national admiration flowed very 
 strong in favor of Sidney, when Mr. Walpole, in speaking of Lord Brooke, 
 appeared to check the current, but the merits of Sidney are sufficient to bear 
 down all opposition. Instead of joining the elegant author I have mentioned, 
 in considering Sir Philip Sidney as " an astonishing object of temporary ad- 
 miration," I am surprised that so judicious an author should ever question so 
 fair a title to universal regard. The learning and munificence, the courage 
 and courtesy, of Sidney endeared him to every rank; and he justly challenges 
 the lasting affection of his country from the closing scene of his life, in which 
 heroism and humanity are so beautifully blended. I never can think this ac- 
 complished character any ways degraded by his having written a tedious ro- 
 mance (in which however there are many touches of exquisite beauty and 
 spirit) to amuse a most amiable sister, whom he tenderly loved ; or by his 
 having threatened an unworthy servant of his father's with death in a hasty 
 billet, merely to intimidate and deter him from the future commissiqn of an 
 infamous breach of trust, in opening his letters. I gladly seize an oppor- 
 tunity of observing that more ample justice has been recently rendered to the 
 subject of this Note by Dr. Zouch. In a copious life of Sir Philip Sidney, 
 (published by T. Payne, &c. 180S) the biographer has displayed the various 
 merits of a popular English hero, whom detraction, instead of degrading, has 
 raised to higher renown by exciting this judicious and faithful eulogist to give 
 new interest and new lustre to the excellence and dignity of his character. 
 
 NOTE 56. VERSE 46s. 
 
 The heroic daughter of the virtuous More.— Margaret, eldest daughter of 
 the celebrated Sir Thomas More. The scene which I have proposed for the 
 subject of a picture, is taken from the following passage in Ballard: <f After 
 Sir Thomas More was beheaded, she took care for the burial of his body in 
 the chapel of St. Peter's ad Vincula, within the precincts of the Tower ; and 
 
NOTES. 
 
 415 
 
 afterwards she procured his corpse to be removed, and buried in the chancel 
 of the church at Chelsea, as Sir Thomas More in his life-time, had appointed. 
 His head having remained about fourteen days upon London Bridge, and 
 being to be cast into the Thames to make room for others, she bought it. 
 For this she was summoned before the council, as the same author relates, and 
 behaved with the greatest firmness, justifying her conduct upon principles of 
 humanity and filial piety. She was, however imprisoned, but soon released ; 
 and dying nine years after her father, at the age of thirty-six, was buried at 
 St. Dunstan's, in Canterbury. The head of her father, which she had preser- 
 ved, with religious veneration, in a box of lead, was, at her particular request 
 committed ^with her to the grave. It was seen standing on her coffin in the 
 year 1715, when the vault of the Roper (her husband's family) was opened 
 See Ballard's memoirs of Learned Ladies, p. 36. The character of this amia- 
 ble woman is happily drawn both by Addison and Walpole. She married at 
 the age of twenty, William Roper, Esq. of Kent, to the infinite satisfaction of 
 her father; for she seems to have been the dearest object of his parental af- 
 fection, which is very strongly marked in his letters addressed to her. She 
 was indeed most eminently distinguished by her learning, in an age when the 
 graces of the mind were regarded as an essential article in female education : 
 but the beauty and force of her filial piety reflects a still superior lustre on this 
 accomplished woman. There is more than one passage in her life, which 
 would furnish an admirable subject for the pencil. Her interview with her 
 father on his return to the Tower, is mentioned as such by Mr. Walpole. 
 
 NOTE 57. VERSE 523. 
 
 But, oh ! how poor the prostrate Satan. — It is remarkable, that the great- 
 est painters have failed in this particular. Even Guido and Raphael are 
 deficient in the figure of Satan. Richardson observes, in his description of 
 the pictures of Italy, — " Je n'ai jamais vu d'aucun maitre une representation 
 du Diable, prince des diables, qui me satisfit." Page 500. In recommending 
 this subject to the pencil, it may be proper to observe, that it is not only ex- 
 tremely difficult, but even attended with danger, if we credit the following cu- 
 rious anecdote, in a medical writer of great reputation : " Spinello, fameux, 
 Peintre Toscan, ayant peint la chute des anges rebelles, donna des traits si ter- 
 
416 * NOTES. 
 
 ribles a Lucifer, qu'il en fut lui-meme saisi d'horreur, & tout le. reste desa vie 
 il crut voir continuellement ce Demon lui reprocher de l'avoir represent^ 
 sous une figure si hidieuse." Tissot de la Sante des Gens de Lettres. As this 
 story is so singular, it may amuse some readers to see it in the words of Vasa- 
 ri, from whom Tissot seems to have taken it. The Italian biographer says, in 
 describing a picture by Spinello Aretino, who flourished in the close of the 
 14th century, " Si vede tin Lucifero gia mutato in bestia bruttissima. E si 
 compiacque tanto Spinello di farlo orribile, e contraffatto, che si dice (tanto 
 puo alcuna fiata Pimmaginazione) che la detta figura da lui dipinta gi'apparue 
 in sogno domandandolo, doue egli l'hauvesse veduta si brutta e per che fattole 
 tale scorno con i suoi penelli : E che egli s^egliatosi dal sonno, per la 
 paura, non potendo gridare, con tremito grandissimo si scosse di mani era 
 che la moglie destatasi lo soccorse: ma niente di manco fu per cio a ris- 
 chio, strignendogli il cuore, di morirsi per cotale accidente, subitamente. 
 Ben che ad ogni modo spiritaticcio, e con occhi tondi, poco tempo vivendo 
 poi si condusse alia mortc lasciandcLdi se gran desiderio a gli amici." Vasari 
 Tita di Spinello Aretino, p. 218. edit, di Gmnti. 
 
CONTENT:-- 
 
 Dedication. Preface. Introduction. Origin of the Work, a wish exprest by Romney, page 3, 
 Remarks on Memoirs of Romney by Mr. Cumberland 4. Scope of the present publication 11. 
 Birth and education of Romney 12. His early instructor Mr.Williamson 15, singular anecdote of 
 that gentleman l6. Romney's first situation on leaving the house of his father 18. His first pro- 
 fessional master Steele reviled as a dauber, his character vindicated 19, 20 ; employs Romney to 
 assist him in a love adventure, while the master consummated his nuptials in Scotland the pupil 
 remained ill in Kendal, his convalescence terminated in marriage 22. Reflections on early marri- 
 age 23. Attends his master to York 25. Mis acquaintance with the author of Tristram Shandy 27 
 Returns to Kendal, generously released from the bond of his apprenticeship, his exertions to raise 
 money by his pencil 29- Paints a scene of Lear attended by Cordelia 30. Death of David Rizzio, 
 pictures from Sterne, particularly the introduction of Dr. Slop in the parlour of Mr. Shandy 31. 
 Information concerning the early works of Romney, from his early associate and invariable friend 
 Mr. Walker the philosopher 32, a juvenile letter from Romney at Lancaster to that gentleman at 
 Preston 35, The young artist sallies from the North alone to become the architect of his own for- 
 tune in London, arrives there in 1 76*2, his first residence near his early friend Mr. Braithwaite of 
 the post-office 38. The first picture he exhibited, the death of General Wolfe, gained the second 
 prize in 170*3,39. Anecdote of that picture 40. The justice of Romney to the talents of Morti- 
 mer 41. Romney's early friendship with Mr. Greene, his excursion to Paris with that gentleman 
 in 1764, 42, 43. Returns and settles in Gray's Inn 44. In 1 76*5 he obtains the second prize for his 
 picture on tha death of King Edmund. Pictures that he exhibited in the two following years. Re- 
 moves from Gray's Inn to Newport-street 46. Pictures that he exhibited in 1769, 1770, and 
 1771, 47, 48. Resolves to study at Rome. Reflections of a friend on that resolution 49, 50. The 
 last pictures he exhibited in 1772, departs for Italy with Mr. Humphry in March 1773, 51, Ar- 
 rives at Rome on the 18th of June, 55. Romney executes a large copy in chiaro oscuro of the 
 lower half of Raphael's Transfiguration 57. His application, and anecdotes of his travels 58. 
 Forms an acquaintance with the celebrated traveller Wortley Montague, at Venice, and executes 
 an admirable portait of that singular character 59, whose death ended their brief intimacy. Rom- 
 ney visits Parma 60. Returns to London in July 1775, and settles in Cavendish Square 62. His 
 merit announced to the public in prose and verse by Mr. Cumberland 63, 65. Circumstances that 
 led to the author's intimacy with Romney 66. The zeal of Meyer in recommending his brother 
 artist, brief account of Meyer 69. Portraits executed by Romney for the author 71« His first in- 
 
 3 H 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 vitation to Eartham 73, his eagerness of application to his art during his visits to that favorite scene 
 77. Poetical Epistles addressed to him written in 1777, reflections on the causes that prevented 
 Romney's accomplishing his own wishes and those of his friend, in respect to professional works of 
 imagination and magnitude 81. His Lapland Witch the delight and admiration of Meyer 83. His 
 sketch of a shipwreck at the Cape 84, an example of similar humanity and heroism in a native of 
 Lancashire 85. Drawings and sketches of Romney in the year 1780. Anecdote of the painter and 
 of Howard the visiter of prisons 87, 8,9- In 1782 Romney began in Sussex a portiait of Miss 
 Seward 90. In 1783 he painted a portrait of Gibbon the historian for the author, remarks on 
 that portrait 91. A speech of Lord Thurlow concerning Romney and Reynolds 92, marks of that 
 nobleman's esteem for Romney 94*. Romney and Flaxman pass some time at Eartham together in 
 1784, account of their mutual esteem 97. Commencement of a picture by Romney in the man- 
 ner of Corregio, sonnet on a small bust of Romney by Flaxman 99- Meyer wishes to introduce 
 Romney into the royal academy, the author opposes that idea, anecdote shewing the extent of 
 Romney's professional business in the year 1785, 103. Reflections on portrait painting 104. The 
 rise of the Shakespeare Gallery and the zeal of Romney on that occasion lOd, various anecdotes 
 relating to it 110. Romney's wish to paint an historical picture for the Empress of Russia 113. 
 His singular dislike to the manual act of writing, a similar dislike remarkable in Michael Angelo 
 1 14. Romney eloquent in conversation, paints almost all the eminent characters of his country. 
 Mr. Pitt in July 1783, 117, painted with great rapidity and at the rate of a portrait a day, Lady 
 Hamilton his favorite model 118, remarks on the features of that lady 119, anecdotes of pictures 
 drawn from them, particularly the picture of Sensibility 121. A letter from Romney to the au- 
 thor, Feb. 1787, 123. The author's reason for introducing several letters of his friend 124. Rom- 
 ney begins his great picture from the Tempest in 17S7, 125, the delicacy of Meyer on that occa- 
 sion, the zeal of his friend Carwardine on the same subject, a dialogue between that gentleman 
 and Lord Thurlow on Romney's painting for the Shakespeare Gallery i29. Romney visits the 
 Cartoons of Raphael at Windsor 132. His illness and letter to the author, March 1788, 133. 
 Romney opprest by the air of London takes a lodging to sleep at Hampstead, and return to his bu- 
 siness every morning 134. He revives in Sussex, he imagines that he has displeased his friend and 
 sends him two figures in chiaro oscuro as an act of expiation 136, his letter on that subject 137. 
 The death of Meyer in 17§9, his epitaph 139- Romney finishes his great picture from the Tem- 
 pest in 1790, his letter to the author on that event 140, remarks on the picture 141. The Rev. 
 Dr. Warner, on going as chaplain of the English ambassador to Paris in 1790, entreats the painter 
 and his friend of Sussex to seize the opportunity of seeing Paris to advantage 143, Romney and 
 two of his friends arrive at Paris in July 144, receive there most obliging civilities from the Am- 
 bassador and his Lady 14 5, and from Madame de Genlis 146", remarks on French painters 14S, 
 a poetical adieu addressed to Madame de Genlis 153. Romney and his friends return to England, 
 the satisfaction of the artist in finding a new painting room prepared according to his wishes at 
 Eartham 154. His health impaired, his first letter after his return to London 155. His letter of 
 May I79L his decline of health induces him to think of relinquishing his profession 157. An in- 
 cident that gives him a joyous elevation of spirits, his letter on pictures that he proposed to paint 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 from Lady Hamilton 158, another loiter on the same personage, sonnet on his Joan of Arc 159. 
 Remarks on the extreme sensibility of the painter l6t, his letter of August 1791, 162. Verses to 
 his Cassandra 16*3. His letter of August 29, 1791, 16*4. Takes leave of his friends Sir William and 
 Lady Hamilton, and hastens to Eartham iu a state of health too much impaired to admit of appli- 
 cation 165. His letter on returning to London 166, subsequent letter on Madame de Genlis and 
 his beginning to design from Milton 16*7. Paints a child of eleven years, the son of his friend, as 
 the Robin Goodfellow of Shakespeare 1 68- In 1792 the health of Romney improves, extract, from 
 his letter of Jan, 24, concerning the pictures on which he was then engaged 169. In February he 
 receives a pressing invitation to Naples from Sir William and Lady Hamilton IJl, he declines the 
 invitation and informs the Lady how he had distributed, according to her directions, the several 
 fancy pictures which he had painted from her 172. His desire to paint the banquet scene in Mac- 
 beth, his letter of June 1792, on his wish to be personally acquainted with Cowper 174, a sub- 
 sequent letter 175. Declines painting Sir Richard Hotham in Sussex, his letter expressing eager- 
 ness to meet Cowper at Eartham 176, he executes in Sussex an admirable portrait of Cowper in 
 crayons, and another of Charlotte Smith as its companion, remarks on these portraits 178. Cow- 
 per's sonnet to Romney 182. Romney's letter on his return to town 1S4. He begins his picture of 
 Milton with his two daughter, remarks on that and other pictures of a similar cast which he in- 
 tended to paint 186. Romney affected by the decease of Reynolds, verses on reading the death of 
 Sir Joshua in the newspaper 1SS. Comparative remarks on Reynolds and Romney 189. Romney 's 
 admiration of Sir Joshua's portrait engraved by Caroline Watson 195. First intimation of Rom- 
 ney's wish to buiJd a large new painting room near London 195. His letter of Jan. 5, 1793, 196» 
 Extract of a letter expressing great regard for his brother artist Wright of Derby 198. His letter 
 of June 1793, on a project of building lgp. Subsequent letters of the same year 200. An ex- 
 ample of Romney's charitable beneficence 202. Letters of Augusf 1793, 203. Letter of Septem- 
 ber describing his return to London 204. Subsequent letter of extreme sensibility 205. His deep 
 sense of Lord Egremont's kindness concerning his health 206. His letter of October 1 1 1793, his 
 project of painting the life of man in a series of pictures 208. Intimation of the pictures that en- 
 gaged his attention in the commencement of 179-*> his expressions on the death of Gibbon, re- 
 marks on the religious feelings of Romney 21 1- Letter on his designs from Milton 212- His ea- 
 gerness to encourage the talents and industry of youth 213. His letter of May 1794, 214. Romney 
 and his son visit Eartham in their wa}' to the Isle of Wiglif, the painter's letter describing a scene 
 in that Island 217. Romney's idea of forming a little academy of young disciples in his own house 
 218. His letters of August, September and October 17!M, 220. His letter on a prospect ofCow- 
 per's revival 223. Romney's excursion into Hampshire from Suisex^ and visit toDr. Warton, at 
 "Wickliam, his letter on a prospect of Flaxman's return from Italy 225. Letters of December 1794, 
 226". The interest that Romney took in the establishment of his young friend Thomas Hayley, as 
 the domestic disciple of Flaxman 22S. Romney begins a grand picture of our Saviour in the Wil- 
 derness 230, His health declines, his letters of June, July.and September I7f)5. 232. He arrives at 
 Eartham with the young sculptor and begins a family picture for Lord Egrcmont, sonnet to the 
 
 3H2 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 youth modelling a bust of Romncy 235. The painter's letter after his return to London 236". Visits 
 Eartham again towards the close of the year to proceed in his large family picture 237. His let- 
 ter of January 179<S on the talents displayed by the young sculptor 238. His health improves, 
 enlivened by a visit from the Prince of Wales 239- Pictures of friendship begun at Eartham, 240. 
 Romncy afflicted by serious illness in the spring of 1796. His letters describing it 241. Subsequent 
 letter on the depression of his spirits 242. Relieved by a sight of fine pictures at Teddington 245. 
 His letter of August 1796*. An account of his excursion to Cambridge with his friend Caiwar- 
 dine 247. Revives and paints with spirit at Eartham, his excursion to Wilton 251. Towards the 
 close of 1"96, h 13 began a picture of his respectable old friend Mr. Walker the philosopher, and 
 his family 252. Remarks on some portraits that Romney painted of himself 254. Romney's ac- 
 count of himself January 1797. His generous praise bestowed on the works of a youth, extract 
 of a letter from that youth describing the painter 255, 256. Romney's letter'of March 1797- The 
 pleasure he took in a project of visiting the Bishop of LandafFat Calgarth Park 257- Romney's. 
 regard for Hodges the artist, and his admiration of his amiable wife. Epitaph on that interesting 
 couple 259. Romney visits Sussex with an architect and the young sculptor, all engaged in laying 
 the foundation of a small marine villa, reflections on that scene 26l. Romney makes a second 
 Visit to Sussex from a friendly alarm concerning the health of the young sculptor 263. His letter 
 on his return to London July 1797, 264. He returns to Eartham and his own health much im- 
 paired 265. His remark on three visiters 266. Reflexions on his shattered health 267. He re- 
 vives and executes a portrait of Miss Le Clerc, at Eartham, on the earnest request of the late 
 Duke of Richmond, the young sculptor finishes a small bust of Romney and another of Lord 
 Thurlow, at Eartham, a question answered by that noble Lord concerning mental infirmities in the 
 decline of life 270. Remarks on the fits of spleen to which the peer and the painter were both 
 subject 271. The commencement of two historical pictures by Romney, representing Tobit and 
 Tobias 272. His letter on returning to London October 1797, 273. Finds one of his earl)- pic- 
 tures Cupid and Pysche 275. His friendly speech to the young sculptor on painting 276. Severe 
 illness of the latter 277. Romney's letter of April 1797, 27S. Character of his friend Mr. Cock- 
 ing 279. Romney's health greatly impaired, he visits the family of Meyer at Kew, amused by. 
 sitting to a lady for his portrait 2S1. Remarks on the tenderness and liberality with which he used 
 to exercise his art 2S2. His health more impaired, visits both the north and the south without 
 gaining strength 283. The author visits the painter at Hampstead, and advises him to amuse him- 
 self in beginning a portrait, reflections on that advice 287. The author's account of Romney in a 
 letter to the young sculptor, the painter relinquishes his house in Cavendish Square to Mr. Slice, 
 and removes many loads of unfinished pictures to Hampstead 290. Romney's last visit to Eartham 
 with his young pupiL Mr. Isaac Pocock. Sonnet add rest to that young artist 292. Romney 
 sketches a scene from Macbeth and finishes a head of himself in crayons 293. He retires to Ken- 
 dal 294. The account that he gave of himself and his wife in his letters from the north 295. Sends 
 a letter of condolence to the author on the death of the young sculptor, reflections on that event 
 296. The death of Romney's domestic secretary Mr. Cock ing, extract from Romney's letters pre- 
 vious to that loss 2.97- Colonel Romney's return from the East Indies, his affecting interview with.. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 bis brother the artist 299- The decease of the latter, remarks on his person and disposition, anec- 
 dotes of his conversation 303. What the author esteemed his most excellent picture 304. Sketch, 
 of Romney 's professional character by Flaxman 305. Remarks on his pictures by one of his early 
 friends 314- His character as a companion 317. Mr. Cumberland's account of his conversation, 
 praise and censure of that gentleman 318. Disciples of Romney, account of his mode of life by 
 his pupil Mr. Robinson 321. Particulars of application to his art during his rural visits, the books 
 on painting that pleased him most 32(5. Reflections on the result of his great professional activity 
 330. A brief summary of his character in the form of an epitaph 377. 
 * 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 An Elegy on the death of Romney by tUe son of his disciple Mr. Robinson of Windermere 335 
 Epistles to Romney first printed in 177S. 
 
 A LIST OF THE ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 2 Portrait of Romney at the age of forty-nine to face the title page. 
 
 2 The introduction of Dr. Slop, into the parlour of Mr. Shandy to face page 31. 
 
 3 Sketch of a shipwreck to face page 84. 
 
 4 The head of Sensibility to face page 121. 
 
 5 Study foe the head of Miranda to face page 141. 
 6' Portrait of Madame de Genlis to face page 170. 
 7 Cassandra to face page 172. 
 
 3 Head of our Saviour from a very large unfinished picture of the Temptation in the Wilderness, 
 to face page 23 1*. 
 
 9 The infant Shakespeare to face page 304. 
 
 10 Newton with the Prism to face page 314. 
 
 11 Portrait of Romney from a medallion executed in 1795, to face the last page of the Life. 
 15 Portrait of Romney Robinson to face page 335, 
 
utay ^^J^rj.t. A^ %yHt«*4. f&f i» 
 
 Some hi gh prices were realised at the picture sale in 
 connection with the disposal of the Wertheimer collection 
 at Christie's Rooms on Saturday. To take a few 
 examples, for the celebrated picture by Remlrandb of a 
 y6ung woman in ted, 5\0Q0gs. was given; "A Village 
 Fete," by Teniers, fetched l,430gs.; the interior of a 
 guard room, by the same artist, brought l,700gs.; 
 "L'Accorde Parfait," by Watteau, fiom Miss James's 
 collection, 2,100gs.; tho famous portrait of Lady Sondes, 
 by Sir Jo3hua Reynolds, 4,100gs.; Rom ney's portrait of 
 Lady Hamilton as a Welsh girl, 2,100gs.; "A Little Girl 
 Feeding a Fawn," by the. same artist, 5,100?;s:.; and a 
 portrait of Lady Augusta* Murray, Duchess <A Suffolk, 
 also by Romney, 3,800g3. 
 
 Unwonted excitement prevailed at a remarkable sale 
 of pictures on Saturday, when a total sum of £87,144- was 
 realised. Tho pictures put up to auction were for the 
 most paro of the early British school, and had been the 
 property of the late Mr James Price ot Barcombe, 
 Paignton, and formerly of Liverpool. For Gainsborough's 
 "Lady Musgrave" £8,000 had been bid, when Mr 
 Campbell, solicitor, suddenly appeared on the scene and 
 contested the purchase until a sum oE £10,000 had been 
 reached, at which price it was knocked down to him. 
 In the same room, fifteen years ago, the picture was 
 bought for 1,000 guineas. Amonf the other high prices 
 secured were the following :-" Carnarvon Castle," by 
 W. Muller, said to have been purchased for the Nation. 
 2 300 guineas;^' Helvoetsluys" (Turner), £6.400; "The 
 Val d'Aosta'- (Turner), 4,000 guineas; "Going to the 
 Ball" (Turner), 2,800 guineas; "Returning from the 
 Ball" (Turner), 2,800 guineas; " Mortlake" (Turner), 
 5.200 guineas; "Lady Hamilton" (Romney), 2,030 guineas; 
 "Miss Harriet Shore" (Romney), 1,850 guineas; "Lady 
 Urith Shore" (Romney), 1,800 guineas; "Lady Mel- 
 bourne" (Sir Joshua Reynolds), 2,300 guineas; and " Lady 
 Clarees " (Gainsborough), 2,000 guineas. 
 
 An extraordinary price wa» paid for a picture in London 
 on Thursday afternoon. The work was from the brush of 
 George Romney. and was painted for the fourth Dako of 
 Marlborough. The subject was an allegorical one, and 
 represented the Duke's two daughters, Caroline, after- 
 wards the Viscountess Clifden, and Lady Elizabeth 
 Spencer as the sister arts Music and Painting. The Duke 
 presented the picture to Lady Clifden, and it was 
 in the possession of the family when ia was brought to tho 
 hammer, by order of the executors of the late Viscount 
 i Clifden. The bidding started at 1,000 guineas, butt it rose 
 by rapid strides to 7,700 guineas. Then, by stages of 25 
 guineas, it reached the enormous figure of 10,500 guineas, 
 when it was knocked down to Mr C. Wertheimer. The 
 i prise paid exceeds by four or five thousand guineas the 
 highest ever given for a Romney, who even at the height 
 of his popularity rarely received as much as £100 for a 
 
 dy received as much as 
 
 whole-length portrait 
 
 . Apropos of the £11,025 paid the other day for the 
 "Clifden Romney, connoisseurs, as well as the general 
 public, may be interested to know that only six other 
 pictures have been sold by auction during recent years for 
 isums exceeding £10,000. They are:— Gainsborough's 
 .famous Duchess of Devonshire, which subsequently dis- 
 'appeared.'or was stolen, £10,605; Madame de Pompadour, 
 by F. Boucher, in the Lonsdale sale, £10,395; A View 
 in Holland, by Hobboma and A. Van de Velde, in the 
 Dudley sale, 1892, £10,080; and The Crucifixion, by 
 Raphael, at the same sale, £11,130; Lady Betty Delme 
 and Children, by Sir Joshoa Reynolds, £11.500, in 1894; 
 and Ladv Mulgrave, by Gainsborough, £10,500, in the 
 Price sale last year. The Virgin with the Candelabra, by 
 Raphael, was offered in tho Munro sale at Christie's some 
 years ago, bat was bought in at £19,500. This picture 
 has been in the maiket ever since, and, although it has 
 been hawked all over Europe, is still awaiting abona-fide 
 pjUgiiasj^c" Daily Telegraph." t&d 
 
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 THE. GETTY