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MY LIFE

BY

T. SIDNEY COOPER, R.A.

IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.

LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON
^ablishera in ©rbinars to ^tr ^njeatg the (BJtttttt
1890
[Att rights reserved]

PREFACE.

I HAVE constantly been asked, by all sorts of
people, questions concerning my early life — as to
where I came from, who and what was my father,
how and when I began to draw, and a host of
other things, touching not only upon generalisms,
but upon private and personal matters. To these
questions I have, liitherto, generally answered ;
' You will know all that when I am no more ' — for
I must confess that I did not care to be cross-
examined in this way. The inquiries were not
infrequently rudely put, and at times I felt greatly
annoyed by these inquisitive persons, and replied
to them somewhat curtly, for I did not feel in
clined to enlighten them upon my family history.
As, however, it is now much in vogue for people

vi PREF A CE.

to write and publish reminiscences of their lives,
I have allowed myself to succumb to the persua
sions of my friends, and have consented to write
mine. Thomas Sidney Cooper, R.A-

Vernon Holme,
Harhledown, Canterbury.

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

CHAPTER L r
My Birth and Parentage— Baptism— Early Education— My
Mother overwhelmed with the Cares of her Family— Early
Passion for Drawing— How I sketched Canterbury Cathe
dral on my School Slate — Description of my First School
—The Headmaster— Cruelty of the Usher— The two
Head Boys— Suicide of James Anderson — Rebellion of
the Boys— The Usher locked up— His Dismissal by the
Master— System of Education Seventy-five Years Ago —
The War arid How to Live engrossed the Thoughts of
Everyone— Jack McKenny at Sierra Leone— He after
wards became Governor — William Burgess and his Draw
ing Lessons— Sketching in the Fields— Love of Nature-
Sadness — Great Aspirations met with Rebuke — Day
dreams—John Prescott Knight, R.A. — ' Little Knight,'
the Comedian — His Stories and Songs — Knight's Career
as an Artist— How I felt the Want of a Father— Mother's
Wishes— Dr. Bailey — Work at a Coachbuilder's . i —
CHAPTER II.
Early Recollections of Public Events — Jubilee of King
George III. — Festivities — Fireworks — House on Fire —
'The Sidney Gallery' : a School of Art— Great Comet of
i8)i — General Fair— Recruiting Parties — Roguery or
Honesty? — Guy Fawkes' Day — Shot in the Face — Provi
dential Escape from Death or Blindness — Severe Winter
of 1 812- 1 3 — Coach Accidents — The French Campaign in
Russia — Emperor Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow —
Sufferings of French Troops — The ' Battle of Nations ' —

CONTENTS.

Napoleon sent to Elba — Visit of Allied Sovereigns to
England — Procession through Canterbury — General
Illuminations and Town Decorations — Wounded Soldiers
— Escape of Bonaparte from Elba — The cry, ' To arms !'
— Recruiting all alive again — Long Line of Troops from
Canterbury — Napoleon in the Field once more — Waterloo
— Thus ended the ' War of the Empires '— Final Banish
ment of Napoleon — How grievous was his Fate ! . 22 — 35
CHAPTER III.
Working at Coach-painting — Drawing for Amusement —
Gentleman Sketching Cathedral — Conversation— Gift of
Pencils and Paper — Dr. Pierce— Cattermole — Story of
Pencils told many Years after — Difficulty about Cutting
them — The Archbishop — Invited to draw Inside Railings
— Table and Bigaroon Cherries — Alderman Cowton — Dr.
Pierce very Bland — Drawings Sold for 5s. — ^5 from the
Archbishop - Wished to give up Work at Coachbuilder's
— Mother's Persuasions — Agreed to go on with it for her
Sake — Sketching from Nature at every Opportunity —
Began a Better Class of Work — Panel-painting — Very
Assiduous — The Puppet-show — Drawing and Acting —
Delight at being out in the Fields — Mr. Doyle, the Scene-
painter — He gives me Instruction in Perspective at
Theatre — Work at the Coachbuilder's Slack — Discharged
— Assist in Scene-painting — Death of poor Doyle — I am
appointed regular Scene-painter — Leave Home to join
Theatrical Company at Faversham — Mother very Sad —
Walk to Faversham — Begin Work there . 36—64
CHAPTER IV.
Performance of Macbeth — The ' Bleeding Captain ' — Point
Lace — Nervousness — John Baldwin Buckstone — Friend
ship — Settling up Day — Tender Grasp — E.xplosion of
Powder Mills — Packing up for Hastings — Effiscts of
Acting on Character — Limited Education Source of
Regret — Arrival of the Company at Hastings — Sketching
for Scenery of the Battle of Hastings — Gentleman looking
at Drawing — Tent of King Harold — Edmund Kean— Miss
Love— Kean consents to Play one night — The Amateur
Actor — Quarrel — Brush of Pink Paint in his Mouth —
Rehearsal of The Merchant of Venice with Kean — ' How

CONTENTS.

dare you make this Disturbance ?'— Mr. Elliston— Lun
cheon at the ' Hare and Hounds '—Serious Uproar— r.4^
Zz'ar— Great Success — The Grand Event — Edmund
Kean's Acting— His small Stature- Mrs. Siddons' Opinion
of him — His subsequent Great Success — His Love of
Smoking— His Death-bed— His son, Charles Kean—
My Friendship with him — Presentation to Charles
Kean ..... 65-87
CHAPTER V.
Breaking up of the Theatrical Company— John Buckstone and
his Landlord— How they went to the Manager's House —
Their 'Luffings' and ' Tackings '— The Sailor's Violent
Demeanour — Successful Termination of the Visit— ' That's
the Way you should serve them, Chaps ' — The Company
disperse in different Directions— Buckstone goes to Folk-
stone, and I return to Canterbury — Meeting with Buck
stone again in later Years — His Amusing Greeting — Our
Friendship lasts till his Death— My Visits to him and his
Wife — Mrs. Buckstone's Portrait — Walk from Hastings to
Tenterden — The Woolpack— Taken for a Murderer —
From Tenterden to Canterbury— Tired out and Worn —
My Mother's Distress — I relate my Adventures — The old
Temptation resisted — Coach-painting again — Pictures of
the Old Masters — Burgess Junior's Cunning— Transpar
encies — I get some more Jobs of Scene-painting — And so
the Time passes on . . . . . 88 — 106
CHAPTER VI.
Letter from Uncle Elvey — Delightful Proposal— Arrival in
London — First Sight of the Streets — The British Museum
— Mr. Smith, the Keeper — I keep my Plans Secret — I
become a Student at the Museum — My Great Happiness
— I tell my Uncle what I have done — Steady Improve
ment — George Richmond — Catterson Smith — The Disco
bolus — Drawing ready for Royal Academy Competition —
Letter of Recommendation needed— Mr. Ward, R.A. —
Mr. Howard, R.A. — Mr. Abraham Cooper, R.A. — Success
with the Latter — Drawing and Letter sent in to the
Academy — Called at Somerset House to hear Result —
Nervousness — My Heart fails me — Accepted — My Uncle
talks about Gratitude— But little to be Thankful for !— I

CONTENTS.

present myself at Somerset House, and become a Proba
tioner at the Royal Academy— Mr. Fuseli, the Keeper —
Set to work steadily — The Angerstein Gallery — Drawing
sent in for Studentship . . 107 — 124
CHAPTER VII.
I again present myself at Somerset House — Palpitation of the
Heart — I am admitted as a Student of the Royal
Academy — Rush Home in the greatest State of Delight —
Enthusiasm out of Place — Mr. Fuseli's Lecture — His
Studio and Work — Eccentricities — Anecdote about the
Gingham Umbrella — Another about ' Satan Calling upon
his Legions ' — Sir Thomas Lawrence, President, R.A. —
His Character and Appearance — His Kindliness — Rich
mond and Catterson Smith also accepted as Students —
My Uncle suddenly throws me over — ObUged to return to
Canterbury — Heart-broken — Mother's Wishes — Coach-
painting once more— Could not stand it — Set up as Draw
ing-master — Holiday Trip to Dover — William Burgess
and I think of trying our Luck on the Continent — Cross
ing to Calais — First Impression of Foreign Lands — Walk
to Gravelines— The Night there — Burgess desponding — I
paint his Portrait — Paint several other Portraits — Walk to
Dunkirk — Bad Roads — We stay there Five Days — Success
in Portrait-painting — Then on to Brussels, Walking and
Dihgence— Six Days' Journey— Settle there — We paint
Signboards — I part with Burgess, who gets Employment
at a Coachbuilder's — Trip to Switzerland given up —
Friendship with Burgess remains unbroken . 125 — 149
CHAPTER VIII.
I then settle down alone in Brussels — I paint Portraits and
sketch the Gothic Buildings in the Town — The Baron
D^vrier — Commence giving- Lessons — Very Successful —
The Comtesse de Lalang — ' Lightning vill not catch him '
— Story of a Thunderstorm — The Spanish Ambassador's
Daughters — System of Teaching — Introduction to Ver-
bockhoven — Great Friendship for him — Admiration for
his Talent— Anecdotes — ' Ce jeune Copre dessine comme
un Dieu !' — Verbockhoven's Donkey — His Painting of
Animals faultless — Making a Good Income — Don Michado
— Commission from him — Prince d'Arenberg— Commis-

CONTENTS.

PAGE
sion from him — Captain C. Hotham — Sketching Tour on
the Meuse with him — My Marriage with Miss Pearson —
Receptions on Sundays — Exhibition of Pictures at Brussels
in 1830 — Large Drawing accepted — Notice in the Morn
ing Post — Bought by the Queen — Commission from
Members of the Royal Household — Signs of Political
Troubles — Verbockhoven a Revolutionist — Trip to Eng
land — Emeute at Brussels — ObUged to return suddenly —
Condition of the City — George Pearson wounded — More
Trouble brewing ... . 150 — 179
CHAPTER IX.
I leave Brussels for Amsterdam— Stop first at Rotterdam —
Dutch Painters' Subjects ready to their Hands— To The
Hague by a Traekschout — Paul Potter's Famous ' Bull ' —
To Amsterdam by Diligence — Description of the City —
Dutch Canals — Gangs of Workpeople skating in Winter
— Make Sketch for the Drawing of the Palace— News of
Revolution in Brussels— Anxiety to return Home — Pre
parations — Start by Diligence — Breda — Antwerp— Have
to remain there— Louvain — Am again stopped by Soldiers
— Copenhout — Booming of Cannon and Terrible Sounds
of War — Belgian Guide—' Un Brave Homme !'— Am
stopped by Officer in Command of Troops — Passport not
vis^— Sent back to Village under Escort— Escape from
Soldiers— Appeal to Priest— Unsuccessful— I part from
my Companion— Walk on the Road to Vurin — Firing
stops— A Truce— One-armed Guide— Meet Mr. Freke's
Butler— I hear of my Wife's Escape, and of G. Pearson's
Death— Ponds of Etterbeek— Drunken Trooper— Reach
my Father-in-law's House — FaU exhausted into the Anns
of my Wife — Happy Reunion — Sadness at Brother's Death
—Mrs. Pearson— Tired and Hungry— No Meat— I there
fore go out on a Foraging Expedition— Success— Dinner
—The Three Carabineers— Fearful Struggle— Wounded
Soldiers — Prince Frederick withdraws Troops — Gates
thrown open— Return to Brussels — Terrible State of the
City ....... 180—206
CHAPTER X.
My Affairs get into a Sad Condition— Make up my Mind to
leave Brussels— Proposal of the Spanish Ambassador —
Sorrow at leaving Belgium— Parting with Verbockhoven

CONTENTS.

— Arrival in England — I go to London — ' Not in our Line'
— Success with Ackerman — Mrs. Cooper joins me in
London — Lodgings in Tottenham Court Road— I make
Studies in the Regent's Park — The Wandering Cow —
Drawing on Stone — Begin to Paint in Oils — Catterson
Smith finds me out — He buys my First Oil-painting —
Smithfield Market— The Noble Head of a Ram— Studies
from it — Removal to Windmill Street — Painting in Oils
more continuously — Mr. Crib — Not the Tax-coUector —
'Fording the Brook' bought by Mr. Crib — Health rather
failing — More Outdoor Work again— Mr. Carpenter —
Picture of Farm in Kent — George Chambers and J. B.
Pyne — Removal to St. John's Wood — Intimacy with
G. Chambers — His Life and Work — The Fire — His Early
Death — Suffolk Street Exhibition— Private View — Intro
duction to Mr. Robert Vernon — Great Success of Picture
— Article in Cobbetfs Magaziite — Stanfield, Roberts, and
other Artists — Visit of Mr. Vernon to Studio — Dinner at
Mr. Carpenter's— Mr. J. D. Harding— Carpenter's desire
to clinch a Bargain — Prosperous State of Affairs— Press
Notices of Picture . . . . 207 — 233
CHAPTER XI.
]\Ir. Vernon's Second Visit — Mr. Fawcett and Mr. Morton —
' Here's a capital thing !' — Mr. Vernon agrees to buy it —
Kindness of Mr. Vernon — Drawings on Stone for Fuller
and Son — Camp of Gipsies for the ' Book of Gems' — Visit
of the Earl of Essex — Very Infirm — Cultivation of Roses
— ' Cut away' — ' 1 wish I could' — Visit to the Earl — The
very easy Arm-chair — The Earl marries Kitty Stevens —
Belford Regis — Miss Mitford's Stories— \''isit from a
Strange Lady — Mr. Freke — Mr. Vernon calls again —
' Send it by all means to the Royal Academy ' — Applied
at Somerset House — Not an assured 'Bang' — Picture
accepted — Rejoicing of Mrs. Cooper — No Admission for
Outsiders to Private View— Opinions of the Press — Pic
ture a decided Success —Dinner at Mr. Vernon's — His
long Speech — Mr. Jones, R.A. — His Unselfishness — His
Career — Picture, called ' Milking Time,' first Work e.x-
hibited at Royal Academy in 1834 — Now in National
Gallery — Full of Work— Sketching from Nature — Beauti
ful Spots near London — Lessons to Ladies — Mr. Bates,
American Merchant — Fenimore Cooper — Mr. Harding

CONTENTS.

buys Small Picture— Finally refuse Carpenter's Offer-
Drawing sold to FuUer— A Good Investment— Picture at
Exhibition of 1835— Never missed a Single Year after the
First Acceptance— Difficulties in Treatment of Cattle-
pieces from an Artistic Point of View . . 234—256
CHAPTER XII.
Picture from Thomson's ' Seasons ' — Series of Drawings on
Stone for McLean — Visit to the Rev. H. Duncombe — The
Cumberland Fells — Sketches of Drovers — The Handsome
Collie — Cattle and Sheep — Beautiful Effects of Atmo
sphere — The 'Drover's Halt,' 1838 — Picture attracts Great
Attention — The Royal Academy is moved to Trafalgar
Square — Annual Dinner at the Close of the Exhibition —
Sir Martin Shee's Toast — Response — The 'Drover's Halt'
is sent to the Liverpool Exhibition — Mr. Blundell sends
for me to paint his Prize Stock — Prize from the Liverpool
Academy — Also the Heywood Medal awarded to me at
Manchester — Many Commissions from Country Gentle
men — Mr. Harvey — Samuel Lover — Campbell, the Poet —
Cultivated Society — Sketching again in Regent's Park —
The Infuriated Ox — Reputation as Animal-painter estab
Ushed — Mr. Gurney — Bull on the Veranda— Drive in the
Cold — The Prize-fighter — Norwich Bank — Portrait by
Opie — Not appreciated — Mr. Gurney's Black Bottle — The
Young Lord — Miss Gurney — Kent Cricket Club — Old
Members passed away — ^Health failing again — Long
Evening Walks — Frightful accident to Mrs. Cooper —
Her Illness — Recovery — Hope and Security — How
Short a Time they lasted — How Fallacious they
were ....... 257 — 284
CHAPTER XIII.
WiUiam Burgess turns up again — A Great English Scholar —
Smithfield Market— The fine Bull's Head— We bring it
Home in a Cab— The Policeman on PentonviUe Hill —
Not ' Burkers ' — AUowed to proceed — Studies from the
Head— As Long as it would keep !— Quickness in Paint
ing — A Challenge— Country Patrons — Trip to the Lakes
— Rydal Water— Robert Southey— Mr. Gillott, of Bir
mingham—His Liberality— Miss Lushington— Sir A. Call-
cott— The Earl of Tyrconnel— Many Commissions— Great

CONTENTS,

Prosperity — Joy damped by Serious Illness of my Wife —
She goes to the Isle of Wight — Only relieved for a Time
— My own Health suffers— Hard Work — Copies of Pic
tures and Forged Signatures — Action at Bury St.
Edmunds — About the Fee charged for Certificates— Posi
tion among Artists secured — My Wife's Last Illness — Her
Death ... . . 285—307
CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. C. Landseer's Opinion about Chance of Associateship —
Picture for Exhibition of 1845 — Tilbury Fort — Picture
painted after Forty Years — Election of Associates — Hopes
and Fears — Dinner-party at St. John's Wood — I am Suc
cessful — Turner President /r<7 tern, — The Royal Academy
Dinner — My Visit to Turner in Queen Anne Street — The
dirty Servant and untidy House— His Autograph — Next
Exhibition Picture — Bought by the Duke of Northumber
land — Private View — Introduced to Macready — 'The
Half-past One o'Clock Charge at Waterloo ' — Life Guards
man as a Model — Cab-horse ditto— Exhibition at West
minster Hall — Sir Robert Peel— Visit to Mr. Frederick
Lee, R.A. — Joint Productions of Lee and Myself —Trip to
North Wales — Fine Rocky Scenery— Guffer Roberts —
Wild Goats — Return to London — Visit from Mr. Vernon
— Commission for another Picture from him — Sir David
Wilkie's Opinion of my Picture — His Work — Mr. Vernon's
Illness — My Last Visit to him — His Death, and his fine
Collection of Pictures left to the Nation . . 308 — 337
Index . . 338

ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. I.

I. Head of Bull — A Study . . To precede title-page
2, Portrait of T. Sidney Cooper . Frontispiece
3. The Sidney Cooper Gallery of Art
at Canterbury .... To face page 24

MY LIFE

CHAPTER I.
My Birth and Parentage — Baptism— Early Education — My Mother
overwhelmed with the Cares of her Family — Early Passion for
Drawing — How I sketched Canterbury Cathedral on my
School Slate — Description of my First School — The Head
master — Cruelty of the Usher — The two Head Boys — Suicide
of James Anderson — Rebellion of the Boys — The Usher
locked up — His Dismissal by the Master — System of Educa
tion Seventy-five Years Ago — The War and How to Live en
grossed the Thoughts of Everyone — Jack McKenny at Sierra
Leone — He afterwards became Governor — William Burgess
and his Drawing Lessons — Sketching in tRe Fields — Love of
Nature — Sadness — Great Aspirations met with Rebuke — Day
dreams — John Prescott Knight, R.A.— 'Little Knight,' the
Comedian — His Stories and Songs — Knight's Career as an
Artist — How I felt the want of a Father — Mother's Wishes —
Dr. Bailey — Work at a Coachbuilder's.
I WAS born at Canterbury, in St. Peter's Street,
in Holy Cross, Westgate, on September 26, 1803
— so said my mother ; and I was christened on
October 3 following — so says the register; but
how and when I commenced to grow, either in
stature or in intellect, is not recorded in the
archives of our family. I have since learned
VOL. I. I

EARLY HOME LIFE.

that when I had attained the age of five years
my father deserted us all — my mother and five
young children. I therefore never knew my
father, but have only heard of him ; and I have
often, in my early days, wondered how a boy felt
when talking to his father, or asking him for
anything. How often have I grieved that I had
no father to guide, to teach, or to caress me, and
treat me with that fondness I have so frequently
seen lavished upon other children ! But I had
a very kind and dear mother, and can recollect
much of that kindness while still very young, for
the tenderness which she lavished upon us five
children (consisting of three girls and two boys)
in all our infantine troubles made a great and
lasting impression upon me.
My education was of the most slender descrip
tion — very narrow, very unprofitable — and when I
reached the age of nine years, the apex of my
knowledge was short division. Grammar and
syntax were unknown to me, and the classics
were sealed books. Some of my school-fellows
could read better and talk better than I could,
and I felt my deficiency intensely, young as I
was. I made, therefore, great efforts to improve
myself while still quite a child, and was not
wholly unsuccessful, though I met with no en-

FIRST ATTEMPT AT A SKETCH,

couragement. I was left to wander about as I
liked — no one seemed to care if evil befell me ;
and I had really no ' bringing up,' in the usual
acceptation of the term.
The fact was that my poor mother was over
whelmed with the cares of her family. It was no
light thing in those troublesome times, when food
and all the necessaries of life were at famine
prices, for a lone woman to provide for herself
and five young children. She, however, made
a brave struggle, and so far succeeded in her
efTorts that she did make a living for us, though
but a poor and humble one. As for fine wheaten
bread, I never saw that, and even ' Brown
Tommie,' as we called It, was at is. 8d. a loaf, so
it will be readily understood that this poor stricken
woman had almost insuperable difficulties to con
tend against in her efforts to provide for those
dependent upon her, for she had no resources
other than her own energy.
From my earliest childhood I had a passion
for drawing, but it was not to be supposed that
my mother could afford to give me pencils and
paper. My first efforts, therefore, were made
upon my school slate, and my first attempt at
a sketch was the Bell Tower of Canterbury
Cathedral. Upon one occasion my brother and I
I — 2

DRAWING THE GREAT CHURCH,

got hold of two address cards, upon which we
proposed to draw each one end of the Cathedral,
but, when finished, the two drawings did not
match! While we were thus occupied one Sunday
morning, a gentleman came up, and said :
' What are you doing, my lads ?'
' Drawing the Great Church, sir,' for so the
Cathedral was always called by the townspeople.
' Do you not know it is Sunday ?'
'Yes; we are going to Sunday-school presently.'
' But you should not draw on a Sunday. Here's
a shilling for you, but don't draw again on a
Sunday.' Bill at once said he would not, but I said
nothing, and thought in my own mind that I
would, and so try to get another shilling. I
suppose, however, that I thought better of it, for
I recollect that after this I used to go on
Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, those days
being half-holidays at our school.
The war and how to live so engrossed the
attention of everybody, in those days, that but
little thought was given to education. Our school
was a weekly one, and there was not much to pay
for the teaching given there. It was held in an
out-building of the time of the Saxons, which con
sisted of two long rooms : the first, adorned with

SCHOOL-LIFE AND SEVERE PUNISHMENT. 5
Gothic doors and windows, leading by a flight of
steps at the farther end down to the second, which
was of the same size, with stone walls. Heavy
timbers supported the roofs of these buildings
and of the adjoining dwelling-house, where the
master lived with his family. There was an usher
under the master, and two of the forwardest boys
were monitors or pupil-teachers under him.
The master's name was Abram, ahd the usher,
though an Englishman, rejoiced in the name of
Mazella, the two head boys during my time being
James Anderson and Jack McKenny. Anderson
was very kind and tried hard to teach us, always
by persuasion and never using harsh words ;
Jack McKenny, of a robust and active nature,
was strict, but also spoke at all times without
anger ; and the headmaster, who was always at
his desk, almost blinded with the quantity of snuff
he took, did not look much after us, and when he
stood to hear us say our lessons he was always
staring into vacancy, and seemed to be thinking
of something else. The usher, however, made
up for his leniency, for he was a severe, cruel
tyrant, and punished us just for the sake of doing
so, as if it gave him a delightful pleasure. He
had always by him two large bits of broken slate,
with which he struck us on the hand, and if we

SUICIDE OF A PUPIL-TEACHER.

dodged him when he ordered us to hold out our
hands (which, I think, we all did), he would hit us
under or on the knuckles.
To the two teachers under him he was very
malicious, and was always complaining to the
master of them, and making false accusations
against them. This had such a depressing effect
upon poor James Anderson, that he hanged himself
at his mother's house. In consequence of this
sad catastrophe, many of the boys could not be
induced to go to the school for some time ; but
the master took but little notice of the matter, and
the usher was even more severe to those who
stayed away.
This roused such a spirit of opposition among
the boys that they determined to take some
extreme measure to get this man removed, and
they watched for an opportunity of carrying out
their purpose. He frequently remained in the
schoolroom after the boys had left for writing on
his own account, and on the first occasion that
this happened after we had settled our plan of
action, we locked him in. As the room was some
distance from the dwelling-house he could not
make anyone hear him, and so he was obliged
to remain there all night. The next morning
the boys took the key to the headmaster, but

EDUCATION SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO.

announced their determination not to return to
the school while that man was in it. The master
was therefore obliged to dismiss him, and then
the school went on as usual. There was a board
ing-school at a short distance from ours, and some
of our day-boys attended it ; so we saw a good
deal of those scholars, and heard from them that
they had as much punishment at their school as
we had.
Seventy-five years ago education was carried
on in a very different manner to what It Is now,
and although boys are at all times much the
same In their natures and ways of going on,
society in general was. In those days, In a much
ruder and more unpolished state than now. Boys
were treated with far more indifference, and with
a severity, unknown to their parents, of a degree
that would neither be believed nor tolerated at
the present time. People of all ranks would now
be shocked and indignant If their sons were
treated in so shameful a manner, and punished
with such excessive severity as they were then ;
but, no doubt. In or about the year 1812, all
members of the community were so taken up
with thoughts of the war, and how to meet the
increased taxation, that they were regardless and
indifferent to the system of education and its

GOVERNOR OF SIERRA LEONE.

Influence upon the future character and career of
their children.
Jack McKenny went on board a ship, after
peace was proclaimed, that was bound for Sierra
Leone, in Africa, to take part against the slave
trade. He was there employed by the Governor
as his assistant, and when he died three years
later, Jack was appointed in his place ; and not
long after he married the late Governor's widow.
He came to England about the year 1825, when
I saw him in good health. He told me much
about the country, and said that the climate had
had no ill effect upon his health, and that he
was about to take his brother back with him.
I never saw him after, but I read in a newspaper
something about him, and of the work he was
doing out there.
To return from this digression — my childish
attempts at drawing went on In the same way for
many months, the Great Church always remaining
my model. After that I used to take my slate
out into the fields, and try to sketch anything
that took my fancy, such as cottages, bridges,
trees, and so forth ; and in this way I learnt to
love the works of nature, while gaining a certain
amount of facility in reproducing, or, rather, copy
ing what I saw.

WILLIAM BURGESS LEARNS DRAWING. 9
One of my school-fellows — William Burgess
by name — who had been taught drawing by a
drawing-master In the town, lent me a book, of
which I devoured the contents, for It consisted of
a series of short biographical sketches of many
of the great painters. I thought what wonderful
men these must be, and longed with an intense
longing to see their works, and not only this, but
to be allowed to try and follow in their footsteps !
But when I ventured to put my thoughts into
words, I was met by rebukes and ridicule.
How well I recollect my feelings when I first
heard of the good fortune of my school-fellow !
I met him one day with a small portfolio under
his arm, when he told me that his uncle had sent
him to a drawing-master, who was to give him
two lessons a week, for which the said uncle
promised to pay. I was on my way to the
Whitehall meadows, with my slate, and as I
walked along, I thought how lucky my friend
was. I can hardly say I envied him, as I was
fond of him, and was glad that he should have
this chance of learning ; but I did wish that I
had an uncle to do the same for me !
It had been a dull day, but late In the afternoon
there came a break In the clouds just above the
horizon, an effect one not Infrequently sees, when

10 GLORIOUS EVENING EFFECT.
the sun bursts forth and claims his prerogative to
make all nature bright and joyous for a short
time before he sets. The peculiar effect of that
day remained indelibly impressed upon my mind,
and gave me the subject of a picture I painted
in after years, which I called ' Clearing off at
Sunset.' It was exhibited at the Royal Academy
in the year 1849.
I little thought on the day that I am describing
that I should ever see my works on the Academy
walls — Indeed, I knew nothing about the Royal
Academy then : I don't believe I had even
heard that there was such a place. Upon that
occasion I tried, as I wandered on, to draw
some of the objects around me ; but it was
very hopeless work trying to get any effect on a
slate, and I felt, as, unfortunately, I often did,
very sad and dejected at being unable to paint
what I saw, and at having no one to teach me
¦ — no one even to advise me. All nature was
looking glorious that evening, bathed, as I have
often seen It when the sun was getting low in the
heavens, in a warm-coloured tone ; and the very
beauty of it all made me feel even more depressed.
The gnarled willows, with their long finger-like
leaves, awakened by a gentle breeze, were dancing
and glittering In the evening light, and their

I ALONE WAS SAD.

giant trunks were reflected in the tranquil stream,
while every blade of grass throughout the quiet
meadows, turning Its polished surface to the sun,
was glittering with spangled light — all nature
seemed to laugh, while I alone was sad ! The
sheep were browsing or basking In the sunny
glow in quiet contentment, their woolly fleeces lit
up by the same warm light ; and the horned kine
were some of them knee-deep in the sedges,
sipping the golden stream ; others, brindle, brown,
and black, were on the bank, lowing to be relieved
of their daily treasure — these all seemed also
happy !
So deeply Impressed was I by all that I saw,
that I lingered till the sun had set. Then, as I
returned home, I thought of all this glorious
beauty, and I believe I shed tears in my lonely
sorrow. The sensation of depression which I felt that
day I have often since been conscious of when
viewing some more than usually beautiful scene
of nature, and I have heard others say the same.
A flat expanse of country will sometimes pro
duce it, when combined with some glorious effect
of colour, and I think It must arise from an
inward sense of the grandeur and magnitude of
the works of the Creator striking some respon-

12 THE VOICE.

sive chord in our nature, and drawing forth an
unconscious comparison with our own nothing
ness. I could not analyze my feelings then. I only
knew that I felt intensely sad as I gazed upon
the scene of beauty which I have endeavoured
to describe — and which I recollect as perfectly as
If I had seen It only yesterday — a burning desire
and determination (which gained force with every
moment) coming over me to emancipate myself
some day from the prosaic existence in which my
lot had been cast.
I was revolving these thoughts of future possi
bilities In my mind as I walked along towards
home, when suddenly I heard, or thought I heard,
a voice calling, ' On, on ; come on.' I looked back,
but could see no one. It was still light, but the
clouds had changed to a purple tone, their outline
being fringed with gold. Their form, too, was
continually changing, and as I watched them, one
of them took the form of '& cornucopia, such as I
had seen in a print from which William Burgess
was going to draw ; and I could almost fancy I
saw showers of gold falling from it towards the
earth. I heard no more of the voice, and I have
now no doubt that there was no more reality in it
than there was in the dagger ghost that visited

'SO YOU'VE COME HOME AT LAST.' 13
the imagination of the regicide Thane of Cawdor.
My mind was so full of all I had seen, and my
nerves so strung up with the sadness of my
thoughts, that my Imagination may well have
run away with my more sober senses !
As I passed Bingley, the moon rose in all her
splendour from the fleecy clouds of the east, and
from above the spiral tower of Christ Church
Cathedral she shed her chaste light over the
earth, her face being reflected in the rippling
stream like liquid silver.
When I reached home, no questions were
asked as to what I had done, or where I had
been — no interest was shown In my feelings, or
even In my movements. The only greeting I
got, was :
' So you've come home at last ?'
' Yes.'
' Well, here's your supper ' (a crust of bread
and butter), ' and then you had better go to
bed.' If I had not come home I do not believe I
should have been missed by anyone but that
mother who could not fathom the wayward pur
poses of her boy. His sympathizing friends
were few — oh ! very few indeed ; but his hope
was unconquerable, though he did not then know

14 J. PRESCOTT KNIGHT, R.A.
the effect that the beautiful exhibitions of nature
which he saw daily would have upon his career
along the hidden course of time.
I went to bed as I was bidden, but I could
not sleep, for my thoughts would keep reverting
to Bill Burgess and his good fortune in getting
instruction, and of his having a father, as well as
an uncle, to take an interest In his progress.
I recollect talking with an old friend, John
Prescott Knight, R.A., once in later years about
the beginning of his artistic career, which ended
In so great a success. He began life, while still
quite a lad, as a clerk in a merchant's office,
but upon the failure of the firm within a very
short time, he took up drawing (having always
had a taste for it) with the intention of making it
his profession, which he eventually carried out.
He was the son of ' Little Knight,' the comedian.
There were two Knights known in the theatrical
world. The other one was a tall man, famous
for his character of Dandy Dinmont In ' Guy
Mannerlng.' My friend Knight told me that his father was
most scrupulous In his conduct as an actor 
precise in his attendance at rehearsals, careful
and conscientious In the study of his parts, and
nice in the matter of dress. In his home every

AN ANGEL. 15

thing was clean and bright, but as his weekly
salary was not high, all his arrangements were
made with a strict attention to economy. He
would have his dinner with his family on Sundays
In winter by the light of the fire, and sit and
talk to them afterwards by the hour together.
There were, however, always a pair of brightly-
polished candlesticks, with candles in them, ready
to be lighted instantly, if anyone called.
Knight had a good voice, and used it with
much taste and expression. He sang with great
feeling many of the songs that came Into his
father's parts on the stage, and repeated many of
his father's quaint stories, both grave and comic.
One especially that he was often asked to relate
was that of ' Balby Hunt,' in the Yorkshire
dialect, and to sing the very favourite song of
'John Anderson, my Jo.' Knight had a fine
head, with an Intelligent countenance and dark,
almost black, eyes — restless, but expressive. He
was fervent in friendship, fervent in conversation,
and enthusiastic upon religion, being an ' Angel
in the sect of Irvingites.
He got into the Academy schools at the age
of twenty, was elected an Associate in the year
1836, and a full member in 1844. For some
time he assisted Howard in his duties as secretary

1 6 KNIGHT'S CAREER.
of the Royal Academy so efficiently, that at his
death Knight was appointed full secretary. At
first he painted subject pictures, ' The Wreckers '
being one of his finest works ; but later on he
devoted himself exclusively to portrait-painting,
for which branch of art he had shown talent and
facility from the commencement of his artistic
studies. These studies he began at the British Museum,
opposite which building his parents lived in his
early days. He told me how he went there daily
to draw, his father asking him every morning at
breakfast what he had done the day before, and
making some encouraging remark — ' Well done,
my boy ;' ' You'll do ;' and such-like. Alas ! I
had no father to encourage me In my young days,
or to greet me with that tap on the head that
goes to the heart like a silent blessing !
I felt this want of a father, or of someone to
give me encouragement, or, at any rate, help and
advice at this trying epoch In my career, very
keenly during that sad night, though I could not
have put my thoughts into words ; but through
all my troubled dreams, as I fell at last into a
fitful sleep, I seemed to hear that strange voice
urging me forward. ' On, on ; come on,' it said ;
and the words sank Into my heart then as an

I WOULD NOT BE APPRENTICED. 17
omen of future success, and have remained with
me as a watchword through a long life !
My mother could not understand my childish
aspirations. She said I was a foolish, idle boy,
and that I must begin to think about earning my
living in some sensible way. Her great desire
was that I should be apprenticed to some trade.
She assured me that I should come to poverty,
and even want, if I persisted in going on with
that ' stupid drawing,' and spent my time in
dreaming of impossibilities, instead of settling
down to some steady work, by which I should
make an honest livelihood ; adding, moreover,
that she could no longer afford to give me food
and clothing If I did not help her by earning
something on my own account.
I promised that I would try to get some work,
so as not to be a burden upon her ; but I stead
fastly resisted all her arguments In favour of an
apprenticeship in any line of business. I had an
instinctive and invincible aversion to the idea of
being irrevocably tied down to an uncongenial
occupation, and I held my ground in this matter ;
moreover, I would not give up my slate, though
the poor dear creature tried to persuade me to do
so with tears In her eyes.
And so this affair was settled. I was to seek
VOL. I. 2

THE UNKNOWN FUTURE.

for work of some sort that would bring me in
some small earnings, and in the intervals of work
I was to be allowed to amuse myself by drawing
on my slate, or in any other way, according to my
inclinations. My dreams of the unknown future continued
to hold a certain sway over me — no one could
prevent that — and I was always planning in my
innermost heart how some day I would emanci
pate myself from the Irksome line of life which It
seemed necessary that I should take up at that
time, and soar aloft into the blissful regions of the
art world. I was not yet ten years old, and I felt
that there was time before me !
My brother was articled to a surgeon of the
town, and one day, when I went to see him, he
told me that he had made a sort of acquaintance,
through his master, with Dr. Bailey, the surgeon
at the barracks, with whom he had talked about
me. He was a man of artistic tastes, and took
a very kind interest in me, and In what he heard
of my passion for drawing. He told my brother
to tell me that if I would go and see him at the
barracks, he would show me some of his paint
ings, and explain to me how to begin to learn the
art of drawing ; so I went to call upon him with
out delay.

DR. BAILEY. 19

The sentry who was on guard at the gate of
the barracks would not at first let me in, but I
mentioned Dr. Bailey's name, and told him my
business with him, so, after some demur, he
allowed me to pass. I then soon discovered the
doctor's whereabouts, and found him busy paint
ing. He had several small finished pictures,
one of which he was anxious that I should copy,
and he explained to me all about the colours —
what to use, how to mix them, etc. It was a
landscape in rainy weather, and I much fancied
the idea of copying it; so I carried his picture
home with me, after spending nearly an hour with
this kind and agreeable man.
In about a week's time I took him my copy to
see, and he was very much pleased with it. He
pointed out the errors and defects, telling me
how to avoid them in the future. Then he
insisted upon lending me another of his pictures
to copy, and shortly after this (my second) visit
to him, he called again to see my brother, and
told him that I ought to be encouraged, 'as he
could see that I had a good deal In me. But,' he
added, ' I cannot teach your brother, as every
thing I tell him, he says he knows.' My brother
repeated this to me, and it distressed me greatly,
for when I said ' I know,' I simply meant that I

HIS KINDLY ENCOURAGEMENT.

understood what he was saying to me, and I had
no idea that my manner or gaucherie had conveyed
to his mind this very wrong impression.
My brother explained this to Dr. Bailey, who
laughed at the mistake, and said : ' Send him to
me again.' I, of course, went pretty quickly, and
he was very kind about it, so this slight misunder
standing was cleared up. I mention it only to
show how necessary It is for everyone, young
men especially, to cultivate a good manner, for
through this stupid little mistake I might have
lost a kind and useful friend. As it was, he con
tinued his kindness to me, showing me all he
could, and helping me in every way, and I learned
much from him. I gained also a certain amount
of self-reliance through my intercourse with him,
for by his sympathy with me and the kindly
encouragement he gave me, I felt Intuitively that
he thought I should some day do something
in art.
My school-fellow, William Burgess, of whom I
have already made mention, was the nephew of a
coach-builder in the town, and he was to be ap
prenticed to him in the regular way. I talked to
him of my desire to obtain work of some sort in
order to be of help to my mother, and he said he
was sure his uncle would find employment for

THE COACH-BUILDER. 2P
me ; so I went with my friend to ask. This good
man (for such he truly was in every sense of the
word), whose name also was Burgess, said, in
answer to my appeal for work,
' What can you do ?'
' I can do nothing, sir,' was my reply ; ' but I
will try to learn, and will promise to do every
thing you tell me.'
Then he asked me if I thought I could paint,
and I said I was sure I could paint And so the
matter was settled. I was to go to him at once
and learn coach-painting. The idea of this line
of life gave me pleasure for the moment, for it
seemed to me to be a trade that came nearer to
my ultimate wishes than any other sort of work
would have done.
But before I describe that part of my career, I
must mention some of my early recollections of
public events, which were of a sufficiendy stirring
nature to make an impression on a child's mind.

[22 ]

CHAPTER II.
Early Recollections of PubUc Events— Jubilee of King George III.
— Festivities — Fireworks — House on Fire — 'The Sidney
Gallery': a School of Art— Great Comet of i8ri— General Fair
— Recruiting Parties — Roguery or Honesty .' — Guy Fawkes'
Day — Shot in the Face — Providential Escape from Death or
Blindness — Severe Winter of 1812-13 — Coach Accidents — The
French Campaign in Russia — Emperor Napoleon's Retreat
from Moscow — Sufferings of French Troops — The ' Battle of
Nations ' — Napoleon sent to Elba — Visit of AUied Sovereigns to
England — Procession through Canterbury — General Illumina
tions and Town Decorations — Wounded Soldiers — Escape of
Bonaparte from Elba — The cry, 'To arms !' — Recruiting all
alive again — Long Line of Troops from Canterbury — Napoleon
in the Field once more — Waterloo — Thus ended the ' War of
the Empires ' — Final Banishment of Napoleon — How grievous
was his Fate !
One of the first things that I remember was the
jubilee of King George IIL, in the year 1809,
and the public rejoicings and festivities conse
quent upon such an occasion. It is not given to
many men to have personal recollections of two
events of so great an importance as the jubilees
of two sovereigns, yet that of George III. resfl in
my memory almost as vividly as the jubilee of
our present gracious Queen, although the two

JUBILEE OF KING GEORGE III. 23
events occurred at an interval of nearly eighty
years I I can only express my thankfulness that
I have been permitted to retain my powers, both
mental and bodily, for so long a period in
vigour. But to return to that first jubilee : the bands
of music that perambulated our streets at that
period, and the pressing crowds following, with
lots of crackers and fireworks exploding amongst
the people, causing no end of fun and excitement,
were incidents calculated to take a hold upon a
child's memory. One rocket, I remember, fell
into a bedroom of the house next to ours, and set
fire to the bed and other portions of the furniture,
causing, as may be supposed, considerable alarm
and excitement, and the sight of the burning
things being thrown out of the window Into the
street is strongly impressed upon my mind.
I may mention here that this very house, and
the one adjoining it, my birthplace, formed the
nucleus of the Gallery of Art, which is now so
much valued by the citizens of Canterbury. It
was always my earnest wish to buy, as soon as
I could possibly afford to do so, not only the site
of my birthplace, but the actual walls of the house
which sheltered me for so many years of my life,
"and remained a home to which I could, and at

24 THE COMET.

frequent intervals did, return to find a warm and
loving welcome as long as my dear mother lived.
It was long, owing to the severe struggles of my
early manhood even to gain a living, ere I could
accomplish my desire, but I did eventually succeed,
and by degrees I purchased more of the surround
ing tenements, till at last I was enabled to present
to the city a gallery worthy of Its acceptance,
where a school of art is now carried on, under my
own personal supervision (with competent assist
ance), in which much good work is accomplished.
I expressed a wish that this school of art should
be called the ' Sidney Gallery,' which was accord
ingly done ; and I dedicated it to my mother's
memory, as may be seen on a tablet placed near
the entrance of the building.
The next circumstance of importance that I
recollect was the appearance of the great comet of
1 8 II, with Its long tail of blazing light. It was
at its zenith at the time of the Michaelmas fair,
which was then held in the Cathedral-yard ; and
well do I remember the concourse of people
gazing up night after night at the wonderful and
unwonted sight.
Under the windows of the nave, between the
buttresses, the vendors of whips displayed their
goods, and they, joining with the purchasers of

' WHO'LL SERVE THE KING?' 25

their wares in cracking, snapping and hooting,
raised a most discordant concert. This, and the
hubbub caused by the swinging-boats, the merry-
go-rounds, and other amusements, the shouting,
kissing and screaming of the crowds, all took
place under the lofty spires and pinnacles of
Christ Church Cathedral. O shade of Lanfranc !
could you have seen this noisy abomination, this
countless mass of humanity gathered from all
quarters of East Kent, buying and selling, crowd
ing and jostling amongst the infinite variety of
goods heaped up in rows of great length, or
streaming like ants to and fro, what would you
have thought ?
And then, in the midst of all this commotion,
comes the recruiting party — soldiers, dressed out
in gay colours, marching to the merry music of the
drums and fifes, and inducing the young country
men to accept the shilling. ' Who'll serve the
King ?' cries the sergeant aloud. Then roll goes
the drum, and sweetly plays the fife ; and the
youth accepts, in spite of the tears of the mother,
and the endearing whisper of sweetheart or sister,
amidst these frantic revels and bacchanalian orgies.
No doubt these recruiting parties now and
then get a rogue or two to enlist, and thereby
relieve society of an incumbrance, yet I think it is

26 ROGUERY OR HONESTY,?
an error to say that the army is entirely com
posed of the lowest class of the community ; for
many of our soldiers are men of considerable ac
quirements, who get raised to the rank of non
commissioned officers — indeed, a few attain even
to higher honour, and obtain commissions in
course of time.
One may ask, ' Does an ingenious rogue give
proof of talents which would ensure him success
in an honest line of life ?' or is it more correct to
hold that very little cleverness makes a man a
sort of king amongst a set of rogues ? N ow it is
an important thing that these questions should be
rightly answered, especially for the sake of young
men just beginning life. A youth may say, ' I
am wide awake, and pretty sharp ; shall I invest
my wits better In roguery, or in honesty ?' There
is, certainly, greater competition in an honest line
of life, and perhaps a young fellow may decide
that more Is to be gained by illegitimate business
than by honest dealing ; and, yielding to this
temptation, the sad result of embezzling and all
manner of thieving follows, as a matter of course.
Would that all young men would choose the less
gilded investment of their wits, and trust to their
standing the test of the more severe competition
in the battle of Hfe !

GUY FAWKES DAY. 27
One more circumstance of great Importance
occurred this year^ — of importance at least to
me, for it might have had a fatal result, or, at
any rate, have been the cause of my losing my
sight. My brother and I, like other boys, got a
mask for the 5th of November. My sisters
dressed him up as a Guy Fawkes, and he wore
the mask, while I led him through the town. In
a certain street we were met by two more im
portant guys. The leader of one of them cried
out: ' This is our beat, and if you don't get out of
this, I'll shoot you.' At the same moment he
raised a horse-pistol, and, without any further
warning, fired it at me. I fell, and was carried to
my uncle's shop, not far off. When I came to
myself, I found I was lying on a window-bench,
my face and head being covered with oily rags,
and I heard a voice say joyfully, ' He is alive ;
he opens his eyes 1' — and so I did, crying with
pain. Now they (the doctor and my belongings)
found my face peppered with wounds — dark and
bloody spots under the eyes and above them, in
deed all over my face — and they exclaimed with
one accord, 'What a wonder he Is not dead!'
No doubt it was a wonder, but I did not realize
the fact at that time, nor did any feelings of
thankfulness for God's providential care, by which

28 SEVERE WINTER.

unquestionably I was preserved, enter my head,
for I knew nothing of God's providence then. In
later years, however, I have learnt to know it, to
my joy and consolation, and can thank Him for
the past, bless Him for the present, and trust Him
for the future, for all blessings, prosperity, dis
tinction, and honours flow from Him. In three
weeks I was restored to health again, and after
I was brought home, a recruiting-sergeant, named
Shoveller, picked out of my face a great many
pieces of unexploded gunpowder, and gave them
to me in a piece of paper. This accident I can
never forget, for through the greater part of my
life I had four pieces still remaining in my face
— two under my right eye, one under my left, and
one on my cheek ; now, I think, they are, like
myself absorbed.
In the beginning of October, 1812, we had
indications of a severe winter, and so it proved
to be as time went on, the very cold weather
lasting for five months. Travelling was not
only undesirable and unpleasant, but also some
what dangerous. The only road from Dover to
London passed through Canterbury, and the
scenes of peril and difficulty encountered by the
mail and other coaches that I witnessed during
that season of intense cold, and through the

THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW. 29
long continuance of frost (which, combined with
incessant heavy snowstorms, rendered the roads
terribly slippery, and in places almost impass
able) were such as to take a firm hold on one's
memory. It was this winter, which began so much
earlier than usual, that proved so disastrous to
the French army then invading Russia. Every
one knows the dreadful history of that campaign,
which ended with the Emperor Napoleon's famous
retreat from Moscow, upon the burning of that
city by the Russians. The French army had
suffered greatly during the previous four months
from famine and disease, besides the casualties of
war, and was already much reduced In number.
Bonaparte, however, started from Moscow with
1 20,000 men, but during that frightful march he
lost many more, reaching Smolensk with 40,000,
and finally crossing the Beresina river with barely
25,000 men. When the news of this disastrous
retreat reached Erigland, as well as the accounts
of the terrible privations and sufferings of the
French troops, the hearts of all, both young and
old, were stirred to their lowest depths.
The great genius of the Emperor was, how
ever, again shown to the world, for he imme
diately set to work to raise a fresh army, and

30 RECEPTION OF THE ALLIED SOVEREIGNS.
was ready by the spring of 1813 once more to
take the field. At first he had many successes,
but at the battle of Leipzig, In October of that
year (called the Battle of Nations), which lasted
for three entire days, the victory of the allies was
complete, and Napoleon was hopelessly ruined.
The following spring he abdicated, and agreed
to retire to Elba, of which island he was given
the sovereignty, with the permission to retain the
title of Emperor ; and the long war was at last
considered at an end.
Then the proposed visit of the allied sovereigns
to England was announced, and great prepara
tions for their reception were shortly commenced.
Arrangements were made, amongst other things,
for a grand Illumination In London, and all along
their route from the coast ; and every house
holder in Canterbury was requested to light up
in honour of the Illustrious visitors ; for, as they
were to land at Dover, they must of necessity
pass through our city. As soon as it was
announced that they had arrived at Dover, the
whole of Canterbury turned out In welcome. The
town presented a gay and brilliant appearance,
with many coloured flags hanging across the main
street from the houses on either side, and other
decorations. Well do I remember the grand pro-

CANTERBURY ILLUMINATED. 31
cession as it passed before our house, for the
street in which we lived was the main road
through the town. The Emperor of Russia was
bald, but had a round, handsome face ; and Prince
Blucher had bits of black like sticking-plaster on
his face — little tufts of hair, I suppose, or perhaps
small wounds. The carriages could only move
along slowly, on account of the vast crowds of
people gathered in the thoroughfare ; so we had a
good view of the celebrities from our windows.
Bands of music were playing, the people shouting,
and the excitement lasted till the procession had
passed quite through the town and out on to the
London Road.
At night the whole place was a blaze of light.
My brother and I had made some sconces of
clay, which we arranged In rows on the sills of our
windows to hold lighted candles ; and as nearly
everyone else in Canterbury had done at least as
much in the way of illumination, the effect was
very brilliant. The wounded soldiers, who were
led up the street in great numbers, some on
wooden legs or crutches, some with only one arm,
or showing other evidence of the ' Bloody War,'
were objects of Interest and commiseration to all.
They were treated and cheered by the populace,
who smoked and drank with them ; and the city

32 TO ARMS!

was kept In a state of conviviality and uproar till
midnight. The peace, alas ! was but of short duration, for
the Emperor Napoleon soon made his escape
from Elba, and on February 26, 18 15, he landed
on the south coast of France, somewhere near
Cannes. He was received by what remained of
his old army with the greatest enthusiasm, and,
marching with them direct to Lyons, and thence
to" Paris, he gathered new forces on the way ; so
that by the time he reached the capital, he found
himself once again at the head of a magnificent
body of troops.
The news of the triumphal approach of
Bonaparte burst with the rapidity of lightning,
and as a disagreeable surprise, not only upon
Louis XVIII., who immediately fled to Ghent,
where he remained till after the battle of Water
loo, but also upon the assembled delegates who
were then in congress at Vienna. The cry, ' To
Arms !' was soon heard and responded to all over
Europe. Again old Canterbury was filling with
troops to the amount of 30,000 men. The re
cruiting parties were all alive — soldiers marching
about with colours gay. The old city rang again
with the sound of the drum, until the day for
marching came. What a sight of infantry,

LONG LINE OF TROOPS. 33

cavalry and artillery ! It was said that when the
head of the column had reached Deal, the last of
it was only just leaving Canterbury. There was
no school for us boys that day ; and as some of us
stood by the bank at the corner of St. Margaret's,
the Buffs marched past, and one of them, seeing
Joe Dixon (he was courting Joe's sister), called
out, ' Joe, tell your sister that when I come back
I shall call the first thing to see her. Don't
forget — don't forget, I say. Mister !' But, poor
fellow, he never came back, like thousands of
others. England was not alone in her efforts to send an
efficient army into the field, for the other countries
of Europe were equally on the alert, the allied
sovereigns openly declaring that they would
employ every means they could devise to accom
plish the complete overthrow of the resuscitated
power of Napoleon. The Emperor, on his side,
assumed a bold and resolute posture of defence —
armed at all points, and prepared at all hazards to
ward off the blows aimed at his supremacy, or to
become himself once more the assailant. The
great and Indefatigable exertions of this extra
ordinary man in his efforts to regain his lost
power, and to restore the Empire of France to
VOL. I. 3

34 GRIEVOUS FATE OF NAPOLEON.
its former grandeur and strength, were, however,
doomed to disappointment His comprehensive
mind did shine forth once more with the greatest
brilliancy and effect; but June i8 came, and
history gives the result.
Thus ended the ' War of the Empires,' at the
cost of hundreds of millions of wealth and blood !
Thousands among the bravest of our sons, of all
ranks, from the common soldier to the general
and field-marshal, gave their lives in the service
of their country ; and the lists of killed and
wounded showed the names of the Duke ot
Brunswick, General PIcton, Lord Uxbridge (who
lost a leg), General Ponsonby, and many another
man of note.
I often think how truly grievous was the fate
of Napoleon ! That so great a man should live
and die expatriated and a prisoner of Great
Britain, confined to the narrow limits of a rocky
isle in mid-ocean, and with no vent for the energy
of his versatile mind, must strike everyone with a
feeling of pity. Had this gifted man retained his
powerful Influence, there Is no calculating what
might have been the result over European politics.
The noble race of Poles and their kingdom might
never have been divided by the tyrants who sat

EUROPEAN POLITICS. 35
on the thrones of Russia, Prussia and Austria ;
and there can be no doubt that the great war, of
which Napoleon Bonaparte was the originator,
was the commencement of the breaking up of the
power of those autocrats.

[36]

CHAPTER III.
Working at Coach-painting — Drawing for Amusement — Gentle
man Sketching Cathedral — Conversation — Gift of Pencils and
Paper — Dr. Pierce — Cattermole — Story of Pencils told many
years after — Difficulty about Cutting them — The Archbishop —
Invited to draw Inside RaUings — Table and Bigaroon Cherries
— Alderman Cowton — Dr. Pierce very Bland— Drawings Sold
for JS. — ^5 from the Archbishop — Wished to give up Work at
Coachbuilder's — Mother's Persuasions — Agreed to go on with
it for her Sake — Sketching from Nature at every Opportunity
— Began a Better Class of Work — Panel-painting — Very
Assiduous — The Puppet-show— Drawing and Acting — Delight
at being out in the Fields — Mr. Doyle, the Scene-painter —
He gives me Instruction in Perspective at Theatre — Work at
the Coach -builder's Slack — Discharged — Assist in Scene-paint
ing — Death of poor Doyle — I am appointed regular Scene-
painter — Leave Home to join Theatrical Company at Favers
ham — Mother very Sad — Walk to Faversham — Begin Work
there.
The year 1815 may be considered the real com
mencement of my chequered life.
It was during the summer of this year that I
began work with Mr. Burgess, the coach-builder,
who had engaged me, as I have already stated,
through his nephew's recommendation, at 12s. a
week. I was to do the painting of the coaches,

PAINTING COACHES. 37
or, rather, I was to learn to do if ; and my first
initiation Into the art showed me that it was not a
very easy task. The great object to be aimed at
in the painting of coaches, or panels, is to cover as
large a space as possible with as small a quantity
of paint as can be used, but this requires a
practised hand. So, being quite a novice at the
trade, and still only a little boy (not yet twelve
years old), I was, in the first instance, set to do
the rough work, such as pressing, etc. ; but I
improved so rapidly, that my master shortly put
me on to a better class of work, that of body-
painting, but not the finishing. This gave me
a certain knowlege of colours, and how to grind and
mix them — a knowledge which afterwards proved
of great service to me. Mr. Burgess was a very
kind man, and willingly showed me how to work,
giving me great encouragement, not only In my
regular employment, but in the drawing and paint
ing that I used to do for my amusement, which he
soon found out, for, on summer evenings, I often
went out sketching after six o'clock, when the
shops were shut up, still always with nothing
better than my slate.
Mr. Burgess did not understand anything about
drawing or art of any sort, but from the time of
his first knowledge of me, he appeared to take

38 RELIGIOUS FEELINGS.
the greatest Interest in my progress in this line,
and he gave me many a half holiday in fine
weather In order that I might go out sketching.
This must have been out of pure kindness of
heart, with, perhaps, also a little admiration for the
perseverance of so young a child in the pursuit of
art under difficulties.
The great anxiety of my life was to improve
in drawing ; so, whenever my good master could
not employ me, instead of fishing, bird-nesting,
or wandering about aimlessly with my school or
shop mates, I used to go off Into the meadows or
over the hills, studying and thinking and re-think
ing of the beauties of nature displayed before
me. My poor brain, although at that time I did
not know that I had a brain, used to get terribly
excited, not only with the beauties themselves,
but with my incompetency to depict them. I
knew little or nothing about religion, but as I
gazed on the lovely scenes of nature, I felt in
stinctively that there was a power which I could
not fathom or understand, but which in after-years
I knew to be my Maker — that God who supplied
the place of the father I lamented (the natural
guide and director of the child) — and I then un
consciously felt, though but feebly, those emotions
of piety which have been gradually strengthened

'BELL harry: 39

and brought to maturity through years of anxiety
and trouble.
When I heard Mr. Burgess's son call him
' Father,' I used to cry ! It seemed to me one
of the highest privileges a boy could have to be
able to use that endearing word, and I had no
one so to name. Mr. Burgess was indeed a
foster-father to me, and supplied, as far as was
possible, the place of the one who should have
been, in the course of nature, my protector and
guide ; but that did not quite make up to me for
the loss of a real father. I, however, felt the
affection of a son for him, and often and often
have I wished that that good, kind man (who
little guessed how his kindness was helping me
on my way in art) could see me now, a Royal
Academician !
I was one afternoon in the Cathedral Yard,
sitting on the coping of the railing in front of
Dr. Pierce's house, and sketching the central tower,
called ' Bell Harry.' There was a gendeman
inside, whom I could see through the railings,
sitting with a table In front of him, upon which
was a dish of delicious-looking bigaroon cherries
— and he, too, was drawing a part of the cathedral.
For two or three days he was similarly occupied,
and I suppose he was attracted by seeing me

40 THE ARTIST COMES OVER.
always at the same spot, for at last he came over
to where I was, and asked me what I was doing.
' Drawing the Great Church,' I said ; to which
he answered with a laugh :
' What ! drawing the Great Church on a slate ?'
'Yes,' I said, ' my mother can't afford to give
mie anything better to draw upon ; and I think,
sir, that It Is a very good thing to draw upon.'
' Why so ?'
' Because it Is so easily rubbed out.'
' That is very true,' continued the gentleman ;
¦ but you have a sharp-looking eye in your head.
You seem to see detall^ — oh, yes ! oh, yes ! and
you have got form.'
' What is that ?' said I.
' Oh ! you will know by-and-by ; but you must
not draw on a slate.'
' How can I help it, sir ? I have got nothing
else to draw upon.'
To this he only said ' H'm,' and went back to
his own drawing, leaving me to finish mine on my
slate. After another two or three days he came over
to look at my drawing, when he said:
' Now, my boy, you must not draw any more on
a slate. Here is a bundle of pencils for you.'
' Eh, sir !' was all I could say.

STORY OF THE SLATE. 41
' Yes, here is a bundle of pencils for you, and
some paper, which I do not want, as I am going
back to London.'
' Eh, sir ! eh, sir !' I stammered out again in my
astonishment and intense delight. Then I thanked
him again and again, but added, ' I don't know
how to use them.'
' But you must try, and you will do well.'
Years after, in 1836, at a social meeting in
London, held at the Morland Hotel, in Greek
Street, Soho, I met Stanfield, Roberts, Catter
mole, one of the Landseers, Frank Stone, Patrick
Nugent of the Times, and some others, and a
proposition was made that each of us should tell
some anecdote of his early life. Of course two
or three of them, having been born in London,
had little to tell of their early histories of any
special or romantic interest — only, In fact, how
they became students at the Royal Academy,
arid members afterwards. It came to my turn,
and I related this Incident of the slate and
the bigaroon cherries, which I have just men
tioned. As I finished, Cattermole jumped up and
cried out :
' Why, Sidney, are you the slate ? Then
know that I am the pencils ! I really am the
very man who gave you the pencils in the court-

42 'I AM THE PENCILS.'
yard of Canterbury Cathedral, and are you verily
the man who was a boy then ?'
' Yes, indeed,' said I.
' God bless me !' said everybody in wonderment ;
and I have been told that, up to the time of his
death, it was the great delight of Cattermole
to tell other artists this anecdote, and how he was
trie first man who gave Cooper pencils to draw
with and paper to draw upon.
Some little time after this explanation with
Cattermole (it might have been about the year
1838), I met Jim Holland, the artist, one Sunday
as I was going to Marylebone Church, when he
called out to me :
' Holloa, Cooper ! Where are you off to ?'
' To church,' said I.
'We were talking about you last night,' he con
tinued ; ' a lot of us were dining with Cattermole,
and he was telling us the story of when he first
saw you as a boy at Canterbury, drawing the
Cathedral on your slate, and boasting of how he
was the first person to give you pencils, of which,
I can tell you, he Is not a little proud ! We were
all of us delighted, and said that the story really
ought to be printed.'
So I am printing It now ; for I think it worthy
of record as a tribute to the memory of a man

GEORGE CATTERMOLE. 43
who, while still young himself, showed such a kind
feeling to the little boy-artist.
George Cattermole, who is celebrated as one of
the most talented and original water-colour artists
that England has produced, was, at the time of
the episode In my life of which I have now been
telling, engaged upon a series of illustrations for a
work which was just then being brought out by
Britton and Co. (the well-known publishers of
that day), entitled ' The Cathedrals of England.'
Cattermole was a member of the Society of
Painters in Water Colours, and contributed regu
larly to their exhibitions for some years ; but In
his later life he took up oil-painting, which was
almost a pity after the great renown he had gained
as a water-colour artist.
To return to my early struggles in the pursuit
of art. A man named Simmonds, who kept a china-
shop in the Cathedral Yard, and who had a love
for art, was the first person who ever employed
me to make sketches for him. For these he used
to give me 2s. 6d. or 5s., and through his instru
mentality, many visitors coming to the city would
purchase my drawings of the Cathedral, by which
means I was enabled to remunerate my mother in
part for my board and lodging.
My first difficulty after receiving the gift of

44 TRYING TO GET A POINT.
pencils was to get them cut, for I did not possess
a knife, never having had money enough to buy
one. If I had possessed one I should not have
been able to use it with success, for It is one of
the most difficult things for a beginner in art-
drawing to cut a pencil well, and one of the most
important things to learn as soon as possible.
Having no knife, I tried every means I could
think of to get a point — pushing back the wood
from the lead, etc. — but nothing seemed to answer,
and I was In despair. I was trying one day, with
but poor success, to rub one to a point on the
stone-coping, when a gentleman happening to
pass by, I asked him if he would cut my pencils.
' Oh yes,' said he. ' What are you drawing ?'
I gave the usual answer, ' The Great Church,
sir.' He cut one pencil, I gave him another, and he
cut that, then another, and yet another, until he
had cut six. Then he said he could not stop any
longer. I found out from one of the vergers that
he was Mr. Hamilton, who taught French at the
King's School ; and every morning as he passed
to the school he cut my pencils. Then came
several days when he did not pass, and I learned
that he was 111, to my great grief — more, I fear,
for my own sake, than for his ; for I could not cut

'PLEASE, SIR, HAVE YOU A KNIFE?' 45
my pencils, and I could not get on with ' Bell
Harry ' on account of breaking so many points.
At last one day a very serious-looking man
sauntered by with his hands clasped behind his
back. I said to myself ' That's a priest.' In
those days the boys called all the parsons priests,
and I could see that he was a clergyman of some
sort. When he had got a few yards away, I
gained courage, and ran after him, calling out :
' Sir, sir !'
He turned round and said :
' What, my boy ?'
' Please, sir, have you a knife ?'
' Yes, my little man,' said he ; ' what do you
.want .-*'
I told him, and he cut all my pencils— twelve —
and then, coming up to the coping where I was
established, he looked at my drawing.
' Very -good, my boy,' he said, and passed on.
Immediately a door opened near me, and out
came a little man with powdered hair, and attired
in nankeen breeches and a blue velvet coat, with
metal buttons ; and, poking his little nose through
the railing, asked me what that gendeman had
said to me.
' Nothing,' I answered.
' Then what did you say to him T :

46 THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
' I asked him to cut my pencils.'
' And did he ?'
' Yes, he cut them all.'
' Do you know who that was ?'
'No.'
' That was the Archbishop of Canterbury.'
' Was It ?'
No awe did I feel at this announcement, for I
knew no more at that period of my existence
about Archbishops of Canterbury than about any
body else — I only knew that he cut my pencils.
Passing the shop of Alderman Cowton on the
Parade one day, I saw In the window some sport
ing prints, representing grouse-shooting, partridge-
shooting, etc. I much desired to copy the former,
but approached the window with the greatest
caution, as I had particular veneration for an
alderman, knowing that he might some day be
mayor — a more Imposing function, to my mind
then, than an archbishop. I was just finishing
my sketch, when out came the owner of the shop,
and said :
' Young Cooper, you must not do that ; It Is
illegal.' I didn't know, nor did I care — for I had got
what I wanted. Just as I was going away he
cried out :

ALDERMAN COWTON. 47
' What have you got there ?'
I said :
' Brookman and Langdon's pencils.'
' Why, where did you get them ? Twelve, I
declare ! A bundle ! a roll ! Do you know they
cost a shilling each ? And that paper ! It is hot-
pressed imperial !'
'What's that?' said I. 'I don't know what you
mean.' For I did not know what hot-pressed imperial
was more than any other paper. Then he said
that those things were too good for me, and that
he had others which would suit me just as well.
So he took me into his shop, and gave me double
the quantity of paper that I had, and forty-eight
pencils for my twelve. I was delighted with the
exchange, and at once carried home my treasures,
which I carefully hid from my mother.
The next time that I went to the Cathedral
Yard to draw, a most amazing thing happened.
I was asked inside the grating, and the table and
chair were placed for me, ajtd a dish of bigaroon
cherries ! My old schoolfellows (for I had left
school now) came up, and, grinning through the
bars, cried :
' Tom, give us some of them.'
But I only said, with great dignity :

48 DR. PIERCE VERY BLAND.
' Be off!'
Presently the little doctor, with his nankeens,
velvet coat and powdered hair, came across and
spoke most kindly, and blandly, and patronizingly ;
whereas before he had almost grudged me a place
on his coping. He said I might ring the bell and
ask for the table and chair whenever I pleased,
and that he would like to have the drawing when
it was finished. He asked me what I would take
for it, and I answered that I should be pleased
with anything he liked to give me. So he offered
me 5s., which I gladly accepted ; and Mr.
Simmons had another at the same price. And all
this was because I had asked the Archbishop to
cut my pencils.
Then I tried the half-imperial size, for I felt
that I was improving, and getting the look of the
building as well as the perspective intuitively ; for
I knew nothing of the laws of perspective then.
Whilst I was engaged upon this large drawing
in the courtyard of Dr. Pierce s house (which
was different then from what it Is now), two
priests came up and looked at it, one of them, I
at once saw, being the gentleman who had cut
my pencils. They both encouraged me by assur
ing me that I was doing right, and that I should
improve If I persevered. ' This one 1 shall buy,'

FIVE POUNDS FROM THE ARCHBISHOP. 49
said one of them, who I found out afterwards was
the Bishop of Norwich, several of our bishops
and other clergymen being assembled at Canter
bury at that time for a confirmation ; and then the
other (who was the archbishop) said he would like
to have a copy likewise. When finished, I was to
take them to Dr. Pierce (the little man with the
nankeen breeches), who would pay me, the price
having been fixed, as before, at 5 s. I took the
drawings In a few weeks, and imagine my surprise
and delight when, instead of the promised 5s.
from the Archbishop, I was given ;^5 !
I learned at a later period that the name of the
archbishop at that date was Manners-Sutton. He
was a son of Lord George Manners-Sutton, and
grandson of one of the Dukes of Rutland, and a
truly excellent man he was — not only In his pro
fessional and higher life, but in his social inter
course with the world — and in looking back over
the events of my life, I always feel that his kind
encouragement and generosity to me as a little
boy gave me faith in mankind, and really acted as
the first Inducement to me to persevere In taking
up an artistic career.
I took this ;^5 home to my mother, but she would
not believe I had come by it honestly. She cried,
and I cried ; and then I insisted upon her coming
VOL. I. 4

¦50 THE SCREEN FOR THE FIRE-PLACE.
with me at once to Dr. Pierce's, to find out for
herself that it was all right. Dr. Pierce was not
in, but Mr. Simmonds was, and he said :
' It is quite true, Mrs. Cooper. Your boy has
earned the money, and he has got it ; and I am
going to employ him again.'
So then my mother was satisfied.
This led to further commissions ; so the whole
of my time in the intervals of coach-painting was
fully occupied. My work at Mr. Burgess's con
tinued, but there were often several days together,
and sometimes even weeks, when there were no
coaches to be painted, and then I was very glad
to be enabled by means of my drawing to earn
something more to help my dear mother, who
still remained in the same straitened circum
stances. Mr. Simmonds kept his word, and did employ
me again. One of the first things that he asked
me to do was to get some flowers and make a
drawing from them to fit inside the bright stove
in his drawing-room when no fire was required.
I did not then know what a bright stove was,
but I soon made out what he wanted. He said
he would have a motto on it ; but this I could not
understand, so I asked my brother, who was
articled to a surgeon and learned Latin, to make

MORE COMMISSIONS: 51
that out for me, and he said it was Amicitice.
I accomplished this drawing to Mr. Simmonds's
satisfaction, and he brought me a good deal more
patronage. As soon as it became known through Dr.
Pierce and Mr. Simmonds that the archbishop
had encouraged me In my childish efforts to
reproduce some of the beauties of the colossal
edifice that so constantly served as my model, I
was commissioned by Mr. Metcalfe, one of the
minor canons, to make a drawing for him, for
which he promised me 5s. Mr. Abbott, the
proctor, also wished to have a sketch of the
tower, from the front of his drawing-room, where
Canon Robinson's house now stands, and many
of the other canons and gentlemen connected
with the Cathedral allowed me to sit in their
gardens to make sketches of the building from
different points, several of my drawings being
bought by them when finished.
Among my patrons was Mr. Starr, then the
auditor, who wished to have a view of the Cathe
dral taken from his house, and commissioned me
to do it. His two beautiful daughters kept me
supplied with bigaroon cherries during the whole
time that I was engaged upon that drawing,
which I finished in due course to his satisfaction,
4—2

52 TEMPTED TO THROW UP REGULAR WORK.
feeling considerable satisfaction and pride on my
own part when I received his commendations and
the remuneration that had been agreed upon for
my work.
Mr. Simmonds thought I had improved so
much in architectural drawing by all this practice,
that he then employed me to make a sketch of
the Cathedral gate from Bundock's Corner, oppo
site the Mercery Lane ; but at last came the
time when I had to return to work. By the
various commissions I had received I had
managed to pick up a good many shillings, and
I was sorely tempted, even at that early age, to
throw up my regular work at the coach-builder's,
and trust for my livelihood to the orders I got
for drawings.
But my mother was always urging me to keep
on steadily at my work with Mr. Burgess, assuring
me over and over again that I should never be
able to make a living out of such a precarious
occupation as that which I desired to embark
upon, and that I should certainly come to beggary
and want if I persisted in so foolish a plan ; while,
if I stuck to a respectable trade, I should become
a well-to-do man in time, and, she hoped, be
esteemed and respected.
I felt that It would be right to follow the advice

BUT DID NOT, FOR MY MOTHER'S SAKE. 53
of a mother who was so good to me ; and I made
up my mind to act upon that advice, and, how
ever much against the grain, to go. on with the
coach-painting whenever there was any to be
done. My master was also extremely kind to
me, as I have before observed, and added his per
suasions to my mother's ; so for his sake, as well
as for hers, I consented to continue in his employ,
though I had many opportunities, when work was
slack, of using my beloved pencil.
I got interested in the coach-painting, too, when
I began to learn the panel-painting, which requires
the greatest care and accuracy, and the utmost
neatness in the manipulation. It Is really beautiful
work, and so desirous was I to excel in it, that I
rendered the second finger of my right hand
crooked for life by my constant application. In
time I became an adept at this work, and was
always looking forward to learning ' heraldry,' by
which term we meant, in our trade, the art of
painting crests and coats of arms on coaches and
carriages, which, of course, required great neatness
of manipulation ; and although the coach-builders,
or rather their workmen, had only to copy the
designs given to them, some knowledge or under
standing of the devices and of the terms used In
heraldry naturally helped them to do the work

54 MR. BURGESS'S PICTURES.
with greater ease and intelligence. This know
ledge I desired to learn, being of an investigating
turn of mind.
Mr. Burgess wished me in the intervals of work
to copy the pictures In his parlour, thinking, in
the goodness of his heart, that It would be ex
cellent practice for me. They were the most
awful daubs imaginable — the mountains a bright
pink or flesh colour, the figures brown, and the
trees, more like cabbages than anything else,
seemed to stick to the mountains and rocks, which
did not look like stone, but more as if they had
been cut out of tin ; but I did not tell him so ;
and he was so truly and uninterruptedly kind to
me, that I only wished I could do even more to
please him. He paid me my wages all the time I
was engaged In copying his pictures, and was In
all ways a thoroughly generous man.
I recollect a rather amusing litde episode which
occurred in my life at about this time, during one
of my short holidays from the shop. I must have
been twelve or thirteen years old, when I made
the acquaintance of a man named Rellly, though
I cannot recollect how or where he first crossed
my path. All that I can call to mind about that
part of the story Is, that he was travelling about
from place to place with a puppet show, a thing

' SIDNEY SMITH'S FOLLY.' 55
quite obsolete now, but in my early days it was an
entertainment which, though of a very primitive
description, was much in favour amongst the
youngsters. The owner of this show asked me if
I would paint some little scenes for the back
ground, and go with him on his travels. To this
I gladly assented, and accompanied him to Dover,
helping him, not only with the scenery, but also
by painting the figures for his puppets on card
board, while he cut out and arranged the strings,
etc. For the scenes I made a sketch, among
other things, of Dover Castle.
Immediately under the Castle hill were in those
days the remains of a small castle, built by Sir
Sidney Smith for his own use some years before,
but the action of wind and water (from its ex
posure to spring-tides and storms) had quickly
broken It up. I went to see it and make a sketch
of it when I was at Dover with Reilly, but even
then there was litde or nothing left of it but the
foundations. Now, I believe, this little erection,
which rejoiced in the name of ' Sidney Smith's
Folly,' is quite gone.
This man Reilly also asked me to take a part
behind the scenes, and do my share of the talking.
' I want you to be a farmer,' he said.
To this I also consented. So then he taught

56 THE PUPPET SHOW.
me my part, which was as follows — for I recollect
the words to this day :
Reilly was to be a man on horseback, and was
to meet me (the farmer), greeting me with the
words :
' Good-morning, master ! Welcome, friend.
A fine day it Is !'
' Yes, it are,' answers the farmer.
' I want you to do a favour for me.'
' Indeed ! And what may that be ?'
' Could you tell a white lie for me ?'
' That depends ; what would you give me to tell
a white lie ? And what Is It ?'
' I'll give you a shilling for it.'
' A white lie for a shilling ! Vel, vat may
it be .?'
' If a gentleman comes along this road Inquiring
for me and this horse, you're to say I've gone
a-pepper-grlnding in the other world ; and I'll
meantime go Into yonder wood, and step out again
when he has passed on.'
Then exit the man on the horse, and Immedi
ately after another man comes on Inquiring for the
first. ' Have you seen a man come this way riding
on a bob-tail gray mare, with coal-black hair } I
hope I'm not far behind them.'

MY DEBUT IN ACTING. 57

' Yes, I have seen a man come this way riding,
and they almost frightened me Into fits. For the
man and the mare both flew into the air. I can
see the old mare's tail wagging in yonder cloud !
I can see them yet ! I can see them yet !'
' Surely the fellow is mad, or else has lost his
wits !'
Then I was to say, while gazing up (or rather
making the puppet gaze up) :
'Why, zounds, can't ye see?
Come, stand here by me ;
1 see him yet — I see him yet.
Good-morning ! master, welcome friend,
I wish them both safe to their journey's end ;
I see them yet — I see them yet.'
With that the second man was to pass on, sup
posed to be half-frightened at what he thought
was a madman, and the first to return, to pay the
farmer his promised shilling, and so exeunt. The
show was a complete success, and I was delighted
with my dSut in this line. After a few weeks
spent with the puppets I returned home.
But my greatest pleasure was when I could get
out into the fields. There I could have sat for
hours together, gazing on the grand and ever-
changing effects of nature — sometimes trying to
copy, or rather, to reproduce them with my pencil
and a few colours on a broken bit of a plate, and

58 THE MAN WITH. THE HOLLOW COUGH.
feeling more and more that to be able to do this
with anything, even In a remote degree, approach
ing success, must be the highest bliss attainable
by mortals. My aspirations were lofty, my senti
ments of hope intense ; but I little guessed how
the seed sown in those days was destined to bear
fruit in later years.
I could not reason. I only felt an inward con
sciousness of my desire to learn how to reproduce
what I saw In nature, and though I failed so
entirely to satisfy my yearnings by my feeble
sketches, I still felt there was a future in which I
might do something better if I could only get the
necessary instruction.
I was occupied one evening in sketching the
north-west view of the Cathedral from Kirby's
field, when the sound of a hollow cough behind
me announced the approach of someone. I was
so accustomed to people coming up and looking
at my drawings, that I now scarcely noticed them ;
but upon . this occasion I was attracted by the
peculiar hollowness and death-like sound of the
cough, and was glad when the man that it
belonged to came up and spoke tO- me. After
looking over my shoulder at my sketch for a
moment, he said :
' You've got a good eye, my boy, and you draw

LEARNING PERSPECTIVE AT THE THEATRE. 59
very well too ; but you would draw better if you
knew perspective.'
I told him I did not understand what that was,
when he most kindly stopped and explained some
thing about it to me ; but he added, that if I
would go up to his place, he would tell me all I
wished to know. I was overjoyed at this pros
pect, but when, on inquiring where his place was,
I found it was the theatre, or play-house, as we
called it, my hopes were dashed to the ground,
for, as I told him, my mother would not allow me
to go to a theatre. But he overcame my scruples,
by explaining to me that the plays took place at
night, and that in the daytime it could hardly be
called a play-house. So I consented to go, and
the next day at four o'clock I presented myself at
the theatre, and found my friend painting a scene,
which ^yas laid flat on the stage. The scene was
a street In Rome, and all the columns, porticos
and walls were In strict perspective. Then he
initiated me into the mysteries of the ground-line,
the horizontal-line, the point of sight, the vanish
ing-point, etc. ; and I soon caught the rudiments
of this most necessary and very Interesting study.
Before I left, he kindly said :
' Now that you have found your way here, you
must come again and see me lay the colours on.

6o MY MOTHER DID NOT LIKE IT.
the mixing of which I will explain to you ; and I
will show you the laws of light and shade, of
colour and effect, and so on.'
And he did. But my mother did not like it,
and said I ought to have been bound an appren
tice, and that then I should not have been drawn
to those unholy places. I said :
' Mother, they are not unholy. The gentleman
is teaching me how to draw. You can't afford it,
and I can't afford it, and it is certainly very kind
of him.'
My mother answered :
' I have no doubt he means to be very kind,
but could he not teach you something else ?'
' No, I suppose not ; and I do not want to learn
anything else.'
' Then I would not give a button for all his
teaching, much less my thanks,' she added.
' I would,' said I, and I went again to the
theatre. I wished to please my dear mother, but I could
not give up so grand an opportunity of study.
The row of shops, of which Mr. Burgess's was
one, joined the theatre ; and as my poor friend
Mr. Doyle got very 111 soon after I made his
acquaintance, I was able to run in constantly to
help him, which it gave me great pleasure to do.

ACCIDENT ON THE STAGE. 6i
as I felt truly sorry for the sad condition he was
in. He suffered from a racking cough, and was
really in the last stage of consumption, though,
happily, I did not know it then.
My master's son was engaged to re-decorate
the theatre before the commencement of the
season, and he handed the work over to be done
by his cousin, William Burgess, with my assist
ance. During this job I met with an accident
that might have had the most serious results. I
was on a scaffolding painting the drapery of the
proscenium, when I trod upon a board which had
no support under it, and down I went. My heel,
fortunately for me, caught as I fell in a joint of the
cross-scaffolding, and there I hung, head down
wards, till ladders could be brought to enable
someone to release me.
The re-decoration of the theatre gave entire
satisfaction to the manager, and also to the public,
to judge by the round of applause that they gave
when the curtain was drawn up.
Soon after the theatrical season began, work
became very slack at Mr. Burgess's, and I,
amongst others, was discharged. I was very glad,
therefore, that I had made, under the scene-
painter's most kind and generous instructions, so
much progress in the art of scene-painting, that.

62 POOR DOYLE DIES.
upon his becoming so ill that he was obliged to
leave, I was engaged by Mr. Dowton, the
manager, to take his place ; and I at once had
some fresh scenes to paint, besides retouching the
old ones. It was a great compliment to me to
have this Important post given to me at so young
an age, and I was much gratified at receiving the
engagement, though I felt considerable diffidence
of my powers, and great anxiety lest I should fail
to please the manager.
Not long after this poor Doyle died, and I
grieved for him most sincerely. He was a most
kind friend to me, and I have often expressed to
my friend Burgess (who Is dead, too, now) how
grateful I always felt for the generous way in which
Doyle first suggested my going to him for instruc
tion. What would I have given if that dear,
kind-hearted man could have seen the after-career
of his pupil ! — for pupil I may call myself as he
was the only one who ever gave me real instruc
tion. He, too, always encouraged me to perse
vere in the study of art, while others only looked
upon me with distrust and contumely. I did
truly mourn his loss.
The season was drawing to a close, when one
day, whilst I was on the stage finishing some set
scenes for ' Rob Roy,' a gentleman came in with

I AM APPOINTED SCENE-PAINTER. 63
Mr. Dowton. They were talking together, and I
soon gathered that the stranger had engaged
three theatres for the following season — viz., those
of Faversham, Hastings and Folkestone. As
soon as the preliminaries were arranged, but
before all the particulars of the bargain were
settled, I heard him say :
' If the scenery Is in so bad a condition as you
inform me, I shall require a scene-painter.'
' Well,' answered Mr. Dowton, ' I shall not
require that lad ' (meaning me) ' when I leave ;
you can have him.'
The result was that I was engaged at twenty
shillings per week, as regular scene-painter, and
it was arranged that I should join the company at
Faversham. The morning arrived on which I was to leave
my home for the first time, and commence my
eventful life. I was all joy and full of hope ; yet
I felt a faint sinking of the heart, which I did my
best to conceal, out of consideration for my dear
mother, who was very anxious and sad at the
approaching separation. I tried to cheer her
with promises that I would write, and that I
would in everything act as she would wish, as I
suppose all boys do when they leave home ; but
with them every day brings something new which

64 ON MY OWN HOOK!
takes off the keen edge of the sorrow of parting,
and the sadness is rather for those who are left
behind. I had only a ' bundle ' to take with me, so I
walked to Faversham, and the remainder of my
possessions were sent by George Low, the carrier.
The manager and property man Informed me
what I was to begin upon ; and after getting the
necessary colours, and so forth, and settling
myself down among my new surroundings, I
commenced work, giving (greatly to my comfort)
satisfaction to my employers.
I was now, for the first time in my life, abso
lutely on ' my own hook,' and felt more thoroughly
in my element than when I was coach-painting,
though there was still much to be desired In the
matter of study. I felt considerable diffidence as
to my powers, as my actual knowledge of art was
then so limited ; but my perceptions were keen,
my eye accurate, and my perseverance great ; and
I trusted to these qualities to carry me through
the difficulties of my undertaking.

[65 J

CHAPTER IV.
Performance of Macbeth— T\\ei ' Bleeding Captain ' — Point Lace
— Nervousness — John Baldwin Buckstone — Friendship —
Settling-up Day — Tender Grasp — Explosion of Powder Mills —
Packing up for Hastings — Effects of Acting on Character —
Limited Education Source of Regret — Arrival of the Company
at Hastings — Sketching for Scenery of the Battle of Hastings
— Gentleman looking at Drawing — Tent of King Harold —
Edmund Kean — Miss Love — Kean consents to Play one night
— The Amateur Actor — Quarrel — Brush of Pink Paint in his
Mouth— Rehearsal of The Merchant of Venice with Kean —
' How dare you make this Disturbance?' — Mr. Elliston — Lun
cheon at the ' Hare and Hounds ' — Serious Uproar — ' The Liar '
— Great Success — The Grand Event — Edmund Kean's Acting
— His small Stature — Mrs. Siddons' Opinion of him — His sub
sequent Great Success — His Love of Smoking — His Death
bed — His son, Charles Kean — My Friendship with him —
Presentation to Charles Kean.
Soon after our arrival at Faversham it was
announced with a grand flourish of trumpets,
figuratively speaking, that the theatrical season
would be opened by a performance of Macbeth.
It gave me much concern to think what kind
of scenery I should paint for this great piece,
for I had never seen any mountain, nor. Indeed,
any sort of country but such as that part of
VOL. I. 5

66 MY FIRST BIG JOB.
Kent, in which I had passed the whole of my
existence up to that time, afforded. Certainly I
had ' touched up ' the rocks for Rob Roy at the
Canterbury Theatre, but that was a very different
thing to starting entirely new scenery, and I was
sorely puzzled how to set about my first big job,
which really would have been a difficult one for
an experienced scene-painter, taxing his powers
to the utmost. How much more so, then, for me,
an inexperienced and untaught lad !
However, the principal 'heavy man,' who was
to play Macbeth, was kindly disposed towards
me, and being an intelligent and observant man,
helped me much by describing what "was wanted,
and I got on pretty well on the whole.
For these sort of difficulties in my profession
of scene-painter, I was fully prepared ; but I was
indeed surprised and ' taken aback ' when I was
told that I must go on as the ' Bleeding Captain,'
and was given the part to read and learn by
heart ! I told them I had not the slightest Idea
of acting, having never tried anything of the
kind, and that I was sure I should not be able
to do It. But the manager would not listen to
me, and all the men said they would help me ; so
I had to give In. But they were puzzled about a
.dress.

'THE BLEEDING CAPTAIN: 67
Now I had a dress in my box. When I was
engaged to paint at the Canterbury Theatre,
Mrs. Owens, who played the old ladles' parts,
asked me to make her some Vandyke lace, giving
me some long strips of black cotton stuff, about
five inches wide, to make it of Upon these I
painted the lace pattern In white, after which the
stuff was cut in points, and, when sewn to the
dresses, had from the front exactly the appear
ance of point lace. When Joe Smollet, the
' heavy ' actor, saw this lace, he was so pleased
with it that he promised, if I would paint him
some like it, to give me the dress he had
worn when he played Norval. He kept his
promise, and this was the dress I produced upon
this occasion. It was much too large for me, but
they padded It to fit me.
At the rehearsal I got on a little better than I
expected ; but when I had to go on In the
evening I trembled so much from fright that
when Malcolm had said :
' Hail, brave friend ;
Say to the King the knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it,'
I could scarcely speak, but, after a moment or
two, I recovered my powers sufficiently to say,
very slowly and softly :
5—2

68 NEVER AGAIN CAST FOR A PART.
'Doubtful it stood.
As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art : the merciless Macdonwald
.... From the Western Isles
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied ;'
and so on. Then answering the King, who
said : ' Dismayed not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ?'
I had to say : 'Yes;
As sparrows, eagles, or the hare the lion,
.... But 1 am faint, my gashes cry for help.'
Then the King said :
' Go ! get him surgeons ;'
and they led me off, and most thankful I was to
find myself behind the scenes again ! They said
to me afterwards, ' You were so timid that you
looked the wounded captain thoroughly, but you
could not speak it.'
Well, they did not again cast me for any im
portant part — only just to take on letters, or any
trifling part where no speaking was required, and
I was very glad of it. I sometimes regret that I
had not the courage to perform the ' Bleeding
Captain ' better, as, for a short scene, It is very
highly esteemed. My painting, however, pro
gressed steadily, and that was a matter of greater
moment to me than any amount of success in the

JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE. 69
way of acting would have been, even at that time
of my life.
Nothing else of Importance occurred while we
remained In this town. It was here that I made
the acquaintance of John Baldwin Buckstone, who
was just beginning to make his name as an actor.
He was of the middle height, thin, and active,
and played all kinds of light characters ; rather
spruce and dandified In his attire, wearing a blue
frock-coat, with brass buttons and a velvet collar,
and nankeen trousers. H e was essentially amusing
in his manner, and could hardly open his lips with
out making all who heard him laugh. This In
Itself was enough to ensure his success from the
very beginning of his career.
Later on, he became one of our most popular
actors in low comedy, and, later still, manager of
the Haymarket Theatre. I was sincerely attached
to him, and when, after an interval of some years,
during which our paths In life led us In opposite
directions, we renewed our friendship in London,
it lasted in unbroken Intimacy till he died, a short
time since.
The end of the theatrical season at Faversham
came round, and with it came the usual difficulties
attendant upon the ' setdlng-up day ' of rents and
other liabilities, felt by most young men, especially

70 THE LONE WIDOW.
those dependent upon small and uncertain pay.
My friend Buckstone was always In trouble of this
sort ; and upon this particular occasion, a very
amusing episode occurred to him, of which he
told me afterwards. I will relate the story In
his own words, though I cannot reproduce his
inimitable manner In relating the simplest anec
dote, which was precisely the same off the stage
as on it, and which always made him so intensely
amusing :
' I was awfully hard up, my dear Cooper, when
we left Faversham,' so ran his story, ' and I
wanted my landlady to wait a little while for her
rent; but she represented how she was a lone
widow, and how dependent she was upon the little
pittance she earned by letting her rooms, etc., etc.,
and finally she began to cry. I thought of saying
something sweet to soothe her, and took hold of
her hand In a tender grasp, but, just at the
moment when I was bending forward for a closer
embrace, a powder-mill exploded near the place,
and startled us so, that I dropped her hand. So I
lost my kiss, and my money, too ; for then I could
only console her by paying my rent, which pleased
her better, but me infinitely less !'
After the close of our season at Faversham, all
were actively engaged in packing for Hastings,

INSIGHT INTO THE WAYS OF THE WORLD. 71
where it was announced that we should open the
first week in May.
The time that I had spent with the company
had been of great service to me in many ways.
Seeing every variety of character and tempera
ment to which human nature is prone, portrayed
nightly by really clever actors, gave me a clearer
insight into the ways of the world than I had ever
before had an opportunity of learning. As my
mind expanded, I gained more confidence in
myself and in my power to carry out all that I
undertook, while I became, at the same time,
more and more conscious of the very limited
education I had received — a source of continual
regret to me. The want of a father to advise,
direct, or encourage me, was ever present In my
mind, and I yearned, also, for a fuller knowledge
of higher things. I had some thoughts of a
Providence, but had received no teaching In the
truths of religion beyond that of an ordinary
Sunday-school. I scarcely knew how to pray, ex
cept in the words of the Lord's Prayer, which I
repeated by rote ; and as I saw no evidence of
religious feeling among the members of the com
pany, I felt no temptation to join their ranks, but
was more than ever determined to stick to the
vocation I had chosen, and to improve myself

72 HA STINGS.

by my own efforts as much as I possibly could in
it, and in every other way. I possessed but a
small portfolio filled with drawing-paper, and a
few cakes of water-colours, but I took advan
tage of every opportunity to sketch from nature
with this small paraphernalia.
When we arrived at Hastings, I found, to my
surprise, that the theatre was a mile out of the
town on a hill, amongst only a few houses (one of
which, however, was a very comfortable inn), and
so the season for theatricals could only be during
the summer months. Mr. Garde, the property
manager, and I soon got our ' drops and flats '
unpacked, and foraged out such bits of scenery
as the theatre already possessed. These were
strewed all over the stage and In the flies, and a
wretched set of things they were. Packed away
amongst them, we had the luck to find a quantity
of stone bottles and a small cask of brandy. Some
of the spirit was spilt on the stage, through a
bottle being accidentally broken, but the rest was
divided among the company, who carried it to the
town in small bottles on the sly. I gave some of
mine to the people with whom I lodged. We
afterwards discovered that a band of smugglers
had made the place a depot for their contraband
goods, for one of them, upon an occasion when

ONLY A FEW GOOD HOUSES. 73
some of us were busily occupied on the stage,
looked In at the stage-door, which was at the back
of the building ; and when he saw us and smelt
the spirits, he uttered a fearful oath and de
camped. We soon got the theatre into proper condition,
and got out the bills stating the day on which the
season would commence, and the names of the
pieces with which we should open. For the first
week we did well, but the business soon began to
flag, and a certain amount of apathy to creep over
the company generally. This was not surprising,
for it was a long way for people to go out for
amusement, and Hastings was not then the place
it has since become, as there were only a few good
houses In the town for visitors. The neighbour
hood, however, afforded me some good sketching,
and I am sure I received great benefit from the
continual practice.
The manager proposed to bring out the play of
the Battle of Hastings, and I was ordered to
make sketches of the cliffs and coast for the
scenery. This I at once commenced, using my
water-colours, and I shall never forget the diffi
culty I experienced in my endeavours to imitate
the colouring of the cliffs, for I had never sketched
—nor, indeed, had I ever seen anything of the

74 MAKE SKETCHES FOR SCENERY,
kind before. People were constantly passing and
re -passing — idle boys, and men and women of all
sorts, who stopped to look over my shoulder as I
worked, making all sorts of stupid remarks. At
first this annoyed me greatly, but I got used to it,
and, after a time, being intent upon my work, I
took little or no notice of the Interruption. One
day a gentleman stopped to look at my drawing,
and remarking that ' it was very like,' he asked
me if I did them for sale. I answered that the
one he saw was the first I had done, and that they
were for the scenery of the theatre.
' Scenery for the theatre ?' said he.
' Yes, sir ; I am sketching this for that pur
pose.' ' Are you then a scene-painter ?'
' Yes, sir. This is my first engagement. The
manager of our company Is getting up the piece
called The Battle of Hastings, and I am making
this sketch for the scenery In that play.'
' Oh, indeed !' he remarked, and then he walked
on. I thought he was an artist, as he looked so
closely at my drawing, and examined all the
details so carefully. He walked away slowly with
his hands behind his back, and seemed to be
thinking of something In a meditative kind of way.

A WONDERFUL PAIR OF EYES, 75
I remarked that he was not tall, nor of a very
striking appearance ; but he had a kind manner,
when he questioned me, and I fancied from what
he said that he thought I should get on in the
course of time.
I remarked, too, that he had the most wonderful
pair of eyes I had ever seen — they were most
piercing, most searching, and, at the same time,
most kind. We painters Intuitively seek for ex
pression, whether In animate or in inanimate
objects, and I already possessed some of a
painter's instincts, and was a great observer of
expression even thus early in life.
Well, I was soon fully engaged on my scenery
at the theatre, Mr. Garde making the ' flats and
set pieces.' Our printer lent me a book with
a tolerably full account of the real batde, as well
as a print representing the tent used by King
Harold, which helped me to give a better effect
of reality to the scenes than I should have been
able to accomplish by my unaided efforts, with the
small amount of knowledge of the subject that I
possessed. Suddenly it was announced that Mr. Edmund
Kean, the great actor, had been at Hastings for
some days, for repose and the benefit of his
health. The manager Immediately conceived the

76 EDMUND KEAN.

idea of entreating him to perform on one occasion
for the benefit of the company, and proposed that
he himself, accompanied by Mr. Raymond and
Miss Baker, the leading actors, should wait upon
him for this purpose, representing to him how
bad the business had been, and how great a diffi
culty Mr. Sage, the manager, had to pay the
weekly salaries. This was carried Into effect, and
the three emissaries were very kindly received by
Mr. and Mrs. Kean, but were told by them that,
as Mr. Kean had come to Hastings solely for the
benefit of his health, he could not then promise to
accede to their request. He, however, assured
them that he would give the matter his earnest
consideration ; and then he asked a good deal
about the capabilities of our company. The
manager told him that they were able, and that
all would be most willing to support him in either
of his characters that he might choose — and so
for the moment ended the interview.
Miss Love, one of the most popular actresses
and singers of the day, was engaged to play for
four nights in Tke Poor Sergeant. This drew
good houses, for her beautiful person and her
splendid acting of light comedy were shown off
to great advantage in this piece. Her firm, ex
quisite voice, too, In singing the songs, ' My

THE LETTER. 77

Friend and Pitcher,' and ' If I had a Beau, who
for a Soldier would go,' kept the house in a con
tinual round of applause. As the stage was small,
I was obliged to put my work on one side when
these representations were going on. This gave
me the opportunity of sitting in the pit to see and
hear this siren ; and never can I forget the
delight it afforded my young heart, for nothing I
had seen or heard up to that time in any degree
approached the charm of her acting. How I did
regret her departure !
The day after she left was to be the rehearsal
of The Battle of Hastings. I recommenced my
work at the back of the stage, and, as soon as the
company were all assembled, Mr. Sage came In
with a joyful face and an open letter in his hand.
' Ladies and gentlemen,' he cried, ' I have the
very great pleasure to inform you that I have re
ceived this letter from Mr. Kean,' and then he
commenced to read it aloud :
' " I will perform," ' so ran the words of this
great actor, '"for one night, for the benefit of the
company, on this day week, in The Merchant of
Venice'' ' And,' continued Mr. Sage, ' he wishes you all

78 THE REHEARSAL.
to take your allotted parts in hand at the earliest
opportunity, so that you may be ready for him to
walk through a rehearsal with you In three or four
days from this.'
A burst of applause followed this announce
ment, and everyone was In the greatest excite
ment I was instructed to get together the best
scenes I could out of the scanty lot at the theatre,
and to touch them up and arrange them to the
best of my ability. Large bills were sent out,
stating that Mr. Edmund Kean would play
Shylock on such and such a night. The prices
were raised : boxes were to be 7s., pit 3s.,
gallery is. ; no half-price.
At last the day of the rehearsal arrived. It
was called for ten o'clock, and I was at the theatre
early in order to clear away all my work, except
the scenery to be used on the eventful evening.
The rest of the company, too, were all ready to
receive the great tragedian. And true to the time
he came, and was Introduced to the whole company
by the manager.
At the moment of his arrival I was occupied at
the back of the stage, and did not turn to look at
him. I was busy painting the tent of Harold,
from the print that had been lent to me, in pink
and white stripes ; and an amateur actor, who had

THE BRUSH OF PINK PAINT. 79

recently joined the company, and was a pupil,
and some connection of the manager's, sauntered
up with the very insulting manner that was usual
to him (for he was a very high and mighty young
gentleman, and thought a great deal of himself),
and said it was not a bit like the tent I said,
' Don't Interfere with me, and I won't interfere
with you.' But just as Mr. Kean entered the
theatre, he came up again and called me an
ass. Now, as ill luck or good luck (I don't know
which to say) would have It, I had in m.y hand
what is called a pound brush full of the pink paint
with which I was laying on the pink stripes of the
tent, and I turned suddenly and rammed it Into
his mouth.
Upon this Mr. Kean said to him :
' Sir, I do not know who you are, but I heard
what you said to this lad, and It Is my opinion
that you are no gentleman, and that It served you
quite right to have your mouth stopped with the
pink paint.'
All the actors were in perfect consternation at
this quarrel, but the young amateur did not molest
me again.
Then Kean, after delivering his speech, turned
to look at me, and cried out in surprise :
' What ! my little painter !'

8o THE GENTLEMAN AND FOUR HORSES.
I was equally surprised to find that he was the
gentleman who had spoken to me so kindly when
I was sketching on the beach, and who had
examined my drawing so carefully.
The rehearsal commenced, and it appeared to
proceed to his satisfaction. During the trial
scene he spoke out some of the passages to the
company, wishing them to act their parts as if the
piece were In full play, when one of the employes
of the theatre came running In by the entrance to
the pit, falling over the benches, and making a
great commotion. Mr. Kean, annoyed at this in
terruption, called out :
' How dare you make this disturbance ?'
The fellow stammered out :
' Please, sir, a gentleman and four horses is
come for  '
But before the man could finish his sentence,
he (the gentleman, but without the horses) ran in
himself, bounding over the seats In the pit, and
making quite as much disturbance as the other
man had done. Finally he jumped on to the
stage with a large poster bill In his hand, crying
out :
' Now, Ned, I have found you !'
' Why, Elliston, what brings you here, and in
such a bustle and hurry ?'

ELLISTON AND DRURY LANE THEATRE. 8i
'You, Ned,' said Elliston. 'Look at this,'
he continued, unfolding the large poster, which
announced that Mr. Edmund Kean would almost
immediately commence a short season at Drury
Lane Theatre, opening with his renowned
character of Richard III.
' Nonsense ! It cannot be. I am not yet fit
for the work ; it must be delayed. You really
must delay it. You ought not to have announced
it till you had consulted me.'
' But, my dear Ned, I wish much to open with
you this season ; so, my dear fellow, make up
your mind, that I may return to London and
announce it immediately.'
' But I wish to stay here, more particularly as
Mrs. Kean and the boy are with me.'
' I know that ; and that dear lady will, I am
sure, back my entreaties, and rejoice to see you
again in active service. I have been told that
you are going to play your old part here to
night, for a laudable purpose, thus showing
your kind and Christian regard for all members
of the profession, and I applaud you for it.
Now, come, treat me with the same Christian
feeling !'
' Really, I hardly know what to say. Well,
I'll tell you what ! If I consent to your proposal,
VOL. I. 6

82 HIS APPEARANCE IN 'THE LIAR.'
you must stay and play here to-night. Then
we will talk over all arrangements to-morrow
morning.' ' I can't do that. I have only a carriage and
horses post, and no wardrobe.'
' Oh, as for that, some member of the com
pany can set you up with all you want.'
' Well, then, what shall I play — Jerry ?'
' No ; play your own character In your own
piece.' ' What, In The Liar?
' Yes.'
' Well, be It so.'
This was heard by all the company, and notice
was Immediately sent to our printer to get out
hand-bills with the announcement that Mr.
Elliston, lessee of Drury Lane Theatre, would
appear that night in his favourite piece of The
Liar. After this long Interruption the rehearsal of
The Merchant of Venice was continued. As
soon as It was over, Mr. Elliston ordered his
carriage and horses to be put up at the inn close
to the theatre, the Hare and Hounds, and
desired the landlord to provide lunch of whatever
he could put upon the table, Inviting the whole
of the company on the stage. In the course of

LUNCH AT THE HARE AND HOUNDS. 83,
an hour it was ready, and we all sat down and
enjoyed the repast. Spirits and wine were in
abundance. The two great men were free with
the bottle, and several of the others followed suit.
Elliston was lively with jokes, and did a good
deal of flirting with the actresses. Then he
danced, and, in his frolicsome hilarity, kicked
over the table, breaking the bottles and glasses.
All the wine was spilt, everything else spoiled ;
and no one seemed to care much about it but
myself, for I had only eaten, and had drunk
nothing, never having, up to that time, even
tasted wine, while the rest of the company
appeared to have taken quite enough. Thus
ended one of the most extraordinary scenes I
have ever witnessed. Buckstone and I have
often had a laugh about it when talking over
these times in later years.
When the evening came Elliston kept the
house in a ' roar ' from first to last. He was full
of fun, and although not sober, he acted up to
his reputation of being the best comedian of his
time. The whole affair, so new to me, was a
great success ; and we got our money, for the
house was full In every part.
In due time the night of the great event came
round. The house was simply crammed. I then

S4 PERFORMANCE OF 'THE MERCHANT OF VENICE:
saw the ' Great Kean ' In all his glory, and well
do I recollect my astonishment, and the impres
sion made upon me by my first sight of a really
great actor. To see and hear him depict the
varied passions of the heart of man — avarice,
scorn, hatred, duplicity, and revenge — with flash
ing eyes and scornful lips ! — to see displayed with
such vigour the gloating thirst for Antonio's
blood ; the Inslstance of the Jew for inflexible
justice, which at last recoils on his own head
— to see all this portrayed with such reality
on the boards of a theatre, so astonished me
that time has not obliterated the strong im
pression made upon me that night. Kean's
representation of this character, in one of Shake
speare's most perfect works, was truly inimit
able, and his acting of other characters, which
I had the pleasure of seeing In later years
on the London boards, equally Impressed
me, and stamped him in my mind as the
greatest actor I ever saw at any period of my
life. His very small stature might have been ex
pected to militate against his success In some at
any rate, of his characters ; but the moment he
opened his mouth his marvellous power of de
picting the passions and the Idiosyncrasies of

MRS. SIDDONS'S OPINION OF E. KEAN. 85,
mankind riveted the attention of all who heard
him, and made them forget this physical de
ficiency. At the commencement of his career
he was called, by some of his detractors, ' the
little gipsy man,' referring to his personal appear
ance ; and even Mrs. Siddons, who was usually
a keen judge of the histrionic powers of those
who came under her notice, was deceived in the
case of Edmund Kean, and is reported to have
said that ' there was too little of him ever to
make a good actor.' Little did she think how In
a few years he would be holding his audiences
breathless night after night by his great
talent, and making a name for himself that
would be handed down to posterity as belonging
to one of the greatest actors that the world has
produced !
Edmund Kean was a great smoker, and during
his last illness the relinquishment of this habit, by
his doctor's orders, was a great privation to him.
In the history of his life, an anecdote Is told by
Mr. Hawkins of his having got out of his bed,
during the momentary absence of his attendant
(when his death was thought to be a matter of
only a few hours), and having made his way with
great difficulty Into an adjoining room, had there
lighted a cigar. ' He was persuaded,' adds Mr.

86 FRIENDSHIP WITH CHARLES KEAN.
Hawkins, ' to return to his bed, and he never rose
from It afterwards.'
I kept up my friendship with him till his death,
in 1834, though our opportunities of meeting
were not very frequent. With his son Charles
I became very Intimate in later years. He was
¦quite a little boy when I first saw him, on the
night of our grand representation of The Mer
chant of Venice, at Hastings, sitting In the stage
box with his mother. A sweet little fellow he
looked, too, upon that occasion, with a large
leghorn hat on, which in those days was called a
' brimmer ' In slang terms.
When the late Duke of Newcastle and Mr.
Gladstone headed a subscription for the purchase
of a handsome piece of plate to be presented to
Charles Kean, in recognition of his genius as an
actor, they asked me to add my five guineas to
the list of contributions. I thought he would
prefer a more personal offering from so old a
friend, so I told him myself that I would paint
him a little group of sheep as my donation.
' Will, you, Sidney ?' said he.
' Yes,' I said ; ' and it shall be ready by the
day fixed for the presentation.'
And on that day I took the little picture to his
house, half an hour before the ceremony was to

THE BIT OF WOOL. 87
take place, and gave it to Charles Kean myself,
when he said :
' Sidney, however grand may be the offering
I am about to receive from others to-day, I shall
not value it more than that lovely bit of wool
which you have just handed to me.'

[88 ]

CHAPTER V.
Breaking up of the Theatrical Company — John Buckstone and his
Landlord — How they went to the Manager's House — Their
' Luffings ' and ' Tackings ' — ^The Sailor's Violent Demeanour
— Successful Termination of the Visit — ' That's the Way you
should serve them Chaps ' — The Company disperse in different
Directions — Buckstone goes to Folkestone, and I return to
Canterbury — Meeting with Buckstone again in later years —
His Amusing Greeting — Our Friendship lasts till his Death —
My Visits to him and his Wife — Mrs. Buckstone's Portrait —
Walk from Hastings to Tenterden — The Woolpack — Taken for
a Murderer — -From Tenterden to Canterbury — Tired out and
Worn — My Mother's Distress— 1 relate my Adventures — The
old Temptation resisted — Coach-painting again — Pictures of
the Old Masters — Burgess Junior's Cunning — Transparencies —
I get some more Jobs of Scene-painting — And so the Time
passes on.
The success of our company unfortunately lasted
but a short time, for, after the grand ' flare-up '
with the great tragedian, our old pieces fell very
flat. The manager was imprudent and extrava
gant, and soon got terribly Into debt ; the public
ceased, or almost ceased, to patronize us ; in fact,
everything went wrong, and the affairs of the
company going steadily from bad to worse, we
finally broke up, without completing the pro-

THE COMPANY GETS INTO DIFFICULTIES. 89
gramme which had been previously arranged.
For some time before this climax was reached, all
the employes had suffered considerably from the
manager's wz>management. Our salaries were
not paid regularly — very often not at all for weeks.
The consequence was, that we could not pay our
board and lodging bills regularly, and this led to
some very unpleasant circumstances, which, at the
time, caused us not a little discomfiture, though
some of the episodes which occurred at that time
are amusing enough to look back upon after
wards. With Buckstone this was especially the case.
He had a knack of turning everything into
comedy, and related to me in a most amusing way
one of his experiences with his landlord. Said
landlord was a seafaring man, and was often away
from his home for several days together, and
John Buckstone saw but litde of him. However,
upon one occasion, when he returned to his
lodgings, after a rehearsal, for his dinner, he found
his landlord at home, and engaged in consuming a
large quantity of boiled bacon and greasy greens;
and so intensely was he enjoying his repast that he
only vouchsafed a nod to my friend Buckstone as
he entered, his mouth being too full to utter a
word. He was a short, thick-set man, with agree-

90 BUCKSTONE IN DEBT FOR HIS RENT.
able features, black eyes, dark rough hair, and
his skin of a dark-brown hue, from exposure.
He had on a blue pilot-coat, with a dark-blue
handkerchief round his neck, which was singularly
becoming to him, and though a rough-looking
man, he was not at all repellant In his appear
ance. When he had finished eating, he took a deep
draught of beer, and then, looking up, he said :
' You're the lodger, I s'pose, young 'un, aren't
you ?'
Buckstone said, ' I am.'
' Vel,' said he, ' bring yoursel' to anchor, and
I'll talk to yen'
At this moment the landlady came in and said
that Mr. Buckstone's dinner was ready for him In
his room, and that he must go and eat it while it
was hot. Her husband rose up and said :
' Hold on a bit, I have somat to say to this
chap ;' but the landlady carried him off, and he got
through part of his dinner before the man came
in. When he did, he immediately began to bluster,
and said :
' My missus tells me that you owes for yer rent,
and that she can't get nothink out o' yer. Now,
look ye here. I ain't much at home, d'ye see, and

HIS IRATE LANDLORD, 91

I can't talk much, d'ye see, but I'll be d  d If I
don't make ye tip up at once. I'll serve you out ;
I'll do it now, anyhow ' — and he put himself in a
menacing attitude.
Buckstone explained to him that he would
willingly pay him if he had the money, but that the
manager did not pay him, and so he could not
help himself
' Oh ! that's it, is it ?' answered the landlord ;
' your captun doesn't pay, doesn't he ? Vel, I'll
see this play-acting chap. Here missus, give me
my pipe and hat, and this lad shall show me where
his captun hangs out. Now then, young 'un, we'll
go together. I'll overhaul this play-acting chap,
and if he doesn't shell out, I'll settle him. Now
then, heave away!' and, taking his companion by
the arm, he obliged him to go along with him,
though Buckstone remonstrated, and said he was
sure the manager would not see them, much less
pay them.
' I'll see to that,' said the landlord.
And, as Buckstone told me afterwards, he felt
quite under the influence of this man, and com
plied with all he said, and they set off at once.
' Keep your luff,' said the man, ' in this narrow
way, or we shall drift to the beach.'
So Buckstone followed him in his 'luffing,' and

92 NAUTICAL LINGO,
' tacking,' and other modes of progression along
the streets of Hastings, to use his nautical lingo,
which soon brought them to the dwellings on the
West Cliff, where Mr. Sage lived. Well, they
reached the manager's door, and knocked, and
the servant who opened It said that Mr. Sage was
engaged, and could see no one.
'Can't he,' said the sailor; 'vel, we've come a
long way for the very purpose, and we are not
agoing back till we does see him ;' and he pushed
past the servant, who cried out for help. Out
came the mistress, who told us to go away.
' Not a bit of it, missus,' answered this turbu
lent Individual. ' I've come to see this play
acting cove most partickler, and see him I
means to.'
Mrs. Sage, then catching sight of Buckstone,
asked what it all meant. He tried to explain,
and got her to ask Mr. Sage to see them. It
ended by their being shown into the manager's
room, where they found him lying on a sofa read
ing, or studying a part.
' Why, Buckstone,' he said, ' what means this
Intrusion ?'
' I was about to explain,' said Buckstone in
relating the story to me, ' when my companion
put his hand over my mouth and called out.

MR. SAGE, THE MANAGER. 93
" I'll explain to the captun the cause of this
cruise." '
And he did explain In his own fashion, saying :
' Ye see, sir, this chap has been living at our
house these three weeks and over, and has not
paid my missus a copper all that time for rent
and board ; so I examined him all about that,
and he said he could not pay as yer honour had
not paid him his wages, so we've come to you to
settle it up at once, d'ye see ?'
' Mr. Buckstone,' cried the manager, ' how dare
you intrude yourself into my private dwelling,
with this vulgar fellow, to insult me In this
manner ?'
Buckstone began saying that It was no fault of
his, when his companion cried out :
' That's enough, I'll give the reason. My
missus, sir, wants her rent, and I'm determined
she shall have It ; so if you don't tip up instantly,'
he added, 'I'll shake the money out of you; I'll
squeeze you to a jelly, I vill !' And Buckstone
was afraid this strong muscular man really would
do the manager some Injury, and tried to prevent
him ; but he shoved him off, and was on the
point of attacking the manager, when he, becom
ing frightened, called out, amidst a shower of
dreadful oaths, ' Stop !' and, going at once to a

94 'SETTLED AGREEABLE TO ALL HANDS.'
drawer, he took out ^3, and handed it to Buck
stone, saying that he declined to engage him any
longer. 'Now,' said this terrible man, 'as this matter
has been settled agreeable to all hands, we'll leave
this gentleman to his reading, and set sail for
home again, wishing ye good morning, sir, and a
pleasant day.'
' And,' added Buckstone, when telling me the
story, ' he prevented me from making any apology
or explanation ; and, taking me in his brawny
arms, pushed me before him out of the door,
which he slammed after us. " That's the way
you should treat them sort of chaps," he said,
chuckling to himself, "or ye would never get yer
rations, nor nothing." So we set off for home
again, and I assure you I was truly thankful that
this stormy Interview had ended with no serious
results.' Mr. Sage was, naturally, in a very angry frame
of mind after this affair, and declared that he
would have nothing more to do with my friend ;
but Buckstone was too useful to him In many
ways, and too clever an actor to be easily spared
or replaced ; and when the manager found he
could not get on without him, he made friends
with him again, the result being that Buckstone

.MEETING AT THE CAFE. 95
got more out of him than any of us. At the
breaking up of the company, I was owed for my
services ;^io, not a sixpence of which did I ever
get. After this abrupt close of the theatrical season
at Hastings, Buckstone, and Roberts, and another
member of the company walked all the way to
Folkestone, where the former arrived with two
shillings and sixpence In his pocket, and the
latter with but eighteenpence ! The rest of the
company dispersed In different directions, feeling
much aggrieved at the treatment they had re
ceived. As I was obliged to return to Canterbury, I lost
sight, for a long time, of all my play-acting friends,
except Mr. Raymond, the ' heavy man,' whom I
met, shortly after my return, in the company of
my old friend, Mr. Dowton, the manager of the
Canterbury Theatre.
Many years after, however (I think it must
have been about the year 1836), when I was
living in London, I was passing down the Hay^
market one evening, and stepped Into the Cafd
de I'Europe, where several gendemen were sitting
and smoking. The face of one' of them seemed
familiar to me, and, after a few moments' con
sideration, I went up to him and said :

96 BUCKSTONE'S GREETING.
' Is not your name Buckstone ?'
'Yes, It- is,' he answered; 'but what's that to
you ?'
' You were acting in a company at Hastings
some time ago ?' I then asked.
' Yes,' said he, ' a long time ago — why ?'
' Do you recollect Mr. Sage ?'
' Yes ; he's dead.'
' And Air. Garde ?'
' Yes ; he's dead, too.'
' And Mr. Roberts ?'
' Yes ; and he is also dead.'
' And Thomas Cooper, the scene-painter ?'
' Oh yes ! very well.'
' Then I am he !'
' Oh, indeed ! are you really ? Then why are
you not dead, too ?'
' Because,' said I, ' I mean to survive you, for I
have made it a rule always to follow my betters !'
This caused a laugh all round, and the other
men said they were pleased to make my acquaint
ance. Buckstone shook me by the hand, and
asked me to come and see him, which I was
delighted to do ; and thus our friendship was
revived, and remained unbroken till his death, for
I have survived him !
Many a hearty laugh have we had together over

THE QUARREL AT HASTINGS. 97
the many stories he had to tell of his various
experiences, and especially over the anecdote I
have just related ; but it loses half its fun without
his humorous manner of telling it, which, I hope,
my readers will be able to Imagine in some slight
degree for themselves.
Once he asked me if I recollected the row that
there was on the stage at Hastings upon one
occasion about the ' Governor ' and the amateur
actor before alluded to, who had joined the com
pany when we went to that place — the young man
who gave himself such great airs, and who made
himself so generally objectionable to the rest of the
company. The quarrel occurred at the rehearsal
of one of our pieces, when this young man com
plained to the manager about some money that he
said he had lost. Not long before, a lot of the
actors had gone up the Castle Hill to play a
rubber, there being a very convenient spot there
for the purpose. On the way back the young
amateur found that he had lost a sovereign, and
the whole of the company returned to look for it.
The sovereign was found in the long grass, and
restored to its owner ; but, to our great surprise,,
we also found ^5 more in gold, which must have;
been dropped by someone during the romping and
fun that constantly took place at the spot. After-
VOL. I. 7

BUCKSTONE AT HOME.

wards, our amateur friend claimed it as his, and
on the stage, at the rehearsal, he said before
everyone that Buckstone, who had charge of It,
would not return him his lawful property. Then
a general row ensued, and the manager, who took
his pupil's part, asked Buckstone what he had
done with the money ?
' I've spent it,' he replied, with an air of the
utmost innocence, but with an expression and
manner so irresistibly comic that everyone roared
with laughter, and the manager and his pupil lost
their case ! Of course we all knew perfectly well
that the money did not belong to the amateur,
and that It had already been restored to Its right
ful owner, but we were not going to spoil the fun
by disclosing what we knew at the moment.
Buckstone lived with his young wife In a com
fortable cottage at Sydenham, and I used often
to run down and see them. Once, turning to his
wife, he said :
' Bella, here you see two fellows who met, when
both quite young, at a rural (not a royal /) theatre,
where they were engaged at a pound a week,
which they did not get ; and now one Is the lessee
of the Haymarket Theatre, and the other a Royal
Academician. Little did we think, in those early
days, what would come to pass later !'

THE PORTRAIT. 99

Upon one occasion, when I was dining at his
house, my friend said to me :
' Now, as you have got no cows here to sketch,
make a drawing of my wife !'
I asked her if she would sit to me, and she said
she would be pleased to do so. Her baby was on
her lap, and Buckstone said :
' You will do the pup, too !'
' All right,' I answered. So they settled them
selves comfortably, and I took out my sketch
book, and began.
Silence reigned for half-an-hour or so, at the
end of which time I asked Mrs. Buckstone to
come and look at the drawing, and tell me if she
liked it. She at once came round, and, seeing
what I had done, gave a litde scream! This
roused her husband, who had been smoking and
ruminating, and he came and looked also. Then
they both burst out laughing, for, Instead of a
portrait of her and her baby, I had drawn a sheep
suckling Its lamb !
I gave them the drawing, with which they
were delighted, and thanked me again and again
for it.
It was always a pleasure to me to see my dear
friend so happily setded with his charming young
wife, and I constantly visited them at their pretty
7—2

loo WALK FROM HASTINGS TO TENTERDEN.
litde home till his death, which occurred in the
month of October, 1879.
There are many persons living who may
remember him on the stage, and I am sure they
will agree with me as to his having been a great
comedian with a large fund of humour. In private
life he was a genial and cheery companion, and I
truly mourned his loss.
But to return to the breaking up of the
theatrical company at Hastings. As I have
already said, they dispersed immediately, all going
their different ways, and I returned once more to
Canterbury. I paid my rent before leaving, which is some
thing to say for anyone belonging to an itinerant
theatrical company ; and setting out with a very
small amount of luggage, I walked from Hastings
to Tenterden the first day, through a country so
lovely, so varied, and so Incentive to the enjoy
ment of a landscape-painter, or of one who
desired to become such, that I felt no fatigue
at the time. I will add here that if any young
aspirant to the profession of landscape-painting
wishes to know of a perfect district for study, let
him investigate the region from Hastings to
Ashford, through Tenterden, where he will find
the most lovely valleys stretching through a

THE POLICEMAN.

highly-cultivated country, studded with picturesque
homesteads and other objects, providing innumer
able studies for pastoral pictures. I know no
place like It.
On arriving at Tenterden, I put up at the
Woolpack, and, after eating some supper, I went
to bed; but during the night an incident occurred
that nearly 'frightened me out of my wits.' I
was shown into a double-bedded room, the second
bed being then untenanted, and my twenty-five
miles' walk beginning to tell upon me, I was soon
sound asleep. I was aroused a few hours later by
a light being held over my face by a strange man.
I cried out :
' What's the matter ?'
' There's nothing the matter yet,' the man
answered ; ' you're not he.'
' Not who ?' said I.
' Why, you aren't the cove that I wants.' With
that he walked to the other end of the room, and
looked into the other bed, which was empty.
Then he said to me : ' Now, youngster, you may
go to sleep again — it's all right.'
I saw that he was a policeman, and was In a
great state of wonderment as to what It was' all
about, and felt somewhat nervous too, so I could
not go to sleep again for a long time. In the

102 NOT LIKE A MURDERER.

morning I heard that a most foul murder had
been committed within a few miles of the town
of Tenterden, and the police thought they had
tracked the murderer to the Inn where I was.
The landlord commiserated me on my broken rest,
and the landlady said she was sure I did not look
like a murderer !
Cheered by this as.surance, I started, after a
hearty breakfast, with a joyful heart for Canter
bury — a. walk of nearly thirty miles, which I
accomplished In the day, arriving at my old home
' a sadder, but a wiser man ;' for a man I felt my
self to be then, my boyhood' seeming to have
passed completely away from me during the past
few months of trial and responsibility, which could
not but leave their mark. This sense of respon
sibility, and the necessity for self-reliance, must
always have a tendency to age people at any time
of life, but have that effect more especially with the
very young. I, however, recovered my energy
and youthfulness after a while.
I was tired out and worn when I arrived, and
I shall never forget my mother's face when she
saw me. Her first words were :
' Oh, Tom ! how thin you look !'
' Well, mother dear,' I said, ' perhaps I am
thin ; but I am at home once more, and you must

HOME ONCE MORE. 103
rejoice over that as much as I do. I have had
some hard times since I have been away from
you, but I have learnt a great deal.'
It must not be forgotten that in the days of
which I am writing there was no penny post,
and though I had been no great distance, as to
the number of miles, away from my home, my
belongings had had no opportunity of hearing
anything of my doings ; and I had been as much
removed from them, for the time being, as if I
had been to the Antipodes !
I first, therefore, had to relate all my adventures
and experiences, and then to inquire in my turn
all the home news. I found that little or no-
change had taken place among my belongings,.
everything being much as I had left it, and my
poor mother being in no better circumstances.
She, too, looked worn, and I was grieved for her
sake that my theatrical trip had not been a greater
pecuniary success.
Accordingly, when she asked me what I then
proposed doing, I replied that I would certainly
not be a burden upon her, but that I would either
return to the old trade, or set up as a drawing-
master — a suggestion made to me by my friend
John Buckstone —making money also by selling my
drawings, of which I had a good stock on hand.

I04 COACH PAINTING AGAIN.
The old temptation to trust to my own ex
ertions in an artistic line, as a means of earning a
livelihood, came over me once again very strongly,
and had not my former master, Mr. Burgess,
hearing of my return home, offered me just at this
juncture renewed employment at his shop, I
believe I should have given in to the temptation.
As It was, I felt that it would not be right to
throw over so good a chance of getting into
regular work again, so I gratefully accepted his
offer of 1 6s. a week, and worked hard to learn the
best part of the trade, viz., panel-painting and
finishing. With the same kindness as before, my
master encouraged me to go on with my studies
in drawing, and upon every chance occasion I
continued sketching from nature.
The eldest son of this good man had more
cunning than talent in his nature, and engaged
me and my friend William Burgess, his cousin, to
copy some of his father's pictures, and then, after
giving them a coating of boiled oil, he used to
place them up the chimney of the wheelwright's
furnace to smoke them. When they were taken
down, they were slightly washed with soft soap
and water, and then varnished, with a little Van
dyke-brown in the varnish, and sold as produc
tions of the old masters. One part of his cunning

FRAUDULENT PRACTICES. 105
was that he had the canvases mounted upon old
stretchers. This utter want of principle on the part of
this young man might have been the ruin of his
cousin, William Burgess, and me (both of us
being much younger than he was), had we not
had rather a dislike to him personally, which pre
vented our making a hero of him and following
him blindly, as boys so often do with an older
companion. We also, I am thankful to say, had
some little right feeling ourselves, which on my
part had been Instilled into my mind by my good
mother, and this helped to keep us straight ; for
though young Burgess obliged us to aid him for
a time in his fraudulent practice, we did It under
protest, and felt no temptation to carry it on for
ourselves when we shook off his yoke.
When George III. died, in 1820, and
George IV. was proclaimed King, I was engaged
by my master's son to paint a series of trans
parencies, upholding Queen Caroline, and ridicul
ing the witnesses against her. The woman who
laid the dreadful charges against the Queen was
called by the people ' Madame Diable,' and we
represented her as the devil.
These transparencies were exhibited throughout
the whole of East Kent, the two Burgesses and I

io6 BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY ROUND CANTERBURY.
showing them at the different towns with some
success. I, who had never left Canterbury except
on my Hastings trip and when I went with the
puppet show, was till then completely ignorant of
the beauty of the country surrounding this old
city, and my great love of nature was still more
intensified by this second trip.
Later in the year, when Dowton's company
came to Canterbury for their season, I got some
jobs of scene-painting ; and so between these
various occupations the time passed on till I was
twenty years old.

[ lo- ]

CHAPTER VI.
Letter from Uncle Elvey — Delightful Proposal — Arrival in London
— First Sight of the Streets— The British Museum— Mr.
Smith, the Keeper — I keep my Plans Secret — I become a
Student at the Museum — My Great Happiness — I teU my
Uncle what I have done — Steady Improvement — George
Richmond — Catterson Smith — The Discobolus — Drawing
ready for Royal Academy Competition — Letter of Recom
mendation needed — Mr. Ward, R.A. —Mr. Howard, R.A. —
Mr. Abraham Cooper, R.A. — Success with the Latter — Draw
ing and Letter sent in to the Academy — Called at Somerset
House to hear Result — Nervousness — My Heart fails me —
Accepted — My Uncle talks about Gratitude— But litde to be
Thankful for ! — I present myself at Somerset House, and
become a Probationer at the Royal Academy — Mr. Fuseli,
the Keeper — Set to work steadily — The Angerstein Gallery —
Drawing sent in for Studentship.
Just when I attained that age, my uncle Elvey
(my mother's brother-in-law, he having married
her sister), who was a dissenting minister in
London, without children, wrote to me to make
a proposition for my advantage. He said that
if I would entirely give up all connection with
the players, he would give me a home in his
house, promising that I should pursue my art
studies in the schools of the Royal Academy, and

loB FIRST SIGHT OF LONDON.
giving me to understand that he had not only the
will but the power to ensure my admission to
them. This, as It turned out, proved a perfect
fallacy ; but no thought of such a possibility, or
of any other disappointment, entered my mind
then to damp the feeling of intense joy that took
possession of me at such a prospect.
As may be Imagined, therefore, I accepted this
proposal with the greatest eagerness, for to become
a student of the Royal Academy had always seemed
to me the very acme of delight, and a position
that I never dared to think of as a possibility that
might ever come to me. And now that It was
offered to me, it was not likely that I should allow
any obstacles to stand In my way. My mother,
understanding at last how earnest was my love
for art, and seeing that no amount of talking
would ever dissuade me from Its pursuit upon
every conceivable occasion, offered no opposition
to the plan ; and I at once wrote to my uncle to
express my sincere gratitude for his kindness, and
to tell him that he might expect me almost as
soon as my letter.
My preparations were quickly made, and I set
off for London by the stage-coach, arriving at my
destination the same evening. My first sight of
London surprised me greatly. I had not imagined

MY UNCLE AND AUNT. 109
anything so Immense as it was even in those
days, and when I was set down in Fetter Lane
I felt somewhat bewildered. But I gathered
together my senses, and not being at any time
or under any circumstances easily daunted, I soon
found a way to help myself Everyone seemed
too busy to attend to me, but I saw a woman
(one of the passengers) in difficulty with her
trunk, and offered to assist her in carrying it.
This I did as far as Gray's Inn Lane, and in
return she directed me to Clerkenwell Green,
where my uncle lived, through Liquorpond
Street (as it was then called) and Mutton HIU,
and once arrived there, I quickly found the
house. My uncle and aunt were both out when I
arrived, so I left my little bundle, which was all
the luggage I had with me, as I possessed only
a very limited wardrobe, and retraced my way to
Holborn in order to have another look at so
large a street. After a while I returned to
Clerkenwell Green, and found that my uncle and
aunt had come home and were ready for supper,
for which I, also, was equally ready.
They expressed their pleasure at seeing me,
and began to talk about my past and future life in
a way that buoyed up my hopes immensely ; but

no THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
alas ! I soon found out that my uncle had no
knowledge of the Royal Academy schools, or any
means of getting me admitted to them, which
greatly saddened my spirits, for I thought it
would end by my being obliged to return once
more to the old shop. In the meantime I wan
dered out to look at the London shops, which
were very attractive to me, and I made a plan
on paper of the streets as I passed through them,
so that I might know my way back again when
I wished to return. Passing along Holborn, and
round about that neighbourhood, I came upon
the British Museum, and, on entering it, I saw,
to my surprise, young fellows and girls making
drawings from the statues collected there. I
entered into conversation with one of them, and
learned that it was easy to obtain permission to
be a student there if I spoke to the keeper, Mr.
Smith. One of the watchers told me that he
was constantly to be seen in the gallery ; and I
had not long to wait, for In a few minutes he said,
' Here he comes,' and I saw approaching us a
gentleman, not tall, but rather stout, with a
round face, gray eyes, and a fresh complexion,
altogether a jolly-looking sort of person. He
was whistling a tune, and his polished shoes
creaked at every step. The watcher said to him :

MR. SMITH, THE KEEPER.

' This lad wishes to speak to you, sin'
' To me ? Oh, ha ! What is it, lad ?'
' Please, sir,' said I, ' I wish to be allowed to
make drawings from these figures, as those other
students are doing. Will you permit me ?'
' Have you got any drawing with you, that I
may see what you can do ?'
I said :
' No, I have only just come to London.'
Then he asked me many questions about
myself and my career ; and I told him who and
what I was, what I had done in the way of
drawing, and that I had hitherto had no chance
of getting any instruction. He appeared to con
sider the matter, and then told me that if I pro
cured a board, some paper and chalk, I might
come and try, and he would then see what I
could do. I was delighted at the prospect, but
wished to keep it secret till I was more certain
of success, so I did not tell my uncle on my
return home what I had seen or done. The next
day I went out as before, my uncle giving me
minute directions, with the names of several
streets, that I might not lose myself in the great
labyrinth of London, little guessing that I knew
quite well where I was going to this time ! So I
set off for the Museum, calling on my way at

112 BEGIN WORK.

Brown's, in High Holborn, where one of the
boys told me I could get all the materials I
required. When I arrived I carefully examined some of
the students' drawings, and I felt quite sure
that I should soon be able to do as well as
they were doing ; so I sat down with a certain
amount of confidence before one of the stone
heads — Ajax they told me it was — that I had
chosen. I found chalk much better suited for
that style of drawing than pencil ; and I quickly
got the outline sketched in. Then I began to
shade It, feeling some satisfaction in my work;
and, at about the usual time, Mr. Smith, the
keeper, entered the gallery. I watched him
coming along towards me, talking to one and
another with his bright genial manner, his cheer
ful face and merry eyes beaming with good
temper ; and, dressed, as he was, in a blue coat
with shining metal buttons, clean shirt-front and
frill, light striped neck-tie, drab waistcoat and
breeches, white stockings, and brilliantly polished
shoes, he looked like a gleam of sunshine from
head to foot, bringing rays of happiness to all
poor despondent mortals. He came up to me,
looked first at my drawing, then at the model,
then again at my drawing, scrutinizing it closely.

YOU'LL DO! 113

then holding it at a distance and comparing it
with the model, till my heart beat so violently
that I could scarcely contain myself I felt as I
had never felt before ; and when he gave me
back my drawing, saying, with a smile, ' You'll
do ; I shall enter your name as a student,' I could
almost have cried for joy ! Then he told me
about the hours of attendance, etc., and that I
was to write my name In a book, placed at the
entrance for that purpose, every time I came to
the Museum to draw.
It was all so kindly done and said that I was
full of gratitude and joy, and returned to my
uncle's house in a state of happiness such as I
had never before experienced. He asked, as
usual, where I had been and what I had done ;
and when I told him that I was admitted to be
a student at the British Museum, he was very
agreeably surprised, and inquired who got me
in. I said, ' Myself,' when he clapped his hands
and cried out, ' Bravo !' I then related all the
particulars, which he very much applauded, and
then entered upon a dissertation on morality in
general, ending his speech by giving me much
really useful advice about London life, etc., all of
which I treasured In my heart, feeling determined
always to act in such a manner that neither my
VOL, I. 8

114 THE 'discobolus:
uncle nor my dear mother should regret having
given their consent to my coming to London.
The next day I went in good time to the
Museum, and set to work in earnest, feeling at
last in my element. From this time I continued
my attendance with great regularity, and was
pleased to find that I gave satisfaction to Mr.
Smith, who said that I showed daily evidence of
Improvement. I soon made the acquaintance of
the other students, amongst whom were George
Richmond and Catterson Smith, and we three
became very friendly together. Smith was about
my own age, but Richmond was four or five years
younger. We determined to try for probationer-
ship at the Royal Academy, and I chose the
' Discobolus ' for my model, setting to work upon
it at once. I made the figure about ten inches
high (now the minimum size for the competition
drawings Is two feet) ; and I also did a head and
feet from other models. As our work proceeded,
all the other students considered that our draw
ings were the best, and so did Mr. Smith, who
said he felt sure that we should be successful in
gaining admission to the Academy schools.
When the time came for the competition, we
were told that we must apply to some Royal
Academician for a letter of recommendation, to be

RECOMMENDATION REQUIRED. iiJ
sent in with each drawing to the Council. Rich
mond and Smith were known to several of the
Academicians, and got their letters easily ; but I
was at my wits' end to know where to apply for
one. I had seen the name of Ward on a door-
plate in Newman Street, and was told that he
was a Royal Academician. So I went there first,
but he was out of town. Being directed to a
Mr. Howard, a little farther down the same
street, I proceeded there. His name was also
on a door-plate. I knocked, and the servant who
answered the door said that he would take my
message in. This he did, and, returning in a few
minutes, told me to wait ; so I sat on a form in
the hall, feeling very uncomfortable both In body
and mind.
In about half an hour a gentleman came out
from an inner room, but It was not Mr. Howard,
and he passed out. I still sat and waited, till I
was tired of waiting, but no Mr. Howard. I sat
on that stool of repentance for more than two
hours, when at last out he came. He asked my
business, which I told him, as I had already told
his servant, but he would not give me a letter tO'
the Council, as he said he did not know me ; and
he opened the door and showed me out, with no-
further ceremony. 8—2

ii6 MR. ABRAHAM COOPER, R.A.
' Well,' I thought, ' if Royal Academicians will
only give letters of recommendation or introduc
tion to those that they know personally, I have no
chance of getting in.'
The cold, unkind treatment I had received dis
heartened me greatly, and I felt very sad as I
turned away from Mr. Howard's door. As I
thought of him afterwards, however, as I walked
along, I reflected that other Academicians might
be different sort of men. I had not at all liked
his face, which had a sour expression. He was
altogether a disagreeable-looking man, with a
hard, forbidding manner, and a carroty wig. So,
with this feeling, I plucked up my spirits again,
which rose more and more the farther I got from
Mr. Howard's door ; and I soon got another
address. This time it was that of Mr. Abraham
Cooper, R.A., in Millman Street — a singular
coincidence, I thought, that It should be my own
name ; and I hoped that it was a good omen. I
went immediately to call upon him, and was
fortunate enough to find him at home. He saw
me at once, and proved to be a very kind, genial
man. He asked me several questions, and my
answers pleased him ; so he said he would give
me a good recommendation, which he did.
Before leaving his house, he showed me his paint-

HIS KINDNESS. 117

ings — horses in battle, etc. ; and his studio, which
opened on to a back-yard, where he had his models
— living models, I mean, that sat for him — animals
of all sorts, but more especially horses. He told
me to study Nature, and to carefully paint every
thing I saw at first, ' And then,' said he, ' you'll get
on.' On parting with me he wished me ' Good
luck,' with a kind shake of the hand.
How this cheered me ! I went home with a
light, joyful heart, and related all the particulars
of my interview with this kind-hearted man to my
uncle and aunt ; and the news of my success in
having at last obtained the necessary letter to the
Council gave them both very sincere pleasure, for
they seemed then to be really fond of me.
This Mr. Abraham Cooper remained a friend
to me throughout the rest of his life. He took an
interest in the artistic part of my life, which he
justly felt owed its start to him ; and whenever
we met in after-years (which we did at Intervals of
longer or shorter duration, according to circum
stances) he always greeted me with the words,
' Well, namesake, but no relation !'
Mr. Cooper was also in a great measure a self-
taught artist. He began his life as an employe,
but I do not know in what capacity, at Meux's
brewery, and his great love of horses, and admira-

ii8 DRAWING SENT IN.
tion for the beautiful specimens of equine nature
.that he had to do with at the brewery, first In
duced him to try his hand at sketching them. In
this he succeeded so well, that his drawings
attracted the notice of someone in the establish
ment who had a knowledge and appreciation of
artistic merit, and who was able to introduce him
to some patron or artist, who took him up. I do
not exactly know how he got his first start, but
from a small beginning he afterwards became a
renowned painter of animals, but always especi
ally of horses.
My drawing was sent in, with Mr. Cooper's
letter, in due course, and then followed an anxious
time of waiting for the result of the examination
by the Council at the Royal Academy.
At last I was told that I should know my fate
if I called there, so off I went to Somerset House;
but when I got there my heart failed me, and I
could not make up my mind to knock at the door
— I was so nervous and fearful. I stood under
the archway for a few minutes to recover my
courage, but feeling still confused, I crossed the
Strand to the other side, and stood looking at the
place, and thinking what I should say. At last I
shook off my fear, went boldly to the door, and
knocked, though still with a somewhat trembling

ACCEPTED. 119

hand. The door was opened by a servant in
livery, who asked my business. I said :
' Are my drawings accepted ?'
' What name ?'
I told him my name, and he then called out :
' Is Thomas Sidney Cooper's drawing ac
cepted ?'
A voice answered, ' Yes.'
My heart jumped almost into my mouth as I
said ' Thank you.' He then Informed me when I
was to commence drawing for the studentship ;
and I returned home, where I was greeted with
the usual question :
' How have you got on to-day. Tommy ?'
'Oh, very well! I'm a probationer of the
Royal Academy.'
' Oh, bless us !' exclaimed both uncle and aunt
at the same moment, with the most profound
astonishment depicted on their countenances.
And then, having told them all the particulars, I
was assured that I was a pushing boy ; and my
uncle gave me a little homily, and said he hoped
this was the commencement of a successful career
for me, adding that he trusted that I should always
feel grateful to him for having been the means of
my getting this start in the profession I had
chosen. I did truly at that time feel some grati-

ATTEND AT SOMERSET HOUSE.

tude towards him for having given me the oppor
tunity, by taking me into his home, of gaining
this start for myself ; but beyond that I felt, even
then, that he had done nothing to help me. In
deed, as will shortly be shown, he, soon after this
time, treated me in the most cruel and Incompre
hensible manner, and I really had but little to be
thankful to him for In the end.
V/hen the appointed day arrived on which I was
to begin work as a probationer at the Royal
Academy, I walked to Somerset House with a
joyous step. I did not knock at that door under
the portico with a trembling hand this time, but I
marched straight up with no hesitation and knocked,
' bang.' The door was opened Immediately, and the
servant simply said :
' What Is your name ?'
'Thomas Sidney Cooper,' I replied, when he
at once admitted me, saying :
' You will go up the round staircase, and you
will find the keeper, and he will tell you what
to do.
I went up the round staircase, but I did not find
the keeper, and no one told me what to do. But I
met Richmond and Catterson Smith, also at a loose
end, and as the keeper did not make his appear

MR. FUSELI, R.A., THE KEEPER.

ance, we three set to work on our own account.
We each chose different casts from which to make
our drawings, and I took the figure of ' Niobe.'
I had become so used to the style of drawing
required at the Academy by my steady practice
at the Bridsh Museum, that I did not find my
work so difficult as I expected, and made a good
start. Presently the keeper came in. This was
Mr. Fuseli, R.A., a small man, with a great
head covered with a mass of shaggy gray hair,
wearing spectacles, and wrapped in a thick
blanket. He spoke broken English (being a
Swiss by birth), which I noticed, as he came
shuffling towards me in his slippers, passing from
one to another of the students, with a few words
to each^polnting out errors, recommending altera
tions, and, in fact, generally criticizing. Fuseli
originally came over to England from Ziirlch In
1763, but left again almost immediately, by Sir
Joshua Reynolds' advice, to study in Rome, and
he finally setded in this country only in 1778.
He was, therefore, at this time a very old man,
and he had a peculiar manner, rather abrupt, but
very kindly. I was making a very careful outline,
and when he came up to where I was standing,
he began to scrutinize my drawing very minutely

122 THE 'ANGERSTEIN GALLERY.'
After a few moments of close inspection, he
said :
' Very veil, very veil ; you draw correctly.'
Then, tapping me on the head, he added, ' You
vill do sumting.'
This gave me good courage, and I went on
steadily with my work, attending at the Royal
Academy every day of the week, except Satur
days. It was the rule that none of the students
should draw there on Saturdays ; but as this en
forced Idleness did not suit me, I applied for, and
obtained, permission to copy from a beautiful little
collection of pictures at the ' Angerstein Gallery,'
in Pall Mall, about six doors from Carlton House.
Being admitted a student there, I went regularly
every Saturday and made water-colour drawings
from the paintings in Mr. Angerstein's collection,
oil-painting not being allowed in the Gallery.
This Mr. Angerstein was a Russian, who be
came an eminent merchant in London. He was
a liberal patron of the Fine Arts, and very shortly
after he settled in England he commenced to
gather together his collection of pictures (carefully
selected from the English and foreign schools of
painters), which was subsequently bought by the
British Government, and formed the nucleus of
the National Gallery.

BEAUTIFUL WORKS OF ART. 123
A water-colour drawing by Mr. Frederick
Mackenzie may now be seen, at the South Ken
sington Museum, of the interior of the Angerstein
Gallery, showing the thirty-eight pictures bought
by the British Government at the end of the year
1824. There, then, I spent my Saturdays, revelling in
the beautiful works of art that I found collected
round me, and feeling that, even to see and
examine such treasures, was an education In itself.
Till I came to London, I scarcely knew that such
things existed, for though I had read every book
I could get hold of about artists and their work,
it is impossible for the imagination to conceive, un
aided by ocular demonstration, what perfection
can be attained in an artistic representation of
nature. The keeper, Colonel (afterwards General)
Thwaites, was an extremely kind man, with con
siderable knowledge, and of a refined taste in
art; and he often encouraged me by observing
that I could Imitate very correcdy.
At length my drawings at the Royal Academy
were finished, and I delivered them to the keeper
in full confidence that the Council would admit me
as a student ; and that I did not deceive myself
was proved by the result.
After this followed a short period of enforced

124 SUSPENSE.
inactivity, as the decision of the Council of the
Royal Academy was not expected to be made
known for some two or three weeks — a terrible
time to be got through by the poor students, who,
however much they might hope that they had
been successful, could have no feeling of certainty
In the matter.

[ 125 ]

CHAPTER VII.
I again present myself at Somerset House — Palpitation of the
Heart — I am admitted as a Student of the Royal Academy —
Rush Home in the greatest State of Delight — Enthusiasm out
of Place — Mr. Fuseli's Lecture — His Studio and Work — Eccen
tricities — Anecdote about the Gingham Umbrella — Another
about ' Satan Calling upon his Legions ' — Sir Thomas Lawrence,
President, R.A. — His Character and Appearance — His Kindli
ness — Richmond and Catterson Smith also accepted as Students
— My Uncle suddenly throws me over — Obliged to return to
Canterbury — Heart-broken — Mother's Wishes — Coach-paint
ing once more — Could not stand it — Set up as Drawing-master
— Holiday Trip to Dover — WilUam Burgess and I think of
trying our Luck on the Continent — Crossing to Calais — First
Impression of Foreign Lands — Walk to Gravelines — The Night
there — Burgess desponding — I paint his Portrait — Paint several
other Portraits — Walk to Dunkirk — Bad Roads — We stay
there Five Days — Success in Portrait-painting — Then on to
Brussels, Walking and DiUgence — Six Days' Journey — Settle
there — We paint Signboards — I part with Burgess, who gets
Employment at a Coach-builder's — Trip to Switzerland given
up — Friendship with Burgess remains unbroken.
In due course, I again presented myself at
Somerset House to inquire my fate. My feelings
as I approached the door of that (to me) enchanted
palace are quite indescribable. The alternating
between hope and fear produced such a palpitation
of my heart, such a choking sensation in my

126 ADMITTED AS STUDENT.

throat, that when the door was opened in response
to my rather tremulous and feeble knock, I could
scarcely speak. I was, luckily, only asked my
name — not what I wanted — and I managed to
reply to that faintly. Then I heard a voice call
ing up the stairs, ' Is Thomas Sidney Cooper's
drawing accepted ?' and after a minute or two,
which seemed like so many hours, came the
answer :
' Thomas Sidney Cooper is admitted as a
student of the Royal Academy.'
I went outside, and I do not know how long I
cried ! I did not know what to do with myself.
I wanted to tell everybody all that was rushing
through my brain, and I could hardly maintain
a decent demeanour as I ran through the streets.
How I got home I do not know, but once there
my brain cooled down, for though my uncle
kissed me, and expressed pleasure and satisfac
tion at my success, and even (in words) some
sympathy with me, calling me 'a good boy,'
his manner was so quiet and unsympathetic that
I felt my enthusiasm was out of place, and
checked myself
By virtue of the decision of the Council of
the Royal Academy, those who were elected
students were admitted to the series of lectures

FUSELfS STUDIO, 127
then being given by Mr. Fuseli. The first one
that I had the privilege of attending, which, I
recollect, was upon Michael Angelo, was the last
that poor Fuseli ever gave, for he fell into bad
health almost Immediately after this time, and
died the following year, aged eighty-four, having
been attacked by his last illness whilst on a visit
to Lady Guilford at Putney Hill. He became
quickly too ill to be moved, and his death occurred
at her house in April, 1825.
He one day Invited the three new students
(George Richmond, Catterson Smith, and myself)
into his studio, where he showed us his large picture
of ' The Lazar House.' This work was finely con
ceived and the drawing excellent, as was the case
with all his works, but his colouring was not
generally considered good. The subjects that
he always chose for his pictures were rather
inclined to be extravagant, and he treated them
in an extravagant manner. In fact, they were a
reflex of his temperament, which was decidedly
violent. He often frightened the timid ones
among his pupils by his vehemence, for he could
swear upon occasions, though he was kind-hearted
too, and gave his meed of praise when deserved.
His criticisms upon the works of other artists
were severe, but just ; and though he was alto-

128 THE GINGHAM UMBRELLA.
gether an eccentric man, he was much liked by
many people. Certainly he could draw, and he
could teach ; and I fancy he was greatly missed
at the Academy when he was obliged to retire
from his post
Many stories are told of poor old Fuseli's
eccentricities. One of his peculiarities was that
he always carried a large gingham umbrella, of
a conspicuous colour (generally red) when he
went out, whether the weather was wet or fine.
Old Stodart, the sculptor, told me that he met
him one lovely day in Oxford Street, with his
usual burden, and said to him :
' Holloa, Fuseli, what do you want that old
umbrella of yours for this fine day ?'
' What do I want it for ?' said he. ' Oh ! f
am going to see Constable."
' What has that got to do with it .''' replied
Stodart. ' Why,' was Fuseli's rejoinder, ' whenever I go
to see him, he is always painting rain !'
With Sir Thomas Lawrence he was on very
friendly terms, and he always took great interest
in the progress and ultimate success of his younger
brother In art. Kind and helpful, however, as he
was to him generally, there were times when Sir
Thomas fell under the lash of his violent temper.

JESU CHRIST, HOW GRAND! 129
I have been told an amusing story of his anger
with his young friend upon the occasion of his
painting his great picture called ' Satan Calling
upon his Legions,' which was exhibited In 1790,
and now hangs on the wall of the staircase at the
Diploma Gallery in Burlington House, the cause
of his anger being that he said he had borrowed
the idea from him. Sir Thomas admitted that
he had indeed borrowed the Idea from him, ' But,'
he added, ' It was from your person, not your
works ;' and he then reminded him how, upon an
occasion when they were travelling together In
Pembrokeshire, and were standing on a high rock
that overlooks the Bay of Bristol, he (Fuseli)
had been In raptures at the magnificent sight, and
had cried out in his enthusiasm, ' Grand, grand !
Jesu Christ, how grand !'
' I was struck,' said Lawrence, ' with the attitude
Into which you threw yourself while saying those
words, and the story of the devil gazing down
into the abyss, from Milton's ' Paradise Lost,'
came into my head, and I took a sketch of you at
the moment. My Satan's posture now was yours
then ;' and opening his sketch-book he showed
him the study.
This appeased Fuseli's wrath, and he then, with
his generous kindliness, praised the execution of
VOL. I. 9

I30 SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE, P.R. A.
the work, which was certainly somewhat in his
own style.
After the lecture to which I have referred was
concluded. Sir Thomas Lawrence, who was then
the President of the Royal Academy, announced
that those probationers who had been admitted
to be students at the last meeting of the Council
would receive their tickets (which In those days
lasted for ten years) by a certain date, which he
named — in the month of October, I think it was
— and that these tickets would give free admis
sions, to those who held them, to all the lectures
given at the Royal Academy, to the various
schools of probation and progress at that institu
tion, such as the antique, the life school, etc., and
to all art exhibitions.
Sir Thomas Lawrence often visited the schools,
where he inspected the students' drawings, and
suggested and Instructed where he found It was
required, pointing out and praising all those
passages that he thought deserved it, and never
saying anything except what gave courage and
encouragement to his pupils. He showed very
great favour to Richmond, Catterson Smith, and
myself and invited us to his house In Russell
Square to see the drawings that he possessed of
Michael Angelo, and other great masters. When

HIS COLLECTION OF DRA WINGS. 131
we went there, according to his kind proposal,
he received us with the greatest kindness, and
showed us his beautiful collection of fine and
wonderful drawings of the human figure in all
positions, and In every variety of action. They
were hung in different parts of his drawing-room
on the first floor.
Sir Thomas Lawrence had a handsome face
— not long, but round — with a soft and most
benevolent expression, and a bald head. He
looked and dressed (what he was) a perfect
gentleman, and was much sought after and appre
ciated In society. There is a portrait of him,
by himself. In the Council-room of the Royal
Academy. Several of his works are in the
National Gallery, and a fine collection of his
portraits of public men forms the Waterloo
Gallery at Windsor, where may also be seen
many of the portraits that he painted of the royal
family of that period. He was fortunate In having
lived during the reign of that great patron of art„
George III.
Sir Thomas Lawrence's career had been so.
wonderfully successful one — the son of an Inn
keeper at Devizes, entirely self-taught, and with
no one to give him a helping hand, he had made
his way to public favour, and to the patronage of
9—2

132 HIS CAREER AND DEATH.
royalty. He was appointed painter to the King
(George III.) upon the death of Sir Joshua
Reynolds (who had previously held that appoint
ment), when only twenty-two years of age ; but
he had only been elected President of the Royal
Academy, having succeeded to that appointment
upon the death of Sir Benjamin West, a year or
two before the time of which I am writing. He
was, however, still a comparatively young man,
and he did not attain to any great age, for he
died in 1830, unfortunately, just before I returned
to live In England after my sojourn at Brussels,
so I never had the benefit or the pleasure of an
intimate acquaintance with him.
He was burled at St. Paul's Cathedral, near to
the tomb of Benjamin West, one of his great
friends. At the funeral of Mr. Dawes, another
Royal Academician, which Sir Thomas Lawrence
attended, it Is said that he was observed to be
looking round about as if choosing a position In
which he would himself wish to be burled. He
was In health then, but within three months his
body was laid under the very spot upon which his
eye had seemed to rest !
My friends, Catterson Smith and Richmond,
were sitting with me at Fuseli's lecture, and we
congratulated each other cordially on our success

A CRUEL BLOW! I33

in passing both our examinations, for proba-
tionership and studentship, on the first trial, a
matter of, at any rate, great uncertainty then as
now. But, to my intense grief this cup, full of
promise and hope, was dashed from my lips just
at the very moment when I was going to taste
the delights for which I had worked so hard.
Before even my ticket was given to me my uncle
informed me that he could no longer afford to
keep me, and that I must return to Canterbury.
What produced this sudden change In his Inten
tions towards me I never could fathom ; but the
fact remained — I was to leave him, to leave
London, and all my prospects ! Oh, how deeply
I felt the shock this terrible news gave me. All
my bright hopes wrecked ! all prospect of having
instruction In the schools from academicians ; all
chance of getting into the life classes and painting
schools taken from me at one fell swoop ! I had
no means with which to support myself In Lon
don ; my mother was poor, and I had no father
to help me, or even to advise me : so I was
obliged to submit to this unexpected rebuff. But
it was a cruel blow !
I had very little to pack up but my drawings ;
and very shortly I found myself on the stage-

ii34 LAST LOOK AT LONDON.
coach In Holborn, just starting for Canterbury.
How sad this was for me will easily be under
stood, for I had become a very different creature
during my stay In London to what I was before I
went there. The smoky, misty streets had a
singular charm for me ; the life of the great
city, with all Its advantages, was intensely attrac
tive to me ; so my disappointment at this sad
turn of affairs was almost too great. I shall
remember, to the end of my life, my last look at
London as we reached the top of Blackheath
Hill, while thoughts rushed through my brain of
my late companions drawing In the Academy,
with the Instruction and help of the great men,
and I losing all !
How I bore this great trial I scarcely know.
It seemed to be, and for the time being It really
was, the utter destruction of all my hopes and
aspirations ; and though I did eventually succeed,
as the world knows, In stemming the current of
adversity, it was many years before I could make
any way in the profession which I had chosen for
myself and which even during the period of
depression which followed my disappointment, I
still determined to embrace at some future day,
in the dim distance ; though how and when I
should contrive to emancipate myself from the

BROKEN-HEARTED. 135
thraldom of the life to which I seemed to be
doomed was then hidden from me.
And so I returned once again to my old home
at Canterbury.
The only consolation I had was the pleasure
it gave my dear mother to have me with her
once more. She tried to comfort me by the
assurance that It was all for the best, and reverted
to her old argument that to follow drawing and
painting as a "profession would always keep me
poor and needy, while In an honest trade I might
certainly do well and earn a respectable liveli
hood, rising In time to an assured and honourable
position in business.
I could not, however, accept this comfort. I
felt quite broken-hearted, the more so that I
shortly received a letter from my friend Catterson
Smith, In which he told me that out of all the
probationers who went up for examination, we
three (himself Richmond, and I) were the only
ones accepted to be students, all the rest being
put back for another term of probation. He sent
me, at the same time, my drawings from the
Academy, as well as the students' Ivory ticket
with my name engraved on It, which I was never
destined to use.
At first I went coach-painting again, and did

136 SET UP AS DRAWING MASTER.
some heraldry, as I was obliged to earn my living
in some way, and this seemed to be the only line
that was open to me. But this did not last long,
as I really could not stand it, or settle down again
to the humdrum, uncongenial life.
I made up my mind, after mature consideration,
and consultations with my friends, to set up as a
drawing-master ; and I had some cards printed,
not omitting to have ' Student of the Royal
Academy ' added to my name. I shortly got
together a class of young fellows In the town, and
I also obtained engagements to teach In private
families at Dover, Margate, Heme Bay, Favers
ham, and Bridge. I calculated that at this period
of my existence I walked fully one hundred miles
every week, except during holidays, and rode only
about fifty ; for the pay that I could obtain for my
lessons was so small, all kinds of teaching being
very ill-paid In those days, that I could not afford
to use the public conveyances to those places,
except upon very rare occasions. During my
walks I was always making studies from nature,
both In pencil and colour, for I was resolved to
become a landscape painter. I also made many
drawings of the old buildings in and about
Canterbury — some of them on stone, which were
published. In Canterbury itself I got little or no

HOLIDAY TRIP TO DOVER. 137
encouragement, for a French gentleman, named
Raza, had settled in the town, as a French and
drawing-master, a short time before I began to
teach, and thus took away the support that I
might have obtained in the place.
In 1827 my old friend, William Burgess, left
the coach-painting business, and work being slack
with me, as it was the time of the midsummer
vacation in the schools, we went together for a
trip to Dover. While there the idea struck me
to try my luck on the Continent, and I pro
pounded my notion to Bill. He at once said he
would go too, but he was timid about our not
being able to talk French, as well as about how
we should earn enough to keep us. I thought we
should sell our sketches, besides having the
benefit of making studies of landscape, figures,
buildings, etc., all of new subjects ; and, I added,
' I shall take my flute, and then. If I can't paint
my way, I shall blow it.' So our plans were
made, and on the fourth day of our holiday, which
was a Sunday, we got a passage on an express
boat, which was about to return to Calais, by
paying 2s. 6d. each. We had already provided
ourselves with a passport, having our names
entered on It as brothers, to save expense.
This was a somewhat doubtful experiment, our

138 SET SAIL FOR CALAIS.
appearance being far from brotherly, for my nose
was something of the ' Ajax ' description, while
Burgess's was decidedly 'pug'; but we were,
fortunately, never troubled with questions on this
score. At noon, therefore, on this Sunday in
August, we set sail.
We were both used to the sea, so we did not
mind a bit of a bucketing, and were able, more
over, to give a hand to the ropes. There was a
cloudless sky, but the wind was in the east, and
therefore dead against us ; so we had to ' luff' to
get an ' offing,' which took us towards the Downs,
and so near to the shore did we get, that we could
hear the band of the Ramilies guardship playing
the ' Old Hundredth ' and ' God save the King,'
after the morning service on board. We soon
got the wind a trifle more in our favour, and were
able to tack. The captain said : ' Nous allons
maintenant a Calais,' which we felt was true ; and
now all went well, and we sped along cheerfully
at a fair rate of speed.
The captain and his three men were all desirous
to try and talk In English, while we, on the other
hand, wished to practise our French. I gained a
little knowledge by the broken conversation, and
a good deal of amusement. After a time I struck
up Byron's song, to the delight of the crew ; but

THE DUTCH TINDER. 139
the sea was so rough that I could not get beyond
the first four lines, which ran thus :
'Adieu ! my native land, adieu !
The vessel spreads her swelling sails ;
Perhaps again I ne'er shall view
Thy fertile fields and flowery dales.'
I was told I had a good low tenor or high bari
tone voice, and good musical taste. I had some
little knowledge, too, for I had learned the flute,
and could play a little on the pianoforte. I could
manage, for instance, to get through the ' Battle
of Prague,' a favourite piece of music in those
days. The crew did not understand the words of
my song, but I translated them as well as I could
in my Imperfect French, with the aid of gesticula
tions ; and this pleased them. They then gave
us pipes and tobacco, and some Dutch tinder to
light them with. This was quite new to us : it
was a kind of stuff that did not blaze up, but
could be pinched out, and, when done with, the
men put It back in their pockets. Burgess did
the same, saying, ' It will do for another time.'
We had been on the water four hours, and
could now see the French coast and Calais ; but
our native shores were fast vanishing from view,
and we could only distinguish the cliffs of Dover
where lighted up with the afternoon sun. As I

I40 BURGESS JUMPS OVERBOARD.
made out Shakespeare Cliff through the mist that
enveloped it, I felt quite sad, and almost wished
I was under it again. Indeed, I ought to have
had more sad thoughts and feelings of compunc
tion, for I had left England without telling my
dear mother that we proposed making any more
extended trip than to Dover, where she thought
we still were. However, it was too late to think
of this now, and being naturally of a buoyant
temperament, I soon cheered up again with the
delightful prospect before me of seeing new places
and new people.
Suddenly Burgess called out, ' I'm burning !'
and sure enough, as we at once perceived, his
clothes were on fire. He had not been sufficiently
careful In extinguishing his piece of Dutch tinder
before putting it into the pocket of his trousers,
from which were now Issuing volumes of smoke.
The captain called out : ' Take off your trous t
but Bill, who had an intense horror of fire, caught
hold of a rope, and making It fast under his arms,
jumped overboard at the stern of the boat, and
the men made the rope fast. This effectually
' put him out !' I knew Bill to be a good
swimmer ; but without the rope he could not have
kept up with the boat, which was now spinning
along at a great pace. We soon had him up

WHAT A CHANGE ON LANDING! 141
again, and no harm done ; and in the course of
another half-hour, getting under the lee of the
coast, we found ourselves In less rough water.
Shortly afterwards we reached Calais harbour
and landed. It was then nearly six o'clock, and
what a change we found ! We left Dover on a
quiet Sunday morning, and here all was gaiety.
Everyone out on pleasure. In various picturesque
costumes, eating, drinking, playing and dancing —
truly a transformation scene, so great is the
difference between the manners and customs of
a Roman Catholic and a Protestant country, and
between the recreations of sober-minded English
men and the more frivolous natives of France !
After getting some refreshments, we sauntered
out amongst the gay throng, and truly we found
much to amuse us in watching the strange ways of
the people. They were a light-hearted, happy -
looking set of young (or mosdy young) folk, and
appeared to have no cares. Soon they perceived
us, and came up laughing, and greeting us In what
was to us then an unknown tongue, which
sounded to our ears nothing but gibberish. We
saluted them in return, and tried to speak a few
words of French to them. They tried a bit ot
English, and in this way we got on fairly well,
and passed a very pleasant evening. Then back

142 INSIGHT INTO A NEW LIFE.
to the hotel to bed, and, after our tiring and
eventful day, we slept soundly till morning. We
had put up at a small Inn, recommended to us by
our captain, where we found that no one could
speak a word of English. We had, therefore, to
make our wants known by signs, which was some
what difficult, but decidedly amusing.
When we got up the following morning we
felt very strange, for everything seemed so
different from all that we had hitherto been
accustomed to. The unknown jargon which we
heard around us, on descending to breakfast, was
most bewildering, and our first experience of
foreign .lands was truly amazing and, to such
novices as we were, almost alarming. The very
food they gave us to eat was unlike anything we
had seen before ; but there was something very
fascinating in this Insight Into a new life, and we
did not regret our escapade.
We made up our minds not to stop long at
Calais, as we wanted to push on to Brussels,
where, from what we had heard, there seemed a
likelihood of our finding employment ; so after
spending a few hours In looking round the town,
where I made some sketches of the principal
buildings, etc., and taking a little more refresh
ment In the way of French ' kickshaws,' which

WE PASS A NIGHT AT GRAVELINES. 143
we found very far from satisfying to our healthy
English appetites, we started on foot for Grave
lines. We had no boxes to carry, for, before
leaving home, we had made for ourselves a kind
of knapsack, with straps to put our arms through,
and which we had painted on one side with
Vandyke-brown. These held all that we required,
and yet were light.
On we trudged over the awful roads of that part
of the country, seeing nothing worth sketching, till
we reached our destination, where we_ put up at an
inn kept by a man who could speak a little
English, as he traded in eggs for the London
market. We had an excellent dinner, and then looked
all round the place ; but finding nothing worth
drawing, we went back to the inn, and to
bed — both in one bed, for economy, in a long
room, in which we observed there were many
other beds. These, however, were, as yet, un
tenanted, and we fell asleep before anyone came
to take possession of them. Being disturbed In
the early morning by certain ' unpleasant visitors,'
Burgess began to stir about ' in chase,' and woke
me by his restlessness and his vicious remarks, as
he spiked one after another with his scarf-pin! Sud
denly we were surprised by hearing a female voice

144 BURGESS GLOOMY AND DEJECTED.
say in a pleasant manner, ' Bon jour. Messieurs,'
and looking round, we saw a blooming face, with
bright, beady black eyes, lifted up from a bed close
to us, and then we found, to our great amazement,
that all the beds had been occupied by people
of both sexes, who were then all getting up and
dressing themselves.
We did the same, and then went down to the
public breakfast, at which they gave us (besides the
regulation coffee and rolls) delicacies in the shape
of soup, green peas, and plenty of eggs. But my
poor friend Burgess was sad and low-spirited, for
he was thinking that the farther we got from
home, the more difficult it would be to return
when our funds were exhausted. I tried to cheer
him up, saying that I was sure we should soon
get Into something that would pay us. To pass
the time, I thought I would make a drawing of
him, so we went upstairs, and I got out my water-
colours, and began his portrait. In less than an
hour I got his likeness on my paper, with the gloomy
look he had put on ; and then we went downstairs
again. The landlord's son asked us if we would
stay to dinner, to which we answered, ' Oui.'
Then seeing the drawing in my hand he ex
claimed :
' Comme cela le resemble !'

PORTRAIT PAINTING. 145
We laughed ; and he, putting his hand up to
his chin, said :
' Voulez-vous faire le mien ?'
I nodded assent
' Combien ?'
' Five francs,' putting up my fingers to show the
number. ' Bien. Je monterai en haut avec vous.'
So upstairs we went, and In the course of fifty
minutes I made a good likeness of him. He had
black eyes and hair, and a sun-tanned colour,
which was a splendid contrast to his blouse, which
was blue. I took the portrait down to show his
wife, who was so delighted, that she soon came for
hers. This was a pleasant job, for she was a
charming brunette, with good colouring, both in
her person and in her dress, and I took pains to
make an attractive likeness of her, with which all
were very pleased. Then I drew the two children
grouped with their father and mother ; the next
day the notary and his wife, and other friends of
our landlord, came to have their portraits taken,
so that during our three days' stay in the place my
time was fully occupied, and I earned quite twenty
francs over and above our expenses. We were,
therefore, spared the necessity of having recourse
to our belts as yet — belts which we had made
VOL. I. 10

146 WALK TO DUNKIRK.
before starting to put our money in, and which
we constantly wore next our persons for safety,
even sleeping with them on as an additional pre
caution. The next day we started for Dunkirk, again on
foot; and during our walk we made an arrange
ment for a division of labour. We settled that I
was to paint the likenesses, when we could get
sitters, and Bill was to put in the backgrounds,
which he could do very well, though he could not
catch a likeness.
We found this journey very trying, for it was
extremely hot, with a cloudless sky, and the hard
roads, paved In the centre, and with deep ruts at
the sides, hurt our feet terribly. For the first hour
we walked in a perfectly straight line, seeing some
bright shining object In front of us at the end of the
road, which we could not make out, but on coming
up to the spot, we found it was a church, with a
crucifix placed conspicuously In front of it, bearing
the figure of our Saviour, the size of life, gilded all
over. Then another long stretch of road brought
us to Dunkirk, where we arrived utterly tired out
and exhausted, having had nothing to eat or drink
throughout the whole journey. We got a lift in a
cart for a short part of the way with a French
man, to whom we offered a franc for the two of us.

THE MAN WITH THE CART. 147
He said, ' Bien,' and in we got. Soon after we had
started. Bill discovered that he had dropped his
eye-glass, and Insisted upon going back to look for
it, while we waited for him in the cart, the French
man with considerable impatience. In a few
minutes he came running back to us, with the
glass in his hand, when the man said :
' You speak French ?'
' No,' said Bill.
'Veil,' answered the man, ' I speak Engliss, and
I say dat ting not wort de go back for !'
On our arrival we put up at an inn called the
Cherry Tree, kept by one Patrick Kelly — an
Irishman, I need hardly remark.
In this place we were very successful in the
matter of taking portraits, for I got a good
number of people to sit to me, both French and
English, during five days ; but on the sixth morn
ing the police informed us that if we stayed any
longer our passport would have to be sent to
Paris to be vise, which would cause a delay of
four days. We accordingly made up our minds to
leave at once, and we started for Ostend; and
passing on from thence through Bruges and
Ghent, we, in the course of six days, reached
Brussels, arriving at that place by diligence at ten
o'clockat night. We were directed to the Hotel
10 — 2

148 PAINTING SIGNBOARDS.
des Billards, in the Rue de la Boucherle, where we
put up. I tried to get the same work here as in
the other towns, but could not at first succeed, so
here I took to painting signboards. Bill was a
capital hand at writing the names, and I painted
and varnished them, our landlord allowing us the
use of a shed at the back of the house to
work In.
Thus matters went on very well for a time;
but before long, my friend Burgess had the offer
of a situation at a coach builder's, which he
decided to accept.
Although I was sorry to part from him, and felt
assured that I should greatly miss his companion
ship, I could not blame him for taking this step,
which gave him certain work in the line to which
he had been accustomed from his boyhood. He
had not the ambition, nor, I may say, the courage
that I had, and he was restless under the pre
carious nature of the life we were then leading.
We had proposed extending our travels to Switzer
land, but this had to be given up for that year;
and as subsequent events turned out differently
to what we had planned for ourselves when we
first left England, our intended trip together to
that beautiful country never came to pass. Indeed,
it was not till very many years later that I accom-

PARTING WITH BURGESS. 149
plished a trip there, even without my friend
Burgess. And thus we parted ; but our friendship
remained unbroken, and we had frequent oppor
tunities of meeting at the table d'h6te, and upon
other occasions.

[ 150]

CHAPTER VIII.
I then settle down alone in Brussels— I paint Portraits and sketch
the Gothic Buildings in the Town— The Baron Ddvrier— Com
mence giving Lessons — Very Successful — The Comtesse de
Lalang — ' Lightning vill not catch him ' — Story of a Thunder
storm—The Spanish Ambassador's Daughters— System of
Teaching — Introduction to Verbockhoven — Great Friendship
for him — Admiration for his Talent — Anecdotes — ' Ce jeune
Copre dessine comme un Dieu I' — Verbockhoven's Donkey —
His Painting of Animals faultless — Making a Good Income —
Don Michado — Commission from him — Prince d'Arenberg —
Commission from him — Captain C. Hotham — Sketching Tour
on the Meuse with him — My Marriage with Miss Pearson — Re
ceptions on Sundays — Exhibition of Pictures at Brussels in
1830 — Large Drawing accepted — Notice in the Morning
Post — Bought by the Queen — Commission from Members of
the Royal Household — Signs of Political Troubles — Verbock
hoven a Revolutionist— Trip to England — Emeute at Brussels
— Obliged to return suddenly — Condition of the City — George
Pearson wounded — More Trouble brewing.
Being now left to my own devices, I took lodg
ings at a tobacconist's In the Rue des Fripiers, on
the first floor, for which I paid forty francs a
month, and there I settled down. I had made
up my mind not to return to England — at any rate,
not for some time, for it seemed to me that I had a
better chance of getting on In the profession I was
determined to pursue In the Belgian capital than

SETTLE DOWN ALONE AT BRUSSELS. 151
I could have in my native land, where everything
seemed to militate against my success in the line
of life I had chosen; and I could not for a
moment contemplate the miserable alternative
of returning to the old trade of coach-painting !
I began by taking sketches of the splendid
Gothic buildings with which the city abounds,
and found plenty of picturesque bits to make
drawings of Then I put the portrait I had done
of William Burgess In the window of the shop
over which I lived, and at last attracted some
sitters to my room. I was successful in the
portraits of the first comers, which was fortunate,
as they brought others ; and my sitters increased
in number so rapidly, that I soon had as many as
I could possibly undertake to draw.
I raised my price from five francs to seven
francs, and my financial affairs were altogether in
a tolerably prosperous condition; and my time
being so fully occupied as it was, I did not feel
dull, though at first my life seemed rather lonely
without my friend.
One morning, a few weeks after I had set up
as a portrait-painter, a French gentieman came to
my rooms, accompanied by a most beautiful young
lady, and said that he wished me to make a draw
ing of her. I could see at a glance that I should

152 PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG LADY,
have considerable difficulty In the performance of
such a task, as It seemed to me that it would be
almost an impossibility to match with my colours
so lovely a complexion, or to make at all a success
ful imitation of such beautifully-chiselled features.
I told the gentleman so, and that I should be
afraid of disappointing him.
' C'est egal, commencez,' said he ; ' jereviendral
dans une heure.'
So there was no help for It, and I had to begin,
for which I must admit I felt no sorrow, for my
model was a most delightful one.
The young lady sat very well, and I got a
strong likeness; but the lovely flesh-tints, with
the delicate pearly tone of so fair a creature, I
could not catch, and I explained my difficulty to
her as well as I could In my imperfect French, for
I was not yet fluent In the language.
' Faites votre mieux, monsieur,' she said,
smiling The gentleman returned. He was a handsome
man of about thirty years — gay and bright In his
manner, and agreeable to talk to. He took the
drawing In his hand, smiled, and said, as he
showed it to her :
' II vous resemble bien, mals ce n'est pas vous.'
Then, turning to me, he asked :

BARON DEVRIER, 153
' Avez-vous peint ce portrait qui est a la fenetre
en bas?'
' Yes,' I answered.
' Eh bien ! Dans ce dessin la vous avez beau-
coup mieux peint le paysage au fond, que la
figure. Si vous voudrez bien me dessiner une
petite vue pittoresque, j'en serais tres contente.'
I said I should be 'tres content,' also ; so I began
it at once. He asked me the price of the por
trait, which I told him, and then he and the
lady sat by me while I made the landscape sketch,
according to his request. All the time I was
drawing the gentleman kept exclaiming :
' Bon ! admirable! mals vous desslnez tellement
bien !' etc.
He paid me for the two drawings (the landscape
and the lady's portrait), and, as he took his depar
ture, he Invited me to breakfast with him the next
morning, telling me the name of the hotel at
which he was staying, as well as his own name;
and thus I found out that he was the Baron
D6vrler. I presented myself at his ' appartement ' the next
morning in good time, and found him only just up ;
but he received me very pleasantly, as did also the
lady. He showed me some of his drawings,
which he had done under a master at Paris, and

154 BEGIN GIVING LESSONS.

which were not at all bad. He then said that he
wished to have a lesson from me, proposing to
come round to my lodgings, that same day, as
soon as he had seen the lady off to St. Peters
burg. This he did, and had a very good lesson.
He afterwards looked through all my studies, and
before leaving he bought two more of my draw
ings, all of which seemed to please him greatly.
Through the Baron's recommendation I obtained
several other pupils. Mr. Searle, a rich man, en
gaged me to teach his daughter at three francs a
lesson; then Sir George Gould engaged me for
his son; the Comtesse de Lalang for her daughter;
and I also gave lessons to the daughter of the
Due d'Ursell, the Comte de Lanols, Comte de
Robianno, the Austrian Ambassador, and a host
of others of all nations, so that I soon had more
than half the week taken up in teaching.
The Comtesse de Lalang, to whose daughter I
gave lessons, was a stout, handsome woman — a
widow with one son and one daughter. She was
vivacious and most agreeable, and was very
desirous of perfecting herself in the English
language, which she spoke tolerably fluently, but
with a strong foreign accent. She therefore took
the opportunity of practising her English upon
me, and sometimes I could hardly help smiling at

THE COMTESSE DE LALANG, 155
her very peculiar pronunciation of certain words,
though I did my best to emulate the extreme
politeness of foreigners, who never laugh at our
mistakes. Upon one occasion she brought into the room a
translation of some of Byron's works into French,
and by way of an exercise she attempted to re
translate into English some passages from ' Childe
Harold' and ' Don Juan.' At the commencement
of the ninth canto of the latter poem, beginning
with the words,
' Oh, WeUington (or ViUainton — for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways ;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase —
Beating or beaten she will laugh the same) !'
the Com.tesse truly exemplified Lord Byron's
joke, for she never could ' conquer that great
name,' but pronounced it twice over precisely
the same, thereby losing the whole pith of the
lines. It was too ludicrous ; but I managed to
keep my countenance, and helped her with the
words all the time that I was teaching her
daughter. The Comtesse always received me In her bed
room, a very common practice In foreign countries ;
and her room was very elegantly decorated, all
the hangings and even the bed-covering being of

156 A NON-CONDUCTOR,
rich silk, and the furniture being very handsome,
but of modern taste and design, in keeping with
the rest of the decorations.
' Ah ! I see you are looking at de silk,' she said
to me one day, when she Intercepted a glance
of admiration, I suppose, which I cast round the
room. ' What for silk, you say ? Because de
lightning vill not catch him. I am so fearful of
de tonder and de lightning !' by which I supposed
she meant that silk did not attract lightning, or, in
other words, was a non-conductor.
This reminds me of a most amusing anecdote
I once heard of a doctor and his wife who, not
long after they were married, were travelling In
Switzerland, where one day they were overtaken
by a terrific thunderstorm. Fortunately there was
a cave In the mountains near at hand, in which
they were able to take refuge, and he, with affec
tion in his manner, drew near to his wife, seeing
that she was frightened, to put his arm round her.
She, however, shrank away from him, crying out,
' Oh dear ! go away. Don't come near to me,
for don't you know that lightning is always at
tracted by the larger body ?'
So well had she profited by her husband's
scientific teaching !
Among my first pupils were also two daughters

A FATAL MISTAKE. 157
of the Spanish Ambassador, whose name was, I
think, Count Andreaga. They were both most
agreeable girls, and showed a great desire to
learn and to become proficient in the art of draw
ing. The eldest of the two was a charmingly
beautiful brunette, with dark, sparkling eyes, and
great vivacity of manner; indeed, so light-hearted
and sprightly was she, that, with all her wish and
intention to improve herself she could not confine
herself to the drudgery of the lessons, or restrain
her impatience In learning. In fact, she wanted
' to run before she could walk,' a fatal mistake in
all who desire to become true artists, and It ended
in her being lazy over her drawing, and not gain
ing so much advantage from her lessons as she
otherwise might have done.
The younger one was not so beautiful as her
sister, but thoroughly charming, I may say per
fect. In every other respect. Full of fun, buoyant
and unreserved in manner, but serious enough over
her lessons ; and, being anxious to gain complete
proficiency In the art, she took the greatest pains
and showed the greatest desire to profit by my
instructions, being altogether a most delightful
pupil. I would here remark that It Is not an uncom
mon but a very serious failing amongst students

158 METHOD OF TEACHING.
in art, and especially amongst amateurs, to wish
to paint before they can draw. It is a fatal
mistake, and if they would only have patience In
this respect at the commencement of their studies,
and persevere in the, perhaps, less attractive black
and white till they have mastered the difificulties
of drawing, with perspective and other necessary
knowledge, they would find their subsequent im
provement much more rapid, and in every respect
more satisfactory.
My method of teaching, which I began at that
time, and have ever since pursued upon precisely
the same principles, is to draw before my pupils,
explaining, as I proceed, my reasons for every
thing I do, showing the exact way to do each
stroke, descanting upon the rules of perspective,
the laws of light and shade, etc., as I go along,
using my pencil to illustrate the meaning of my
words, and my words to explain what I am doing
with my hands. I desire my pupils to make
notes of all I say and do, and then between the
lessons they copy what I have drawn before
them, endeavouring to carry out all I have told
them. When they are more advanced, and come
to painting, I name each colour as I put It on my
palette, whether in oils or water-colours, explain
the qualities of each, the mixtures that are per-

COUNT ANDREAGA'S DAUGHTERS. 159
missible and useful, and then show the effect of
all the varieties of tints and the way to manipu
late them to the best advantage.
This system was not practised by any of the
drawing-masters at Brussels when I began to
teach there, and my Introduction of the method
gained me much Influential patronage.
With the two young ladies I have mentioned,
I began with the simplest subjects In outline,
such as cottages, etc., and by degrees I carried
them through every detail of pencil drawing,
from pot-hooks and hangers to finished drawings ;
then taught them to colour In sepia, and so on,
till they could do finished water-colour drawings.
I taught these young ladies for three years and a
half and so assiduous were they, and regular with
their lessons during the whole of that time, that
their progress was wonderful ; and when they left
Brussels, at the time of the Revolution, and went
with the Court to Holland, they found that they
had in their portfolio upwards of four hundred
drawings, of mine, which had served as copies to
them. With these, they told me, when they said
good-bye to me, they would never part, but would
treasure them always, and eventually leave them
to their descendants.
This has been rather a long digression, but I

i6o THE BELGIAN 'PAUL POTTER:
was anxious to explain my method of teaching,
which has been eminently successful through so
many years.
The rest of the time at my disposal during the
period of which I am writing, I filled up with
making sketches both In pencil and water-colours
In the town itself and In the surrounding country,
some parts of which are exceedingly pretty and
picturesque. Not very long after I was settled in Brussels,
I made the acquaintance, through the introduc
tion of the Baron Devrler, of Monsieur E.
Verbockhoven, the Belgian ' Paul Potter,' an
acquaintance which ripened Into a sincere friend
ship. The moment I stepped Into the studio of that
renowned artist I felt convinced that the Influence
of his talent would have an Important bearing
upon my future career, for I was at once fasci
nated by his style, and by his wonderful power
of drawing.
When the Baron introduced me to him he
received me most kindly, and appeared to be
Interested In what I told him about myself and
my artistic aspirations. Just at that period he
was engaged upon a picture for the Prince of
Orange, and he allowed me, even upon my first

HIS MANNER OF PAINTING. i6r
introduction, to watch him paint. This gratified
me immensely, and I was much struck by his.
manner and style of painting, which was quite
different to anything I had seen in England.
He most cordially and politely invited me tO'
come again to his studio, a permission of which I
was, of course, only too glad to avail myself ; and
our acquaintance, thus pleasantly begun, con
tinued during the whole time that I remained In
Brussels. All our conversation was on art, for all
branches of which he had a great taste, and he
frequently asked me to bring my palette and
brushes to his house, and copy some of his
studies, being thoroughly pleased whenever I did
so. He, moreover, invited me to go out sketch
ing from nature with him, and he not only en
couraged, but pressed me to take up oil-painting,
saying that he felt sure I should succeed in this
branch of art, as I drew so correctly. In fact,
he Insisted upon my trying It ; but, most unfor
tunately, one day, when I was painting in his
studio, Mr. Searle (whose daughter I was teach
ing, and for whom Monsieur Verbockhoven was
painting a small picture) came In, and seeing me
occupied in copying one of his studies, he came
up to me and said :
VOL. I. II

i62 OBLIGED TO GIVE UP OIL-PAINTING.
' Mr. Cooper taking lessons ?'
' Not exactly so, sir,' I answered.
He showed by his manner, however, that he
was not thoroughly satisfied, and I saw at once
that I must relinquish my pleasant studies at my
friend's house, and confine myself at present to
my old style of drawing, or make up my mind to
give up my teaching. I told my impressions
about this to Verbockhoven as soon as Mr. Searle
had left. He shrugged up his shoulders, and
said, ' Diable ' ; but I was certain that I was
right, and persisted, though with great reluctance
and sincere regret, in giving up all idea, for the
time being, of pursuing my studies in oil-painting.
It would not have been wise to run the risk of
shaking Mr. Searle's confidence In me as a
teacher, as he was an influential man In Brussels ;
but I had great difficulty in making my friend
understand what I meant.
This little contretemps did not In any way inter
fere with our friendship, for which I was truly
glad, and I continued to visit Monsieur Verbock
hoven at short intervals ; and though I did not
venture again to paint at his house, I gained
much through my Intercourse with him, both
from his conversation and by watching him
paint

'IL DESSINE COMME UN DIEU!' 163
He always thought a good deal of my power
of drawing, of which I received proof In a rather
amusing way. I had made him a present of a
sketch of a group of leafless trees, which I had
done from nature, and with which he had been
much pleased. I took the little drawing to his
studio, and while I was talking with him, a man
named Le Roi, a painter and picture-dealer, came
in, and, as I did not know him, I walked to the
end of the room, from whence I heard the follow
ing conversation :
' Qu'avez-vous la ?' asked Le Roi, pointing to
my sketch, which Verbockhoven was still hold
ing in his hand ; ' c'est bien dessine. De qui
est-ce ?'
'Bien dessin^ ? Je le crols bien,' answered
Verbockhoven. ' Ce jeune Copre ' (as he always
pronounced my name), ' il dessine comme un
Dieu !'
This was Indeed good hearing from the lips of
a man whose opinion I valued so highly.
Then another man, who was In the room at
the same time, the son of a dealer, whose name I
forget, said to my friend :
' Je voudrais bien faire sa'connalssance. Vou
lez-vous me le presenter un de ces jours ?
' Oh ! oui certainement, et dans ce moment
II — 2

i64 THE BRUSSELS PICTURE DEALERS.
meme ; le volla !' cried Verbockhoven. ' HIllo
Copre, venez done ici !'
And In this manner I was Introduced to a
man who shortly became one of my patrons, for
he employed me within the next few weeks to
paint figures into a set of street market scenes, in
which every brick and stone was shown. I do
not recollect who they were painted by any more
than I do the name of the dealer ; but the latter
had a large connection, and remunerated me very
liberally for my work.
Verbockhoven was very pleased to have been
the means of making me known to this dealer,
with whom I afterwards did a good deal of busi
ness. Indeed he employed me more or less all
the time that I remained at Brussels, and pro
cured some satisfactory commissions for me.
Verbockhoven once paid me a very graceful
compliment. I had been out sketching, and,
having to give a lesson in the neighbourhood of
his house, I asked him to allow me to leave my
sketch-book with him, saying that I would call for
it on my way home. I was, however, rather
hurried, and omitted to fetch it that afternoon.
Two or three days after, when I was at Ver
bockhoven's house, he handed It to me, saying,
with a smile upon his face, which I did not at the

A GRACEFUL COMPLIMENT. 165
moment understand : ' You have forgotten your
book,' so I took it from him and carried it off
under my arm ; but being very busy with my
lessons just that week, it so happened that I did
not look into the book till I called at my friend's
house again. Then he said :
' Have you not been sketching again ?' in
French, for we always conversed in that language.
I answered :
'No.' ' And,' said he, 'you do not seem even to have
looked into your book ; you should always care
fully look over your sketches at home ; you may
learn much in that way, and improve yourself
each time you go out.'
I began at once to turn over the leaves, and
what was my surprise to discover a donkey drawn
in it by Verbockhoven. A beautiful litde donkey
in pencil, highly finished, in his usual excellent
manner. He laughed heartily when he saw my
astonishment, and said he hoped I would accept
it, which I of course did, with my most sincere
thanks. I have always had the greatest admiration for
his talent, and consider his drawing of animals
faultiess. Ever since I took up that branch of
painting, I have endeavoured to follow so fine an

i66 NOT A PUPIL OF VERBOCKHOVEN'S.
example, and still make it my practice ; but I
never was his pupil, and it would be well that I
should here correct an erroneous impression to
that effect, that has gained credence among some
members of my profession. In fact, I only tried
once to copy one sketch of his just to please him.
I could not but gain something of his manner
by being so much with him as I was, by watching
him at his work, and noting the general character
of his manipulation ; but although we sometimes
went out together to sketch from nature, I did not
work under him at any time. Even our oppor
tunities of sketching together were very few and
far between, for during the whole period of my
residence in Brussels my time was so entirely
taken up with teaching and In making drawings
for sale, both In pencil and water-colours, and on
stone (a large proportion of the latter being pub
lished in 1829), that It was difficult to suit my
time to his.
I therefore only managed to do a few land
scapes with Verbockhoven from nature, with the
Introduction of animals also studied from nature ;
but It always pleased him to look at my work, and
I was truly grateful for any hints he would give
me, feeling, as I have said before, the sincerest
admiration for his knowledge and power. I have

'POINTILLAGE' AND NIGGLE. 167
the drawing that he gave me now, carefully pre
served for sixty years.
My teaching went on satisfactorily, the number
of my pupils steadily increasing. I got a good
market for my drawings also amongst the various
dealers of the town, and through private friends ;
so that altogether I was making at that time a
nice little income.
I received three francs for my lessons, which
was double what the natives got ; but they could
not, as a rule, draw with any boldness — It was all
¦pointlllage' and niggle, done with the finest points,
while I used the BB. of Brookman's. When
drawing before my pupils, according to my system,
members of the nobility, and others interested in
art, oftentimes came and looked on, and listened
to the criticisms I made when correcting and
pointing out the defects in the drawings made by
my pupils between the lessons.
Sir George Gould, an Irish gentleman living In
Brussels, was one of my kindest patrons ; and
through him I made the acquaintance of Don
Michado, a Spanish grandee, who had come to
reside in the Belgian capital after the fall of the
regency established in Spain upon the deposition
of King Ferdinand. He was a millionaire, and
was very desirous to have a collection of drawings

i68 DRAWING ON STONE.
in sepia of the principal Gothic buildings in
Belgium. I was fortunate enough to obtain the
commission to execute these drawings, which I
finished in the course of time to his satisfaction.
He also commissioned me to design a ceiling for
one of the rooms in his house, paying me most
liberally for this, as well as for his other order,
for he was a large-hearted, generous man.
About this time I was also honoured by an
order from Prince D'Arenberg, who wished to
have drawn on stone copies of two small pictures
out of his collection. These were, one by Paul
Potter, which had been in the possession of
Jerome Bonaparte, and the other a work by
Adrian Vanderveldt, done when he was only
seventeen years of age. So jealous was the
Prince of their custody, that he would not allow
these pictures to be taken out of his hotel, and I
had. In consequence, to do the work in his salon.
On more than one occasion Verbockhoven came
In to see how I was progressing, and the Prince
also visited me now and then. The latter was
much Interested In watching the manner in which
I drew the subjects of the pictures on the stone
from their reflection in a looking-glass, it being,
of course, necessary that the pictures should be
reversed on the stone for printing. He was

SKETCHING TOUR. 169
much pleased with my work, and I believe that
Mr. Verbockhoven (if I understood Mr. Spryht,
the secretary, aright) thought more highly of what
I was doing than he told me himself I was more
gratified to think that my work was approved by
so excellent a judge as my friend, than I was by
the enthusiastic compliments of my employer,
though I was not above being pleased with them,
nor with the princely remuneration which accom
panied them.
Soon after I had finished this commission, I
received a very pleasant proposal from Captain
Charles Hotham, another of my friends in
Brussels whom I had taught for some time, which
I at once accepted. This was, that I should ac
company him on a sketching tour through Namur,
Dinant, Liege, and other places on the Meuse, It
being settled that he was to pay all expenses,
taking only two of my drawings in return for his
generous hospitality. We were away for fifteen
days, and spent a most agreeable time together.
With my help and instruction, Captain Hotham
improved much In his drawing, greatly to his
delight ; and for myself the trip was of great
advantage, as it gave me the opportunity of
making many sketches and studies for future
drawings. The scenery of this district of Belgium

i;o MY MARRIAGE.

Is very picturesque, and particularly conducive to
the style of sketching which I was so anxious to
take up, for I was already bitten by the desire to
follow In the footsteps of Paul Potter. This ex
pedition, therefore, gave me more than the usual
amount of pleasure I felt at all times in the study
of nature.
Six days after our return to Brussels, I was
married !
This Important event took place at the house
of the British Ambassador, on October i, 1829.
The lady was the third daughter of Mr. Pearson,
a professor of the science of fortification, and a
great mathematician. He had a family of one
son and four daughters, and I had made his
acquaintance about two years before, quickly
becoming Intimate with this most agreeable and
accomplished family. Being very soon captivated
by the mental, as well as the personal, charms of
the third daughter, Charlotte, I proposed, and was
accepted, with the happy result just mentioned.
Then I settled down as a householder In the
Rue d'Abrlcot, near the Rue Royale, my time
being fully occupied In teaching and drawing ;
and I Immediately commenced a large pencil-
drawing, about sixty Inches long, from a sketch
that I made when with Captain Hotham, of the

SUNDAY RECEPTIONS. 171
Moulin de Bosford, a very picturesque object
under the cliffs on which stood the ruins of the
Chateau Bosford, near Huy, on the Meuse. From
some of my other sketches I made drawings for
the exhibition which I understood was to be held
at Brussels the following summer, and I got them
finished at least two weeks before the day that
was fixed for sending them in.
Every Sunday, after morning service, my wife
and I received our friends, and my house was
filled with my pupils, their parents, and others,
even of the highest degree, and of all nations,
who looked at all my drawings, praised my work,
and thanked me for showing It. By this means I
increased my acquaintance, and improved my
social position in the town. My dear wife was
much liked and respected, and made a most
agreeable hostess, attracting all the nicest people
of the place to our receptions by her charming
manner and gentle kindliness.
The time came for sending in the drawings for
the exhibition of 1830, and my large one of the
mill attracted much attention at the private view.
I was informed afterwards that the Royal Family
visited the exhibition on that day, and that the
Queen had purchased my drawing. I was also
truly pleased and gratified that a notice of it had

172 NOTICE OF DRAWING IN THE 'MORNING POST:
appeared In the Morning Tost in England, sent, I
suppose, to their office by their Brussels critic and
correspondent after the admission of the press to a
private Inspection of the pictures. The article
was couched in the following terms :
' Brussels, '/une 2, 1830.
' We are happy to see that our countrymen are
not to be excluded from the interesting competi
tion here on the 15th. Mr. Cooper, a young
English artist of this city, is also to enter the lists
with his pencil — a bold enterprise in the land of
Rubens and Teniers ; but, judging from the on
dits regarding his vast and exquisite production, a
landscape view, we may hope he will snatch a
laurel for his country in that particular department,
in which, of late years, she has suffered them to
wither on her brow.'
I was asked by one of the Royal Household to
go over to Amsterdam in order to make a drawing
of the King's palace there. I accepted the com
mission; but as I wished much to introduce my
wife to my English relations, besides being a little
home-sick myself I had made up my mind to take
a run to my native country during the mid
summer vacations, and I therefore begged to be

A WELL-LAID PLOT. 173
allowed to put off my journey to Amsterdam till
rather later in the year, to which the gentleman
agreed willingly.
During the early part of this summer, 1830, the
political affairs of France were watched with great
anxiety and concern by all classes of the com
munity at Brussels, and I heard much of the
discussions that were going on amongst the native
families where I taught, particularly at Count de
Robianno's — for they did not appear to regard
my presence as being of any importance. They
read at their different houses all the papers from
Paris daily, and commented on the news they
contained before me without the slightest hesita
tion, or attempt at secrecy.
I did not know by name all the gentlemen that
I met at the houses of my pupils, nor did I under
stand everything that was said; but I made out
sufificient to be certain that a deep and well-laid
plot, leading to an extensively-organized revolu
tion, was being planned at Brussels, Liege, Ghent,
and Antwerp. If I had felt any disposition to do
so, I could have given timely warning to the
Government ; but I feared the desperate and
determined character of the Belgians, and I did
not see why I should put my life in danger, which
it certainly would have been if I had attempted to

174 VERBOCKHOVEN A REVOLUTIONIST.
do anything of the sort. Besides, it seemed to
me a very unlikely thing that my unsupported
evidence would be considered of much value ; so,
with these considerations, as I felt that my occu
pation would suffer at the hands of many of my
patrons, and my pupils fall off, I desisted, and
was silent
My friend Verbockhoven was, I grieve to state,
a terrible revolutionist, and was mixed up with the
most virulent of the party. So warped was his
judgment that, for the time being, he seemed to
lose all sense of feeling or good taste, and he said
a thing to me which grieved me greatly. He
had just finished a large picture for the Prince
of Orange, with which the latter was so pleased
that he presented my friend with a very beautiful
sword, of which the sheath was ornamented with
jewels. On showing It to me, Verbockhoven
said :
' Void, Copre, ce sabre qu'Il m'a donne pour
cadeau, mals cette bagatelle ! Jolie que ce solt, je
la tourneral contre lul.'
I was horrified by such a sentiment, and could
make no response to It, and he did not repeat it.
July came. France was again In a state of
revolution, and Belgium was politically fermenting.
My wife was well recovered from her confinement.

VISIT TO ENGLAND. 175
and, as at that time of the year, most of my pupils
were absent, we resolved to go to England for a
week, according to my preconceived plan, for she
much wished, as I did also, to see my mother and
family. So we put all our affairs in order, arrang
ing that the baby should at once be weaned, and
set out for Ostend before the end of the month,
my wife's mother and sisters undertaking to look
after our child and everything In our house during
our absence.
On arriving at Ostend we went straight on
board the packet, but as the wind was blowing
hard from the west-by-north, and therefore dead
against us, the captain would not leave till mid
night. We had to go to Margate, as the mails
were now landed at that place, and we started on
a very rough sea. My wife went down to the
cabin, but I sat at the stern of the boat and
watched the lights recede as we got further from
the shore. I saw the pier light for over an hour,
as we were going very slowly; but we got well
out to sea by daybreak. It was a fine, sunny day,
but there was still a stiff wind, and we went drift-
ting about hopelessly for three hours, as one of
the spokes of the paddle-wheel broke during the
night from the violence of the waves, and it took
that time to mend it. We should have reached

176 HURRIED RETURN TO BELGIUM.
Margate by noon, but it was four o'clock before
we landed, after having been sixteen hours at sea
in great discomfort.
We first had refreshments, and then started by
the stage-coach for Canterbury, where all my re
lations and friends were so pleased to see me
again, that I felt supremely happy, especially as
evel-yone was as delighted with my wife as she
was with them. She felt very strange at English
ways and at all she saw in England, for she was
only five years old when she left the country, and
had never revisited it till now.
We enjoyed the change, but not for long, as we
saw In the newspaper that there had been a break
out at Brussels, and that the populace had erected
barricades In the principal streets, and had en
countered the military. This I had expected, but
not so soon ; and we were obliged to return at
once. We packed up as quickly as we could, and
started for our home, to the great grief of all,
after a visit to our native land of only five days'
duration. When we landed at Ostend, we heard a good
deal more about the disturbance, and on reaching
Brussels we found the whole town in a deplorable
state. The diligence put us down at the Rue de
la Madeleine, and in order to get to our house in

EVIDENCE OF THE EMEUTE. 177
the Rue d'Abricot we had to pass over thirty or
forty barricades, with porters carrying our luggage.
This was neither an easy nor an agreeable matter,.
challenged as we were by every armed brute we
came across, who thought no more of one's life
than if it had been worth but a penny or a sou.
Evidence of the dmeute met us at every step —
lawlessness, destruction of property, and an utter
disregard of order pervaded the place ; and we
met several bands of armed men (not soldiers)'
crying out : ' Vive la patrle !' and ' A bas les
Hollandais !' etc.
By dint of struggles, and an expenditure of
breath, as well as of money, we eventually reached
our home, where we were thankful to find our
baby safe and well.
All my wife's family were, however, in great
sorrow, for poor George Pearson, my wife's
brother, had with some other lads, his com
panions, foolishly got mixed up in one of the
broils with the populace, the result being that he
was shot, badly wounded, and carried to one of
the hospitals, where he then lay in a very
dangerous state. Truly this was a very sad thing
for his parents — he but eighteen years old, and an
only son.
I went to see him at the hospital as soon as
VOL. I. 12

178 GEORGE PEARSON IN THE HOSPITAL.
possible, and found him In a dreadful state — his
countenance much changed, and his whole aspect
that of a man who was not long for this world.
Surrounded as he was by others groaning in pain
and 3ylng, it was not surprising that I found him
In sadly low spirits ; but in the precarious con
dition he was In, it was impossible to move him.
I tried to cheer him as much as I could, but I
could see that It was a very doubtful case, though,
being so young a man and healthy, I had some
hope that he might pull through.
The poor fellow did eventually die of his
wounds, as will be seen later on, but not till more
than a month after the accident had occurred.
I lost a good deal of my teaching during the
ensuing season, for although In a short time the
place became quiet again and resumed Its normal
aspect, many of the English, as well as the
Belgian families had left the city. Some of them
returned to their homes after a while, but there
was still an unsettled feeling prevalent, and one
could see by the determined expression on the
countenances of the people that something more
was brewing. The Government had taken imme
diate steps to have the barricades removed, and to
strengthen the force of the garrison in several
quarters of the city. Great fears were, however.

THE SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 179
entertained by all who had the opportunity of
judging of the signs of the times, and who one
and all saw prognostications of the coming evil in
the general demeanour of the populace.
It was but a little while ere the storm burst
(sooner, indeed, than anyone was prepared for) In
all its fury, as those who were alive during that
period of the world's history will remember.

12-

[ i8o]

CHAPTER IX.
I leave Brussels for Amsterdam — Stop first at Rotterdam — Dutch
Painters' Subjects ready to their Hands — To The Hague by a
Traekschout — Paul Potter's Famous ' Bull ' — To Amsterdam
by DiUgence — Description of the City — Dutch Ca-nals — Gangs
of Workpeople skating in Winter — Make Sketch for the
Drawing of the Palace — News of Revolution in Brussels —
Anxiety to return Home — Preparations — Start by Diligence
— Breda — Antwerp — Have to remain there — Louvain — Am
again stopped by Soldiers — Copenhout — Booming of Cannon
and Terrible Sounds of War — Belgian Guide — ' Un Brave
Homme !' — Am stopped by Officer in Command of Troops —
Passport not visd — Sent back to Village under Escort — Escape
from Soldiers — Appeal to Priest — Unsuccessful — I part from
my Companion — Walk on the Road to Vurin — Firing stops
— A Truce— One-armed Guide — Meet Mr. Freke's Butler —
I hear of my Wife's Escape, and of G. Pearson's Death — Ponds
of Etterbeek — Drunken Trooper — Reach my Father-in-law's
House — Fall exhausted into the Arms of my Wife — Happy
Reunion — Sadness at Brother's Death — Mrs. Pearson — Tired
and Hungry — No Meat — 1 therefore go out on a Foraging
Expedition — Success — Dinner — The Three Carabineers —
Fearful Struggle — Wounded Soldiers — Prince Frederick with
draws Troops — Gates thrown open — Return to Brussels —
Terrible State of the City.
Not very long after our return home from
England, I was obliged to leave Brussels again
for Amsterdam, In order to carry out my agree
ment with the member of the Royal Household to

LEAVE BRUSSELS FOR AMSTERDAM. i8i
make a drawing for him of the King's palace
there. I was loath to leave my wife and child
in such troublous times, but business Is business,
and I could not very well help myself ; so I went
off with the feeling that the sooner I started the
sooner I should be back again, and In the hope
that matters would not come to a crisis till after
my return. I knew, also, that I could with confi
dence entrust my dear wife to the care of her
parents, who would do all for her safety and
welfare, in the event of any disturbance taking
place during my absence, that I could do myself
I left Brussels, therefore, in good spirits on
August 2 1, in the year 1830. Went first to
Antwerp, and from thence to Rotterdam (passing
through Zeeland), where I arrived the same even
ing. I took a good look round before sunset, and
from the Boom Quay I saw a glorious effect over
Schiedam, such as Cuyp loved to paint. Looking
towards Delft Haven, too, the view was most
characteristic, with a beautiful evening effect ; and
I then realized how the Dutch artists' nature had
subjects provided already to their hands for them
to paint I began making a slight pencil-sketch
of the country In the^ direction of Schiedam, and I
asked a man who was passing by what the distance
to that place might be.

i82 ON THE DUTCH CANAL.
' Ou lang t'ga ? Hum ! Twe pip,' he answered,
which did not give me a very clear notion ; for
some men can smoke two pipes in half an hour,
while others would take quite double that time.
But I thanked him, and made up my own mind
that It was two miles off or more, from the look
of it.
The means of transit from Rotterdam to The
Hague was by the canal, on board a conveyance
called a ' Traekschout ' — a sort of boat-omnibus,
towed along by two horses — a very easy and
pleasant style of travelling. The fore part of this
boat was set apart for the poor people, and the
cabin and stern for gentlemen, who were provided
with pipes, tobacco and cigars, a wooden shoe, or
sabot, being placed on a small table for a spittoon.
We soon reached Delft Haven, where I found
that hollands was sold at a stiver (equivalent to
about a penny of English money) a glass, a not
altogether unpleasant surprise, being served in
glasses like our old-fashioned ale-glasses, spiral
downwards ; and excellent liquor It was for the
price. The old buildings which we saw as we
passed that place looked very fine to paint, and I
hoped I might be able to stop there on my return.
The Hague was the next stopping-place, and
there I stayed for one night.

PAUL POTTER'S 'BULL: 183
There Is not very much to be seen In that town
beyond the pictures In the museum. The ' Bors,'
outside the town, is a beautiful wooded park, a
place for picnics, and abounding in pretty glades,
giving endless subjects for pictures ; and the coast
at Schevelln is full of beautiful 'bits.' Here
Adrian Vanderveldt painted. Introducing among
the sand-banks, etc., the picturesque costumes of
the peasants — both men and women — with won
derful effect. I looked through the collection at
the Museum with much Interest, and was greatly
impressed by the Rembrandts, the Berghems, and
the paintings of some other Dutch masters ; but
I must admit that I was disappointed with the
far-famed ' Bull ' by Paul Potter. The general
tone of the picture is a dull gray, particularly the
figures of the man and the sheep ; and though the
head of the bull is finely painted, and the hind
quarters even better, the Impression that was left
upon me by the whole picture was such that I
felt no desire to copy It, even If I had had the
opportunity of doing so.
From The Hague I travelled to Amsterdam by
diligence, and arrived there the same evening. It
is an old and curious town, situated on a beaijtiful
and picturesque bay ; and I was delighted to find
myself in a spot so conducive to the pleasure of an

1 84 THE OLD KIRK.

artist, and so productive of subjects, in every
variety, for the employment of his pencil.
The next morning, when I looked forth from
my window, everything was lighted up with a
warm September sun, and I was charmed with
all I saw. It was a Sunday, and I strolled out
Into the town, visiting many of the old buildings
and places of interest, amongst others, the old
kirk where Luther preached the Reformation. I
was greatly Impressed by the Interior of this
most curious building, with its massive columns,
or, rather, posts, as they were entirely of wood,
surmounted by arches also constructed of wood,
and with Its Immense beams, such as one has
never seen In England. It struck me then, and
I still consider It, the most wonderful piece of
timber-building I have ever come across. Truly,
the Impressions that I Imbibed on that Sunday
morning were sufficient to fill a painter's pro
gramme with subjects for pictures to last the
whole of his lifetime.
The city, which Is entirely built upon piles of
wood to raise the houses above the level of the
water, Is Intersected by Innumerable canals, pro
ducing a most curious and novel, and, at the same
time, a far from unplcturesque effect on the eye
of a stranger. Across these canals, which cut up

SKATING ON THE CANALS. 185
the city into ninety small islands, are bridges, at
frequent intervals (fully three hundred In number,
I was told), and on some of them are constructed
small buildings for the sale of refreshments, where
the pastry is cooked in your presence, and served
to you by pretty damsels, whose heads are as
round as their cheeses, and who were, at the time
that I visited the place, dressed In their native
costume, with gold ornaments close to their temples,
white pearls in their ears, and clean, bright-
coloured dresses, rendering them altogether as
attractive in their persons as they were agreeable
in their manners and attentive as waitresses.
The canals are kept clear of mud and weeds,
and serve, both in summer and winter, as a
means of communication between Amsterdam and
the neighbouring towns and villages — in summer
by the Dutch schouts (pronounced ' skoots ) and
other boats, and in the winter over the ice which
covers them by means of skating. This mode of
transit Is quite unique. The peasants travel In
gangs of eight or a dozen men or women, or the
two mixed, holding each other's hands, with their
baskets on their heads, and in so compact a mass
that no gale of wind could upset them or destroy
their equilibrium. The two outside members of
the gang carry long sticks with spikes at the

1 86 NEWS OF THE REVOLUTION.
bottom, to use in cases of emergency ; and it is
Indeed a curious sight to watch these bands of
work-people skimming along with no effort, and
in seeming enjoyment. As they In a long line
approach a bridge, they, in the most dexterous
manner, gather in, as a woman does her stitches
In needlework, by a sudden impulse, shoot
through the arch, and, on coming to the other
side, expand again like an opening fan, the out
side men using their spikes to keep the general
balance. They told me that this was their only
means of transporting their produce from place
to place.
I made a very satisfactory sketch of the palace,
from which I was able afterwards to produce a
good drawing ; and then I proposed going to
the Gelderland, which I much wished to see ; but
I read In the paper that the revolution had again
broken out In Belgium, that Brussels was in arms,
and that the army was en route for the town.
This news naturally made me very anxious to be
back in Brussels again with my wife and child,
so I Immediately began to make preparations for
my return home. First I went to have my pass
port signed, but they told me it was not neces
sary, as I had the Cachet du Roi. Then I paid
my hotel bill, and was ready to start by the first

GREAT ANXIETY TO GET HOME. 1S7
diligence for Rotterdam. As I proceeded on
my journey my anxiety for the safety of my dear
wife increased, for I knew well what a dreadful
encounter It would be when It did break out. I
was obliged to stay one night at Rotterdam, but
went on from thence the next morning again by
.diligence, as being the quicker route. I must
confess that I felt some trepidation when, upon
reaching the river, the diligence, well loaded, was
driven on to a large flat sort of barge, and was
ferried over the Meuse, there being no bridge
across the river at that point. However, we
passed over safely, and on we went.
Anxious as I was to reach my house with the
utmost speed, I could not help, nevertheless, look
ing back with some regret upon a land which had
raised so many great painters, and where I had
hoped to spend some time In ruminating over
their works and in sketching on my own account ;
for it was a country that exactly suited my style
of painting, and would have afforded me the
opportunity of making many important studies of
landscape scenery for use in future pictures.
On arriving at Breda, the frontier town, we
heard more about the revolution, and I grew
more and more anxious to get home. We reached
Antwerp In safety, but got no farther. The

DILIGENCE STOPPED.

Dutch troops, numbering 3,000 men, and com
manded by Prince F"rederlck, the son of the
King of Holland, were drawn up between
Mechlin and Antwerp — so we were told — and
the diligence was stopped. I was obliged, in
consequence, to remain at Antwerp for the night,
which I passed in great perturbation of spirit with
but little sleep.
The next morning I found that a diligence was
going to start for Louvain, in the hope of being
able to enter Brussels by another road, so I took
a seat on that.
On arriving at Louvain we were told that a
body of cavalry had passed but an hour before.
However, nothing daunted, we pushed on till' we
overtook the rear-guard, who forbade our pro
ceeding any farther, and we were forced to
remain at a village, which I think was called
Copenhout. From there we could hear the
booming of cannon and the report of musketry.
The diligence returned to Louvain, but I and a
fellow passenger, a young Belgian, stayed at the
village Inn, listening with dismay to the rolling fire
of the Infantry, and all the terrible sounds of war
fare, and thinking of those dear to us, so removed
from our protection, and yet, in point of fact, so
near, for we were then within a league of Brussels.

I PROCEED ON FOOT.

After a short consultation we both decided to
try if we could not reach the town on foot, so we
started off without delay, leaving our things in
charge of the landlord of the Inn, my luggage
consisting only of a small portmanteau and a
portfolio. We, however, only got as far as the
next hamlet on the road, when we were again
stopped ; so we took shelter In a small inn, just
as a fine rain began to fall. There we learnt
that by cutting across country, and making a
ddtour of about two miles, we could get on to
the Namur road ; and a young man belonging to
the place, who was loitering about the lanes,
volunteered to guide us there, saying :
' Je n'ai pas peur, moi — je suis brave homme.
Je vous montrerai le chemin — moi, brave
homme !'
Whether he was so or no remained to be
proved, but at any rate we promised him five
francs for his guidance, and off we started. We
pressed on under hills that lay between us and
Brussels, through ditches and mud, and over soft
ground, in which we often almost stuck, and the
fine rain still continuing, we were altogether in a
sad plight. The booming of the cannon and the
fire of the musketry continued louder and quicker
than ever ; and by the peculiar cracking sound

190 AGAIN STOPPED BY SOLDIERS.
we guessed that the troops had got into the town.
We had gone a good distance, when we met a
man, of whom we asked our way. He said It
was :
' Encore une demie ligue. Mais prenez garde
de passer a gauche du moulin,' and he called
after us, ' N'oubllez pas ! a gauche du moulin.'
We soon came in sight of the mill, our guide
still assuring us that he was ' un brave homme,'
and knew the way. We were carefully following
the road round to the left of the mill, according to
the Instructions that had been given to us, when
suddenly, the report of a gun startled us ; and we
were hastening on when another report came,
which sounded much nearer.
' Sulvez moi, je connals bien I'endroit,' said our
guide. 'No,' I answered, stopping short; 'that gun
was shotted.'
I had just said this, and was looking in the
direction whence the sound came, when I saw
over a hedge some soldiers' caps with red balls
on them, by which I knew their nationality, and,
at the same moment, a voice cried out : ' Arretez
— on ne pent pas passer a la ville ;' and imme
diately after the officer in charge of these men
came out from his hiding-place, and demanded

MY PASSPORT DEMANDED. 191
our names and business. We both told him that
our families were In Brussels, and that we wished
to get to them, assuring him that we were peace
ful. He did not like my companion, as he was a
Belgian. I said I was English, which he doubted,
as he declared I spoke French like a Belgian. I
then repeated that I was an English artist, and
was just returning from Amsterdam, when he
said that he must see my passport. I fortunately
had it with me, and showed it to him at once ;
but, after reading It, he returned it to me, saying :
' Cela ne vaut rien. Votre passeport etait vise a
Bruxelles pour aller a Amsterdam. Vous n'y avez
pas ete.
I assured him that I had, and that I had left
hat place only two days before.
' Je repete, monsieur, que votre passeport n'a
pas ix.€ vls6 a Amsterdam.'
I then explained to him that, as I had the
Cachet du Roi on my passport, this had not been
considered necessary ; but I found out afterwards
that this had really been a mistake on the part of
the authorities at Amsterdam. I ought to have
had it vis6 at that place before starting on my
homeward journey, and this young officer was
merely doing his duty in stopping us, which I
was willing enough to acknowledge in my heart.

192 SENT BACK UNDER ESCORT.
though It was very irritating at the moment, and
I fear I showed my Irritation.
Then he wished to know where our things
were. We told him where we had left them, and
why; but it was of no use — he would not let us
pass. He said his orders were to prevent every
single soul from entering the town, for, as he
explained to us, many people had done so simply
to join in the dmeute : and he finally added that
we must return whence we had come. He, more
over, ordered two men to accompany us, stating
that If we attempted to escape from our escort
they would fire on us.
So there was no help for ft, and we returned
discomfited to our little Inn. Then we had some
dinner, such as they could give us, in a back
kitchen, where we were delighted to find a good
fire. We were wet through to the skin, and tired,
and this little bit of comfort somewhat raised our
depressed spirits. Our escort were feasting In an
adjoining apartment, and neglecting us ; so, by
the advice of a girl of the inn, who had been wait
ing upon us, and who commiserated our unhappy
condition, we took an opportunity of passing Into
the garden by a window at the back of the house,
and so out into another road, thus giving the
soldiers the slip. We never heard what became

' ¦ESCAPE FROM OUR GUARD. 193
of them, but I expect they caught it pretty hot for
letting us escape from them.
Having reached this other road, we asked some
men that we met to direct us to the house of the
village priest, as we thought the best thing we
could now do would be to claim his protection.
We discovered his abode without difficulty, and,
being fortunate enough to find him In, we at once
explained our position to him. He listened to our
statement, but he shook his head, and at once said
that It was forbidden to him or anyone to afford
protection from the soldiers. He was a tall, portly
man, but he had not a good face. He did not
look you In the face when speaking, and seemed
altogether to mistrust us. Casting a sidelong
glance at me, he spoke to my friend In Flemish,
but he only repeated to him that he could do
nothing. Therefore, as he could (or would ?) not give us
shelter for the night, or even till we were safe
from the soldiers, there was nothing for It but
to continue our forlorn march. We left the
village by another road, and walked wearily on
till we came to some cottages, where three young
men were standing. My companion spoke to
them in Flemish, and engaged one of them to
conduct him through the forest to the road that
VOL. I. 13

194 CONTINUANCE OF MY FORLORN MARCH.
would eventually lead to the Namur Gate of
Brussels. I declined to accompany him, so we
parted, and I, by the direction and advice of the
others, took the road to Vurin, where the palace
of the Prince of Orange was situated, and which
place I reached during the evening, the latter
part of the way being traversed in complete
darkness. The firing had entirely ceased, and meeting a
young man, of whom I asked an explanation of
this circumstance, he told me that there was a
truce, and that as people were leaving the town, I
could have passed in had I been at the gate. He
had been In the artillery, and had lost an arm ;
and he said that he would get me in the next
morning If I would go with him, to which I gladly
assented. I then sought some rest, which I sorely
needed. The morning came, and, as soon as I had eaten
some breakfast, I set out with my one - armed
guide. We had walked about three miles, when
we met two men. One of them stopped and
addressed me, asking if my name was Cooper. I
asked why. In great surprise, not having the
remotest idea who the man was.
' I suppose you don't recollect me,' he said ; ' I
am butler to the Hon. Mr. Freke, and you are the

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 195
gentleman that teaches drawing to the young
ladies.' 'Yes, that is quite right,' I replied; 'but have
you come from Brussels now ?'
He said : ' The family left last night, sir, and so
did your wife and child, but we all had to get over
the town wall. The soldiers helped us over on
shutters and doors that had been knocked off by
the cannonading.'
I expressed great joy at his information con
cerning the safety of my wife and child, and was
turning away, when he said :
' I have a bit of bad news for you, though.
Your brother-in-law is dead. He died three days
ago.' This was indeed sad news, and made me still
more anxious to hurry on towards my home. In
the hope that I might be of some comfort to my
dear wife and her parents in their sorrow ; for I
knew what a terrible blow this would be to them
all, as they were a very united family.
I thanked the man, and we continued our
journey. We got as far as the ponds of Etter
beek, which lie outside the town, between the
Porte de Namur and the Porte de Louvain, and
having no arms, we were allowed to pass cu
unmolested ; but we had not gone much farther,
13—2

196 THE DRUNKEN TROOPER,
when we saw several people running towards us.
They were frightened by a trooper, who was
firing his carbine at the windows of some houses
(which were built with gardens In front of them).
In order to make the servants come out and give
him drink. He was drunk already, and looked an
unpleasant customer ; so, whilst he was up one of
the gardens, I set off running with others towards
the Porte de Louvain. On our way we met
another soldier, galloping in a very excited state,
with no helmet on; and seeing us, he cried out,
' Oil est 11 ? Oil est II ?' We pointed to the house,
and this second man went after the first, of whom
the last we saw, marvellous to relate, in a very
short time, was his boots sticking out of the
Etterbeek pond ! We scarcely slackened our
pace, and, in my hurry, I quite forgot to give my
one-armed friend the five francs I had promised
him, which I much regretted, as I never had the
opportunity of rectifying my mistake, for I did not
meet him or see him any more.
I continued my walk In haste till I reached the
steps of my father-in-law's house, which, fortu
nately, was situated outside the gates of the town.
Up these I rushed, and fell exhausted In the
passage. I was in a sad plight — unwashed, with
a three days' begird, wet, fatigued, and hungry —

IN THE ARMS OF MY WIFE. 197
but, to my intense joy, I found myself in a
moment in the arms of my beloved wife. To see
her safe and well, and to find myself back again
with her and her family (though they, particularly
the poor mother, were all sorrowing for the loss of
son and brother), after all I had gone through
during the last three days, was almost more than
I could bear, and it was some little time before
I could realize the fact of my happiness — for
happy I was, in spite of the sad scenes going
on around me : the sight of men dreadfully
wounded, others returning to fight, the report of
musketry, the roaring of the cannon, the shouting
and yelling of the people. But I was at home
once more, and able to protect my own dear ones ;
and this was enough for the moment We could
only express our overwrought feelings by a simple
but a fervent ' Thank God !'
My wife related to me all her experiences of the
previous three days, and told me of the horrible
scenes that she had witnessed in the streets, of her
terrors for herself and all dear to her, and finally of
her escape from the town during the truce of the
preceding night ; how the officers, as well as the
soldiers, helped the women over the barricades
and walls by heaping up doors, shutters and
debris of every description — even the bodies of

NOTHING TO EAT.

dead horses ! By this means she, with the nurse
and baby, were able to reach her father's house,
which was situated, as I have already said, in a
suburb of Brussels, and where we were all now
so happily reunited.
Then she told me about her brother's last hours
and death, and of the distressing grief into which
this sad event had plunged them all, but especially
her poor mother. I felt truly sorry for her, and
though I tried my best to bring a little cheerful
ness Into the household, it was long ere she could
call up a genuine smile to her lips. Poor George
was her only son, the pride of her heart, and her
trial was indeed hard to bear.
After our feelings, had cooled down a little, I
began to make inquiries about dinner, for I had
been long without food, and was getting very
hungry. To my dismay I found that they had
only some brown bread and a little butter In the
house — no meat, and no chance of getting any, as
the troops, my wife told me, took everything that
could be procured without any compunctions or
apologies. ' Well,' I said, ' something must be done ; I
shall go and see what I can procure in the way of
food, for I am very hungry.'
' It will be of no use,' replied my wife. ' We

FORAGING. 199

have three dragoons quartered in our house, and
they will, and indeed do, eat everything that can
be got'
' Well,' said I again, 'we'll see. I can't stay
in the house Inactive, without trying what I
can do.'
So I sallied forth, and finding a woman sitting
at the side of the road with a large basketful of
potatoes, I first secured a lot of them, which I
immediately carried home. Then I went out
again, and meeting a gentleman that I knew, he
told me of a butcher in the neighbourhood having
that morning killed an ox ; so off I ran, and was
just In time to get a shin of the beef which I took
home in great glee ; and meat and potatoes were
soon boiling. Again I went out, but for some
time saw nothing of any Interest, except several
of the poor soldiers, seeking the gifts of tea which
the women had got ready for them. Sad indeed
were the sights I came across amongst these poor
wounded and tired-out creatures.
I wandered on nearly as far as the Etterbeek
ponds, where I found a woman selling butter.
Diving into her basket, and pulling out a large
lump of this delicious commodity, I said :
' This costs how much .'''
' Two francs,' said she.

HUNGER A GOOD SAUCE.

I paid the money willingly, and took the lump
of butter home in triumph, and that, with the rye
bread, carried us on till all was ready for dinner.
Being outside the gates, we were safe from shot
and cannon-balls. The sentry only fired on those
who carried arms, or tried to enter the town ; but
we could hear the fearful struggle that was going
on Inside, and see some of the effects of the awful
slaughter. Our dinner was on the table at about
six o'clock, and we sat down to a delicious dish
of stewed beef and mashed potatoes, which all
enjoyed, especially myself for hunger Is always a
good sauce.
It was fortunate that we got our dinner ready
so early, for before we had finished, , in came the
three carablnlers — black with smoke and dirt, and
spattered with blood — and, seeing the remains of
our repast, sat down at once In their breastplates,
and with their pistols loaded, stopping only to put
aside their helmets, and polished off the rest of
the shin of beef, etc. Then, calling for hollands,
they drank a pint of that, mixed with only a very
moderate allowance of water, and having finished
it, they then inquired who I was. I told them
that if they had to ask for me, I was Mr. Tom ;
and we soon became quite familiar. They said
they had to return to the park shortly, but would

THE THREE CARABINIERS.

come back again at night I asked them how the
engagement was going on, and they answered
that they saw very little of It, as the cavalry could
not act against the barricades, but that the infantry
were suffering much. Then, turning to my
father-in-law, and calling out, ' N'oubllez pas le
hollands,' they went off; and I found that It was
their habit to come in three or four times a day
for a pint of that spirit. One of them was a
Belgian, named William, or Guillaume, and they
were all three quiet, well-behaved men, who gave
but little trouble, but had tremendous appetites,
and a grand capacity for liquid.
Every hour gave evidence of the fearful
struggle that was going on, but the attacking
army could make no headway against the bour
geoisie. The carablnlers came in again at night,
but after having eaten and drunk, they returned
to their ranks. Of course we kept indoors all the
evening, though we heard no firing after about
ten o'clock, and the battle seemed to cease for
awhile. We looked out on the back garden.
The moon was past the full, and it was a lovely,
cloudless night — everything seemed so calm and
peaceful, and yet, as I remarked, we were within
ear-shot of a struggle where thousands of men
were eagerly watching for an opportunity to

202 WOUNDED SOLDIERS.
slaughter each other. Instantly the loud report
of a cannon startled us all, the tocsin sounded,
the volleys of musketry recommenced, mingling
with the hideous howling of the combatants. We
closed our windows and went to bed, and I can
answer for it that I, at any rate, soon fell asleep,
after my day of fatigue.
The next day began like the previous ones,
but as the hours wore on the fight grew hotter,
the firing was more Incessant, and It was said
that a body of Dutch troops had entered the
town, as well as others from Flanders. The
troops were more cut up this particular morning
than before ; and before noon forty-four carts
passed our house full of the wounded, eight or
ten In each. It was an awful sight. Some of
the poor creatures were almost dead, others
writhing in agony, and crying out for tea, which
the women In every house gave them as they
passed. Shortly I saw some, having had their
wounds dressed, returning to the town, and on
being asked why they did so, they replied,
' Obedience is the duty of a soldier,' and shouting,
' Vive le Roi !' went to the fight again. We saw
nothing of our three Inmates till the afternoon,
when one of them came in for his glass of
hollands, and being asked how matters were

AT THE FORGE. 203

going on, he only said, ' Mauvais,' and departed.
It was quite evident that the day was going
against the troops ; and in the evening the
reports of cannon were less frequent.
At the corner of our street there was a forge,
and the smiths during the day were engaged in
endeavouring to repair a cannon which had been
dismounted by the bourgeoisie, and I was standing
looking on. Suddenly we were all startled by a
shot striking the wall not far above us. It was
fired by a sentinel stationed outside the Porte de
Louvain, at a man who crossed the lane (leading
from the gate and terminating just by the forge)
with a gun In his hand. The shot missed the
man it was intended for, but nearly hit one of us ;
so I left them to mend their cannon, in which,
however, they were not successful, and returned
home. The three carablnlers came in for a short time
in the course of the day for refreshment, and
looked dirty and bloody, and were dull, out of
temper, or dejected, leaving us again without
speaking. As darkness came on, the reports of
cannon, etc., became less and less, and at about
half-past nine o'clock ceased entirely, when the
three men came In for their supper. Guillaume
said that they must be called at three o'clock in

204 I KEEP MY PROMISE.
the morning, as their regiment was ordered to
dismount and take the place of the grenadiers,
who were quite hors de combat, and they asked
me, in a most polite manner, to be sure and wake
them. I lighted them up to their bedroom,
which was at the top of the house, a room in
which was kept a large model of a fortified town,
with the aid of which my wife's father taught his
pupils the science of fortification. As I was
leaving them they bade me ' Bon soir,' and
Guillaume added, ' A trois heures, Monsieur
Tom, vous rappelez vous ?' I promised them I
would not forget, saying that I should not go to
bed till after they had left, and that I would have
some breakfast ready for them.
Nothing particular occurred during the night.
I did as I had promised the soldiers, and kept
myself awake till three o'clock, when I went up
to call them. They were startled as I tried to
open the door, and called out, ' Qui vIve ?' I
said, ' C'est trois heures,' and I found they had
piled their breastplates, helmets, and their whole
paraphernalia against the door for safety. They
soon came down, ate their breakfasts, and,
politely thanking me, took their departure. I
then went to bed.
On the morning of September 26, my birth-

TROOPS WITHDRAWN. 205
day, we heard, to our surprise; that Prince
Frederick, finding It impossible to take the town,
had marched off all the men he had left from the
contest, and was already on his way back to
Antwerp. The gates of Brussels were thrown
open, and we returned to our own house.
What a sight met our eyes as we entered the
town, literally walking on glass, the shattered
remains of windows from the houses, which were
all terribly battered by the cannon-balls and shot,
some quite In ruins, with their roofs broken up,
their doors and windows wrenched off, to assist
in the formation of the barricades. The roads
were torn up for the same purpose, carts and
waggons overturned, and the whole place pre
sented a deplorable spectacle.
Everyone knows the sequel to the history of
Europe at that time — how before the end of the
year Belgium was declared independent by the
Provisional Government ; how the Belgians took
Antwerp and drove the Dutch troops Into the
citadel, from whence they cannonaded the town,
and destroyed it in such a manner that it has
never thoroughly recovered from it ; and how
later on Belgian independence was acknowledged
by the allied Powers, and the country finally
separated from Holland, Prince Leopold of

2o6 ELECTION OF KING LEOPOLD.
Coburg being elected King In 1831. How, also,
the French revolution made headway until it
was brought to a conclusion by the election of
Louis Philippe as King. His daughter was
afterwards married to Leopold, King of the
Belgians, thereby cementing the alliance between
the two countries, and helping to bring about
the terms of peace which followed throughout
Europe. Brussels being now quiet again, the work of
restoration began ; but it was a very long time
before the place assumed its old aspect ; and as
for the inner life of the place, that seemed to be
as much altered as was its outward appearance.
All was dreariness and desolation !

[ 207 ]

CHAPTER X.
My Affairs get into a Sad Condition — Make up my Mind to leave
Brussels — Proposal of the Spanish Ambassador — Sorrow at
leaving Belgium — Parting with Verbockhoven— Arrival in
England — I go to London — ' Not in our Line ' — Success with
Ackerman — Mrs. Cooper joins me in London — Lodgings in
Tottenham Court Road — -I make Studies in the Regent's Park
— The Wandering Cow — Drawing on Stone — Begin to Paint
in Oils — Catterson Smith finds me out — He buys ray First
Oil-painting — Smithfield Market — The Noble Head of a Ram
— Studies from it — Removal to Windmill Street — Painting in
Oils more continuously — Mr. Crib — Not the Tax-collector —
' Fording the Brook ' bought by Mr. Crib — Health rather
failing — More Outdoor Work again — Mr. Carpenter — Picture
of Farm in Kent — George Chambers and J. B. Pyne — Removal
to St. John's Wood — Intimacy with G. Chambers — His Life
and Work — The Fire — His Early Death — Suffolk Street
Exhibition ^ Private View — Introduction to Mr. Robert
Vernon — Great Success of Picture — Article in Cobbetfs
Magazine — Stanfield, Roberts, and other Artists — Visit of
Mr. Vernon to Studio — Dinner at Mr. Carpenter's — Mr. J. D.
Harding — Carpenter's desire to clinch a Bargain — Prosperous
State of Affairs — Press Notices of Picture.
I HAD now to look my own affairs in the face, and
very uncomfortably they presented themselves to
me. Many of my acquaintances were killed or
wounded ; most of my pupils had left the town (very
many of them in my debt for lessons), and I at

2o8 / LOOK MY AFFAIRS IN THE FACE.
once felt that my circumstances were much altered
for the worse. Indeed, I may say that I found
myself In a very melancholy position ; and although
I made a great struggle through the ensuing winter
to stem the current of adversity, by giving up my
house and living In lodgings, by giving what few
lessons I could obtain, and by scraping together
what little money I could earn by the sale of some
of my drawings, I found, by the following spring,
that my savings were considerably diminished. I
felt that something must be done to mend matters,
and that at once.
So I talked over my affairs with my wife, and
it seemed to us both that no alternative was left
open to me but to leave Brussels, and return to
my native country. This, therefore, with the
concurrence, or, rather, by the wish, I should say,
of my dear wife (who ever sought to further my
interests, and to cheer me to more strenuous
exertions at times when I felt almost Inclined to
despair), I soon made up my mind to do ; for
though I knew no one In England who could be of
any help to me, either In a pecuniary way or
through professional Interest, I hoped I had made
some name for myself already, and felt I might
soon become better known in the art world.
Besides, Brussels, at any rate, was no place for

PROPOSAL OF COUNT ANDREAGA. 209
me now, and it seemed more natural that I should
try my luck In my own country before trying any
other foreign land. Another alternative was,
however, presented to me, and the proposal
pleased and gratified me, though I declined to
accept it.
I received one day a letter from the daughter
of the Spanish Ambassador, my former favourite
pupil, asking me to call upon her father. This
caused me some surprise, as I thought they were
still In Holland, whither they had gone upon the
first outbreak of the revolution ; but I went at
once to see them, and found that the Count had
been recalled to Spain, and that he and his
daughters were then only for a few days In Brus
sels to wind up their affairs in the place before
leaving for good. The object he had In sending
for me was to make me what really was a most
noble offer, which both he and his daughters
strongly urged me to accept. This was that I,
with my wife, child, and nurse, should join them on
their return to Spain, and that I should live In one
of his houses, In the best part of Madrid, rent free,
till I found myself in a position to pay for it. He
also promised that he would introduce me into the
highest society of the place, among which I should
find pupils and patrons, and follow my profession
VOL. L 14

210 PARTING WITH VERBOCKHOVEN.
in comfort. This very generous offer touched me
greatly ; but I had not the heart to accept it, and
start fresh In a new country ; and, to their regret,
they left without me.
I must confess that I felt some sorrow at the
prospect of leaving the Belgian capital. Having
lived there for so l"ong a time, I had got used to
the style of society and the habits and customs
of the country, and I must admit that I felt some
dread of starting anew In an entirely fresh place,
more especially as I knew nothing of the ways of
society In England. I had made a great number
of friends and acquaintances, and had been highly
esteemed in Brussels, not only for my manner of
teaching, but In my life generally ; and I could not
leave them all — friends, painters, and patrons,
many of the Belgian nobility being amongst the
latter — without a pang of regret ; and from none
of them did I feel the parting more than from my
friend Verbockhoven. We had been on terms of
the closest intimacy nearly the whole time that I
had lived in Brussels, and I felt certain that I
should greatly miss his friendship and kind en
couragement. However, the best of friends must part, and as
soon as I had definitively decided to leave Brussels,
J quickly set about making my arrangements and

RETURN TO CANTERBURY.

preparations for the journey. These did not take
very long, as there were but few adieux left to be
made, and but few things from among our house
hold gods to be packed for transport to England.
Such as there were, we soon stowed away safely
in our trunks, and the rest of our possessions we
sold. Finally, I collected all the money I could
get from among what was owing to me, and
started for my old home in the month of May,
1 83 1, arriving at Dover, and later the same day
at Canterbury, with ^^13 In my pocket, and a wife
and child !
I was thankful to find all my relations living,
and In good health. How much my return home
was joy to them was shown by their desire to
make my dear wife welcome and happy.
It was necessary that I should at once find
something to do, as I now had a wife and child to
support and care for, and I therefore left these
dear ones in my brother's charge — he being still
at Canterbury, established as a surgeon — and went
up to London, knowing well that I should have no
chance of making a living In Canterbury or the
neighbourhood, there being no opening for an
artist in the place.
My brother's career had been an eminently
successful one. After his medical studies were
14 — 2

212 / TRY MY SUCCESS IN LONDON.
completed, and he had obtained his diploma, he
first practised In London ; but after a few years
he returned to Canterbury, where he soon estab
lished his reputation, not only as a skilful surgeon,
but as a useful — indeed a valuable — citizen. He
became prominent In all local affairs, and proved
himself an efficient member of the community ;
and so highly was he respected by the towns
people, that he was three times chosen, In later
years, to be Mayor of Canterbury. He resided
In his native place, respected and beloved for the
rest of his life, and at his death was sincerely
regretted. With him, then, I left my wife and
child and went off to London, to see what I could
do towards earning a living.
Upon my arrival in town, I made four small
drawings in pencil, similar to those I used to do,
and had so much success with in Brussels. These
I offered for sale at several dealers' shops, but the
answer that I invariably received was :
' I regret that they are not in our line.'
This went on for some days, and I began
almost to despair of success, feeling terribly
lonely and strange In the great city, from which I
had been absent so long. At last I called by
chance at Ackerman's, in the Strand, and they
liked my drawings, and asked me the price of

A TOLERABLY GOOD OPENING. 213
them. Finally, they made an offer of five shillings
each for them, which I was glad to accept ; and
they gave me an order for some more of the same
kind. They also said that If at any time I had
some larger drawings, they would like to see
them, adding that. If those equally met with their
approval, they might do more lucrative business
with me.
This seemed to be a tolerably good opening,
and I felt warranted in bringing my wife up to
London. I therefore went down to Canterbury
to make arrangements for our move. This we
accomplished a few days later, and we first went
to an hotel in Holborn ; but I was soon able to
secure a respectable, but very modest, lodging In
Tottenham Court Road — second floor.
There I Installed myself with my dear wife and
child. We unpacked our possessions, and made
ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would
permit ; and I can answer for it, that though our
manage was small and unpretending, we were as
happy in it as many are in much more sumptuous
abodes. I found that all the necessaries of life were so
much more expensive in England than In Belgium,
that with all my care, and although I did some
fairly good business with Ackerman, I could not

214 THE REGENT'S PARK.
quite meet my expenses, and was obliged to draw
a little from my savings ; but I did not despair,
for I felt sure that in time I should make my
way. Just at this time it became very much the
fashion to ornament ladies' work-boxes and other
wooden articles by transferring lithographic prints
on to them, and then varnishing them. Acker
man did a large business in these things, so he
engaged me to do some drawings on stone for the
purpose of transferring. I was very successful
with them, having had so much practice In that
kind of work when In Brussels ; and Ackerman
was so surprised and pleased at the manner
in which I drew the pictures, that I got a little
more money for my work than I had at first
bargained for.
During my walks I observed that the whole
of the Regent's Park was enclosed, and that
hundreds of cows and sheep, belonging to various
milkmen and butchers, were pasturing there. I
conceived the Idea of drawing these animals on
the spot, but the keepers would not let me In for
that purpose, saying that I must get an order
from the Office of Woods and Forests. This I
obtained in a few days, and on showing my pass
to the gate-keeper, he allowed me to enter the

THE RESTLESS COW. 215
enclosures, and I at once commenced work in
earnest. Every day I went to the park, with a
couple of biscuits and an orange in my pocket,
and sketched the cows and sheep in pencil and
water-colour, remaining through the whole of the
hot days In the bright and burning sunshine, till
four o'clock, when I went home and ate my
dinner. I took a great deal of pains to catch the
animals in every variety of attitude, and to make
studies of the cattle and sheep in all their dif
ferent positions and movements. One thing I
was most anxious to accomplish, and that was
the action of a beast walking on from place to
place, nibbling a bit of grass here and there, and
chewing the cud as It goes, in the way they often
do. For this purpose I singled out one par
ticularly restless cow, and began making a sketch
of her, following her about day after day, drawing
when I could, and watching her every movement..
It was a difficult task, but I succeeded tolerably
well In the end, having before finishing my study
walked (according to an elaborate calculation), in
the pursuit of this one animal, fully one hundred
miles !
In Regent's Park, therefore, I passed neariy all
day, and the evenings I spent in drawing either

'2i6 MY FIRST OIL-PAINTING.
In pencil or on stone, to pay expenses ; and on wet
days, when sketching out of doors was Impossible,
I tried my hand at painting in oils. This I found
very agreeable, and finished within a short time a
small picture of a cow and two sheep.
To my surprise and sincere pleasure my old
friend and fellow-student, Catterson Smith, found
me out and called upon me. I was very glad to
find that he was doing good business In portrait-
painting, etc., and that his circumstances were
tolerably easy. I showed him my little oil-
painting, which he praised, and said he should
like to have it, asking me how much he would
have to pay. I told him that I thought of asking
£2 for it, and he at once said he would take it
at that price, and carried it away with him when
he left. I Immediately began another picture of
the same kind, which I sold when finished to a
person at Ackerman's for £2. So then I began
one on a larger and altogether more elaborate
scale. The execution of this painting gave me
the greatest possible interest, and when it was
finished I was fortunate enough to be able to
dispose of it without any great delay. I was
beginning to get known to a few of the principal
dealers, and to make my way with them ; and
through them, as well as by the private disposal

THE NOBLE HEAD OF A RAM. 217
of my works, I managed to secure a tolerable
income. At any rate, I was able to keep my
family respectably, which was something.
Every Monday I went to Smithfield cattle-
market to make studies in oil and water-colours
of the animals brought there for sale, and my
improvement in the painting of animals was rapid
and marked. Upon one occasion I noticed that
a butcher bought, amongst other beasts, a beauti
ful white-faced ram, with horns. I coveted this,
as I thought what a splendid study it would
make, so I got the address of the man, and went
to his shop, and told him that I wished to buy
the head of this sheep. He said he intended to
kill it the next day, when I could have the head
if I liked ; so I called upon the butcher again, and
got my noble head, with' some of the wool left
on, and carried It home with me. From this
model I made oil studies and sketches, as long
as I could keep it ; and I have them to this day.
Leading this kind of life I passed through a
year, during which time no incident occurred in
my family worthy of record beyond the birth of
another child. Just before this event took place
I removed to lodgings in Windmill Street,
situated on the first floor, as my circumstances
now permitted this greater outlay, and we found

21 8 THE FRAME-MAKER.
our new abode much pleasanter and more com
modious. From this period I took up oil-painting more
continuously. I had a picture on hand, on one
occasion, very forward, when I was told that a
person had called to see me. He was shown up,
and I asked him his business, not knowing If he
was the tax-collector, or what ; but he explained
that his business was not of so unpleasant a
description as that, and at once began telling me
how anxious he had been to find me out, and how
he had eventually accomplished It. He said that
he had seen, a short time before, a small picture,
with which he was much taken, in the shop
window of a frame-maker In Dean Street, Soho,
but could not find out from him who the painter
was, or where he lived. The man said that all
he knew about the matter was, that a gentleman,
who was a stranger to him, had brought the little
picture to be framed, but that he had told him no
particulars about it ; and then the frame-maker
added that he liked the picture so much that
he put it In his window till the frame was ready.
In order that other people might see It. 'He
also said,' continued my visitor, ' that If I would
look In again In a few days the owner of the picture
might call In the Interim, when he would inquire

'FORDING A brook: 219
the name of the painter. This I did, and in this
manner I learned your name and address, and
now I have called to see If you have another
painting like it, or any other pictures that you can
show me.'
I told him that I had not another small one
ready, but I showed him the painting I then had
in hand, which he examined very carefully, ex
pressing himself as being much pleased with it.
This picture I called ' Fording a Brook.' It was
an elaborate composition — cattle going through
the water to a road fringed with gnarled oaks,
under an evening effect. I liked it myself and
was glad that his opinion coincided with mine.
He remarked the careful drawing of the cows in
the water with their reflections, the effect of the
road leading to the farm-house in the distance,
and liked the composition generally. He finally
asked what price I would take for It when
finished. I told him It was the first picture I had
attempted so large ; that the small ones I could
paint for from £2 to £2, each, but that I hardly
knew what to ask for the large one. He then
offered me ^15 for it, if I finished it as carefully
as I had begun it. This sum I accepted, and
promised that it should be ready the following.
week. On leaving he gave me his name and

220 ENCOURAGEMENT TO PERSEVERE.
address : Mr. Crib, carver and gilder, and also
picture-dealer, Covent Garden.
The next week the picture was quite finished,
and I was beginning another, when, one day, the
baby was rather restless in its cradle, and, as my
wife was occupied in another room, I got up to
rock it a bit, palette and brushes in hand, when
who should walk in but Mr. Crib.
' Oh !' said he, smiling, and making some
remark which I did not catch. Then he asked
to see the picture, was much pleased with It, paid
me for It, and, carrying it off under his arm, said
he should call again.
This was great encouragement to me to per
severe, and gave both my wife and myself great
pleasure and satisfaction. This was really the
commencement of my career as a painter, but I
was obliged to continue to work hard at the
drawings on stone (In order to earn sufficient
ready money for household expenses), and also
at sketching from nature.
Thus I went on, painting all day and doing
stone work in the evening, and I improved
steadily. But my health was not so good as it
had been when I spent more time out of doors,
and as this was a matter of great importance to
my future success, I was obliged to be careful

PICTURE OF A KENTISH FARM.

and it ended in my going more often to the
park again, a means of getting fresh air which
I had rather neglected for a time in my anxiety
to get on with my oil-painting at home.
About this time I was introduced to Mr. Car
penter, of Old Bond Street, a bookseller and
picture-dealer. He and his son were desirous
of seeing my sketches, and called upon me for
this purpose. They both expressed themselves
as being very much pleased with what I showed
them, and at once gave me an order for two small
pictures, which I executed quickly, giving them
every satisfaction.
Mr. Carpenter afterwards commissioned me
to paint a half-length picture of a Kentish farm,
similar to commissions that he had already given
to George Chambers and J. B. Pyne. These
were new men, like myself and we three soon
became intimately acquainted.
I then moved to St John's Wood, and as I got
the picture very forward during the autumn,
Mr. Carpenter proposed to send It, as well as
the productions of the other two young artists, to
the next exhibition of the Society of British
Artists, In Suffolk Street, Pall Mall.
We three saw a good deal of each other during
the time that we were painting these pictures, and

GEORGE CHAMBERS.

I soon became sincerely attached to poor George
Chambers, our friendship lasting till his death,
which occurred about seven years later, while he
was still quite young. His early death was a very
great loss to art, for, had he lived, I feel convinced
that he would have become one of the greatest
marine painters of his time, or. Indeed, of any
time. When he was a boy, he was articled to the
captain of a coasting vessel, and being naturally
of an observant nature, he got such an intimate
acquaintance with the sea in all its varied phases
that, when he began to paint, he made this his
special line. His painting of rough water was
truly excellent, and to all water he gave a liquid
transparency that I have never seen equalled.
He understood the rigging and form of every
variety of vessel, too, perfectly, and his ships
were all In motion.
After quitting the seafaring life, he settled him
self somewhere near Wapping, below London
Bridge, and got a poor living by painting pic
tures of the ships that came up the river for their
captains and owners. Then he became better
known, and would certainly have made a great
name had he lived. As it Is, his name is well
enough known ; but owing to the struggles he
had to go through to earn a living during the first

THE CHIMNEY ON FIRE. 223
years of his artistic career, he had not time to
devote himself entirely to the branch of art for
which he was so eminently fitted, and just when
his circumstances would have permitted his more
exclusive devotion to the study of sea-painting, he
was taken from us, in the prime of his manhood.
Poor George was full of fun, and had a fund of
anecdote, rendering him a most pleasant com
panion. Some of his stories were painful, others
gay. Of the latter, I well recollect one that he
used to tell us. He was living at a public-house
near the Thames, which was much frequented by
the captains and sailors of small vessels, and the
landlord, having a fellow-feeling for anyone so
badly off as was George Chambers, charged him
nothing for his board and lodging, but took some
of his sketches in payment, and got him, more
over, custom among the seafaring men who fre
quented the place.
One day, when he was hard at work In a back
room on a little picture, which he had been com
missioned to paint, he heard a commotion and
cries of fire In the house. He ran into the bar,
and found that the chimney was alight, and men
were trying to sweep the soot down with a broom,
but the flames had taken hold of It too high up
the chimney for this means of extinguishing the

224 DISLODGED !

fire to be successful. George Chambers, seeing
this at a glance, caught up a thick mat, and ran
with it to the roof, and, climbing up the stack of
chimneys, he put It on the top of the one that was
on fire, thus stopping the smoke. As there was a
stiff breeze, he sat on the chimney-pot, to prevent
the mat from blowing away. Suddenly, a moment
after he had taken his seat, he found himself mat,
and everything dislodged, with a loud report, so
he went down again to see what had happened.
Then he found that one of the captains had fired
a carbine up the chimney, with a large charge
of gunpowder ! No one knew that Chambers had
gone aloft, and when he stopped the smoke from
coming out at the top, thinking that by excluding
the air he would put out the fire, the smoke had
come down Into the room In such volumes that
the other people present were frightened, and had
resorted to this measure, which effectually re
moved all the soot. When he told them what
he had done, they gave him a cheer, and all
laughed heartily — as did we, also, when he related
the story to us.
The three pictures which we had painted were
sent in due time to the Suffolk Street Exhibition,
and were all accepted, being the talk and admira
tion of all at the private view.

SUFFOLK STREET EXHIBITION. 225
Several artists and private gentlemen expressed
a wish to be introduced to me, and they all praised
my work very highly. The keeper of the gallery
made these Introductions, and, coming up to me a
little later, said that Mr. Robert Vernon desired
to make my acquaintance.
Thisdellghtedme extremely, for I had heard much
of him, and how kind and liberal he was to all artists.
He was one of the most important collectors of
that day, and was much esteemed as a patron of
art, and as a discriminating but kindly judge of
all classes of work.
He came up and took me by the hand, praising
my picture, and assuring me that he was truly glad
to see so promising a work In that branch of art —
landscape with figures — adding that he felt sure I
should meet with encouragement and patronage,
and finally rise to eminence. Then, looking
again with careful scrutiny over the painting, he
said :
' I should like to have that picture very mzich,.
but I see It Is in the hands of a dealer, who asks
.j^ioo for It; and it Is worth It, though I feel sure
you did not get anything like that for it from him ;
and as I have not yet bought a single picture in
my collection from a dealer, I shall not have
this.' VOL. I. 15

226 MR, ROBERT VERNON,

I thanked him very much for his kind expres
sions to me about my work, and told him of my
resolve to continue studying from nature with
energy and perseverance. I also expressed how
much gratification I felt at his estimate of my
powers. He then shook me heartily by the hand, and
was turning to depart, when he asked me If I had
any other picture in hand. I said I had a small
one tolerably well advanced, but that it was only
twenty-one Inches.
'Well,' he said, ' I will call upon you, and look
at it'
I thanked him. He booked my address, and
left the gallery.
Thus ended my first introduction to, and began
my first acquaintance with, a patron of art, and I
was greatly cheered by the kindness and apprecia
tion I met with from Mr. Vernon, as well as by
the prospect of painting for him, which seemed
to be a not unlikely result of my introduction
to him.
I also made the acquaintance upon this occasion
of Stanfield, Roberts, and other artists of whom
I had heard, and was congratulated by them all,
as well as by several writers for the press, on my
success. Then I returned to my home to relate

NOTICE IN COBBETT'S MAGAZINE. 227
all the good news to my dear but anxious wife,
and our joy was inexpressible at the prospect of
my becoming known and sought after.
My picture was very favourably spoken of in an
article upon the Suffolk Street Exhibition in
Cobbetfs Magazine. I hope I may be pardoned if
I quote the words :
' T. S. Cooper is to our eye a new name, but
it is evidently destined to outshine many an old
one. His performance, No. 13, is simply entitled
" Landscape and Cattle," as if it had been a
painter's composition ; yet we are firmly persuaded
that it is throughout portrayed from nature.
'It is, to be sure, a bit of unpretending every
day English landscape, such as every man, every
woman, and every child, has often seen ; but
painted In such a chaste and masterly style as,
we are almost tempted to say, no man has seen
before. ' The nearer objects are no others than a
thatched cart-lodge, two decaying oaks, with a
few sheep and cattle, beyond which a farm-house
is partially seen. The foreground consists of a
pond, with weeds and patches of bare earth and
verdure near it — a cow-lair, in short ; but there is
part of a city in the distance, from which rises a
15—2

228 VERY COMPLIMENTARY.
cathedral, to the best of our recollection resem
bling that of Canterbury. We think, too, that
we perceive Canterbury Castle there.
' The whole is charmingly painted. The
summer sky and air-tints of the distance are
beautiful. The oaks In particular, boles, branches,
ramifications, and foliage, are characterized with
remarkable fidelity, and by the happiest felicity
of touch. The whole has the air of an English
Hobbema ; or as if Hobbema and Nature had
contended who should teach oak-painting to Mr.
Cooper ; and as If Paul Potter and Hendrick Ross
had claimed the same honour with regard to his
Instruction In cattle-painting ; and Wynants for
mossy branches and tufted weedy banks. But
notwithstanding these resemblances, perhaps we
should rather write that all these distinguished
painters (including Mr. Cooper) have studied in
the great school of all-provident Nature herself
This high-flown and somewhat fulsome praise
was flattering enough to my vanity in those days ;
but I have since learnt to pay little heed to any
public criticisms on my work, though the appro
bation of those whose opinion I value Is still, and
will be to the last, gratifying to my heart and
pleasant to my ears.

DINNER WITH CARPENTER. 229
Mr. Vernon, true to his promise, came to my
studio and saw the little picture (21 Inches by 17)
which I then had In hand. In it I was Intro
ducing my second child In panniers on a donkey's
back. There was also a group of cattle coming
through water, and an old woman with the
eternal red cloak on, under a gray effect. Mr.
Vernon liked it, and asked me the price of it. I
said I thought about ^^15, but he said he would
give me twenty guineas for It, which pleased me
greatly, and rendered me a little more in conceit
with my own work, the goodness or badness of
which I had as yet hardly learnt to gauge justly.
Mr. Carpenter was desirous that I should like
wise paint for him two more small pictures, and
Invited me and my wife to dine with him the
following Sunday, in order that we might talk
over the subjects of the paintings. Mrs. Car
penter called for my wife when the day came, and
the ladles drove to his house in Old Bond Street,
while I walked there with him, chatting by the
way on all sorts of subjects. He was a very
plausible man, and knew how to make himself
agreeable when he chose.
Upon that occasion I had the great pleasure
of meeting J. D. Harding, the distinguished
water-colour artist and draughtsman, whose pub-

230 MR. J. D. HARDING.
llshed drawings on stone I had long known and
copied. He was also a great writer upon artistic
subjects, and his works of practical instruction
are still considered the best text-books upon art.
I found him a cheerful — indeed, a delightful man,
full of Information and very entertaining. He
spoke highly of my exhibited picture, and assured
me that I should rise to eminence if I should
be spared to follow up the good beginning I had
made. It gratified me much to hear these words
of praise from a man so well able to judge of
merit as was Mr. Harding, and feeling that his
good opinion would be of immense value to me
at this beginning of my career, I was the more
pleased, and felt at the moment very grateful to
Mr. Carpenter for having given me this oppor
tunity of making his acquaintance.
Mr. Carpenter was in very good spirits, and
paid me many compliments, saying that he hoped
to do plenty of business with me, as he had
already done with Harding. He placed some
fine old port wine on the table after dinner, with
a liberal dessert ; and whilst we were engaged In
discussing this, he read a paper to us, which he
had drawn up In the endeavour to clinch a
bargain with me, which should conduce to his
own benefit rather than mine. In It he offered

'DON'T YOU SIGN THAT PAPER!' 231
me a commission for three more pictures, the same
size as the one in the Exhibition, for which he
proposed to pay me the same price — viz., .^30
each. This paper he asked me to sign, and to
commence the first picture at once. I thanked him
for the offer, but said that I would like to think
the matter over before undertaking the com
mission, and that If I could see my way to do as
he wished, I would let him know. He again
pressed me to sign the paper during the evening,
but I would not be drawn into a compact with
out further consideration, especially as I noticed
an expression on Harding's face that made me
hesitate about complying with Carpenter's request.
As we passed into the drawing-room, Harding
whispered in my ear, ' Don't you sign that paper ;'
and the subject was not again mentioned till just
as we were leaving, when Mr. Carpenter said,
' The next time you come we will arrange about
the three pictures.' I always fancy he observed
that Mr. Harding did not encourage me to accept
his proposal, and that he thought it better to drop
the question for the moment, and wait for a more
convenient opportunity to clinch the bargain with
me, when we might chance to be alone together.
Well, matters went on very favourably for me.
Numbers of cuttings from the daily and weekly

232 WHAT THE 'TIMES' SAID.
papers were sent to me by various friends, con
taining notices of my picture, all highly in praise
of it. ' A new man destined to cut out the old
ones,' said one of them ; ' A British Paul Potter,'
said another ; ' An English Cuyp,' etc. — all most
flattering. The Times of March 25, 1833, mentions my
work, among others. In its notice of the Exhi
bition of the Society of British Artists, in the
following terms: ' No. 13, " Landscape and Cattle,"
T. Sidney Cooper. This Is the work of an artist
hitherto a stranger. It is Impossible not to feel
surprise that qualities such as this picture displays
have remained concealed, and. If it is an early
picture of the artist, that he should have acquired
so soon such mastery In his art. It is a large
landscape with cattle, combined with great taste,
and painted with such perfect simplicity and such
remarkable power as proves he must have studied
the best of all masters — Nature — with entire de
votion, and with the success which such study
deserves. There are passages In the picture
which may challenge comparison with the works
of some of those who are acknowledged to be
our best living painters, and as a whole it gives
out a promise that we shall hear more of an artist
whose first public picture is of such quality.'

AFFAIRS VERY PROSPEROUS. 233
My wife kept all these things and treasured
them, and my only surviving daughter has some
of them still.
Many people wrote to me asking if I had other
pictures for sale, or giving me commissions, and
altogether my affairs were in a very prosperous
condition. I finished the small picture that I
already had in hand first, so that it should be
ready for Mr. Vernon's inspection whenever he
should pay me his promised visit. Then I began
others that had been ordered, and soon my time
was fully occupied, for I did not neglect my
favourite occupation of sketching from nature
upon every available opportunity. After my
removal to St. John's Wood I constantly went
to Primrose HIU to make studies of the cows and
sheep which were almost always to be found
grazing there, and my change of residence proved
of great benefit to me, not only from a sanitary
point of view, but also from an artistic one, as
I found myself within easy reach of picturesque
spots, and could at all times get studies from
nature of animal life. It was almost like being in
the country in those days.

[ 234 ]

CHAPTER XI.
Mr. Vernon's Second Visit— Mr. Fawcett and Mr. Morton—' Here's
a capital thing !'— Mr. Vernon agrees to buy it — Kindness of
Mr. Vernon — Drawings on Stone for Fuller and Son — Camp of
Gipsies for the 'Book of Gems' — Visit of the Earl of Esse.x —
Very Infirm — Cultivation of Roses — ' Cut away ' — ' I wish I
could ' — Visit to the Earl — The very easy Arm-chair — The Earl
marries Kitty Stevens — Belford Regis — Miss Mitford's Stories
— Visit from a Strange Lady — Mr. Freke — Mr. Vernon calls
again — ' Send it by all means to the Royal Academy ' — Applied
at Somerset House — Not an assured 'Bang' — Picture accepted
— Rejoicing of Mrs. Cooper — No Admission for Outsiders to
Private View — Opinions of the Press —Picture a decided
Success — Dinner at Mr. Vernon's — His long Speech — Mr.
Jones, R.A. — His Unselfishness — His Career — Picture, called
' Milking Time,' first Work exhibited at Royal Academy
in 1834 — Now in National Gallery — Full of Work — Sketching
from Nature — Beautiful Spots near London — Lessons to Ladies
— Mr. Bates, American Merchant — Fenimore Cooper — Mr.
Harding buys Small Picture — Finally refuse Carpenter's Offer
— Drawing sold to Fuller — A Good Investment — Picture at
Exhibition of 1835 — Never missed a Single Year after the
First Acceptance — Difficulties in Treatment of Cattle-pieces
from an Artistic Point of View.
True to his promise, Mr. Vernon shortly came to
visit me, bringing two friends with him, whom he
introduced to me as Mr. Fawcett, the celebrated
actor, and Mr. Morton, the renowned dramatist.

'HERE IS A CAPITAL THING/' 235
I Immediately placed the little picture, that he
had especially come to see, on the easel, and he
inspected it minutely, after which he expressed
himself as being much pleased with It, saying that
he would certainly purchase It for his collection,
which gratified me Immensely ; for It was no small
honour to own a work in so fine a collection — an
honour coveted by artists of much longer standing
than I was.
While he was settling with me about the price
of it and so forth, his friend Fawcett was roaming
about my studio, and amusing himself by turning
round the two or three canvases with unfinished
pictures on them that I had placed with their
faces to the wall, and looking at my work. Many
of these pictures were only just begun. All of a
sudden, he called out In a bustling sort of way :
' Hollo, Vernon, here's a capital thing ! You
must see this. What Is It, Mr. Cooper ? Oh !'
he went on, without waiting for my answer, ' you
really must look at this,' and more to the same
effect. Mr. Vernon then turned to me, with his usual
courteous manner, and asked me what this was
that his friend had discovered. I told him that It
was a picture which I had commenced with the
idea of sending it to the Royal Academy ExhIbI-

236 MR. VERNON LOOKS AT THE PICTURE
tion the following spring If as It approached com
pletion, I thought it good enough to warrant the
hope that it might be accepted.
Mr. Vernon then said that It would gratify him
much if I would allow him to look at it.
' Certainly, I will show it to you with pleasure,'
I said, as I brought the canvas out from Its corner ;
' but the painting Is in such a very unfinished state
that you will hardly be able to form any opinion as
to Its merits or demerits.'
' Never mind that,' replied Mr. Vernon ; 'I dare
say we shall be able to judge what you will do
to it'
So I put the picture on the easel, and he
examined it carefully, after which he expressed
himself as being greatly surprised, saying that it
was a much better composition, and altogether
better executed, than the painting in the Suffolk
Street Exhibition.
'At least, I think It will be,' he added, ' If you
take the same pains and care in finishing it up as
you have with this little one. It is another of the
farms in Kent, I suppose ?'
' Yes,' I answered ; 'and I made a very careful
study of it last summer.'
Then he asked me what price I had put upon
the picture, and I replied that I had not thought

AND DECIDES TO PURCHASE IT. 237
of that yet, but that it was the same size as the
one in the Exhibition.
' Well,' he then said, with scarcely a moment's
reflection, ' if you finish It as successfully as you
have commenced it, I will have it, and I will give
you the same price for it that the dealer Is asking
for that other one — namely, ^100.'
' Oh, sir !' I said, ' I had not thought of asking
so much as that for it. But I will endeavour to
please you In every way, and will do all I possibly
can to make the picture a success. I do sincerely
thank you for your great kindness, and I assure
you I will do all I know that you may like It.'
' I have no doubt of that,' he replied ; ' but I
must tell you that I make it a rule only to pur
chase one picture from any one artist in a year ;
so, in taking this one, you will understand that
I must ask you to excuse my taking the small
one.' ' Certainly, sir. I perfectly understand, and did
not expect you to take both.'
Mr. Vernon requested me to let him know
when the picture was approaching completion,
so that he might come and see It again before I
sent it to the Exhibition ; and then, shaking me by
the hand, and wishing me every success, as did
also his two friends, they left.

238 SUCCESS VERY CHEERING.
I immediately went to seek my dear wife, that
she might rejoice with me at my good prospects.
We were greatly cheered by my success, and, as
my wife observed, there seemed every chance now
of my getting on and prospering in my profession.
I told her how different was the manner in which
Mr. Vernon had spoken to me from that of the
dealer — how he had encouraged me by speaking
of the pleasure my work afforded him ; while the
dealer only tried to get the productions of my
brain and the labour of my hands as cheaply as
he could, so as to make as much profit as possible
out of the various transactions. I mean this in a
general sense, not only in reference to my own
particular case, though Mr. Carpenter's proposal
to me is a glaring illustration of the dealings one
is liable to be subjected to by this class of men,
whose success — indeed, whose whole trade —
solely depends upon the brains of others.
After the very satisfactory conclusion to Mr.
Vernon's first visit to my studio, I determined not
to accept Mr. Carpenter's commission for the
three pictures, as the price that he offered for
them all did not amount to the sum that Mr.
Vernon proposed to give me for this one.
Artists should be sufficiently good men of busi
ness to look after their own affairs and to guard

PROGRESSIVE STUDIES OF ANIMALS. 239
their own Interests before putting themselves into
the hands of picture-dealers .such as this Car
penter ; but, unfortunately for them, it Is a quality
which they often lack. Had I not had the good
fortune to secure the friendship of so kind a
patron as Mr. Vernon, I should probably have
fallen into the clutches of this and other dealers,
from which I should have had some trouble to
get free.
For the remainder of the year I was fully
occupied In finishing up the various pictures I
had on hand and the cominisslons I had under
taken, among which was one from Messrs. Fuller
and Son, of Rathbone Place. The previous year I
had drawn for them on stone a progressive drawing-
book of animals for publication, and this met with
so great a success, that they desired to bring out a
second, more advanced series, which they again
employed me to execute.
I continued the habit that I had formed some
time previously of doing my drawings on stone In
the evenings for a couple of hours or so. In order to
give myself as much time as possible during day
light for out-of-doors work and painting.
I also had a commission from Mr. S. C. Hall,
who wished me to make a drawing of a camp of
gipsies to illustrate an article by Haines Bailey,

240 VISIT FROM THE EARL OF ESSEX.
which he was getting ready for publication in his
' Book of Gems.' This I accomplished to his
satisfaction, as I had many sketches of gipsies by
me ; but though the book was published in due
course, I could not get the money for my work.
I heard after a time that Hall had failed, and that
his business was given up, but I succeeded even
tually in getting my original picture back, greatly
to my satisfaction. Though I knew him per
sonally, and was one of the first subscribers to
the Art Journal, which he brought out, I never
had any further transactions with him.
Before the end of the year I had a visit from
the Earl of Essex, who was then making a col
lection of objects of British art, and said that he
wished to purchase a cabinet picture of mine if I
had one to dispose of I showed him the small
one that I had originally begun for Mr. Vernon,
with which he was delighted, and Immediately
offered me £2'^ for it. He requested me to bring
it to his house, in Belgrave Square, when It was
quite ready, and then took his leave.
The Earl was very Infirm, and walked with con
siderable difficulty, so I assisted him down the
stairs, and out to his carriage through my small
garden. He looked round at my flowers, and
walked from one side to the other, always leaning

'CUT AWAY !' 241

heavily on my arm, making his remarks and
giving me advice upon the treatment of different
plants. Being a great cultivator of roses himself,
he looked at mine with some interest, and then
said :
' Ah! Mr. Cooper, you will not get those roses
of yours to grow unless you cut them away.'
My little daughter Maria, who was playing in
the garden, catching the last words, sang out,
' Yes, cut away, cut away !'
' Ah ! my darling,' said the poor old man, ' I
wish I could. If I had your legs, I would !'
I felt very sorry for him, for he seemed to be
very helpless, and yet was so cheerful and, withal,
so kind and generous.
As soon as it was finished I took the picture to
his house, according to his request, when he at
once paid me for it, and said many kind words of
encouragement, hoping that I should persevere in
the vocation I had chosen : ' For,' he added, ' all
can see that you have talent, and you only need
experience to become highly esteemed, even
eminent, as an artist'
When I reached the Earl's house, I was shown
into his library, where he spent the greater part
of the day, and after shaking hands with me, he
said :
VOL. I. 1 6

245 A VERY EASY CHAIR.
' Be seated, Mr. Cooper, I pray you.'
He indicated a chair with his hand, and I sat
down. Instantly I entirely disappeared, and my
legs flew up In the air In the most undignified
manner. It was a wonderful chair, with an extra
ordinary spring to It, and being quite unprepared
for anything out of the common way, I entirely lost
my equilibrium, and with it my sangfroid. How
ever, Lord Essex was very kind, and soon put me
at my ease again. Afterwards, I could laugh at
the Incident, though at the time I did not like it
On leaving the house I met Solomon Hart, and
told him where I had been.
' Did you sit down ?' said he.
' Oh yes,' I answered.
' In an easy chair?'
' In a very easy chair,' I said.
' And could you get up again ?' he added with a
twinkle In his eye, by which I saw that he knew
something of these particular chairs. So then I
told him the story of my discomfiture, at which he
was immensely amused ; and he said that It was
well known that the poor old Earl, being very
gouty, was always trying new chairs, in the hope
of getting some ease — so much so, that any
one inventing a chair at all out of the common
way always sent It up for Lord Essex to see, and

KITTY STEVENS.: 243

if he approved of it, it instantly became the
fashion. Though already old and gouty, the Earl was at
that time paying his addresses to Miss Stevens,
the renowned vocalist. It was an unfortunate fact
that, when his devotion to this lady began, his
legitimate wife was still alive ! But as soon as he
became a widower he married the songstress, and
was thenceforth better known as ' the husband of
Kitty Stevens,' for she gained a complete ascend
ancy over him, and he left her at his death a con
siderable portion of his wealth and personal
property. At her death the things which were bequeathed
her by the Earl were sold, and his collection of
pictures (among which was the one he purchased
from me) fetched a high price.
Some time during that or the previous year, I
had a second visit from Mr. Crib, who wished to
purchase another picture from me about the same
size as the former one, for which he proposed to
pay the same price. I asked him if he could not
afford to give me a llttie more, as I was now
receiving better pay for my work than I did in
those early days. He said he would see, and I
began the picture. He called two or three times
to watch its progress, and upon one occasion he
16 — 2

244 'BELFORD REGIS.'
asked me if I would mind my name appearing In
print I said :
' It Is nothing to pain me, I suppose?'
' Oh dear no !' he answered ; ' a lady, who Is
writing a book, wants it.'
Then he explained that this lady, a Miss Mit
ford, was going to publish the story of a poor lad
who became a sculptor, and she wished to intro
duce the history of my early life as a counterpart.
The book was called ' Belford Regis,' and in it
she put what Crib had told her about how he
found me out, mentioning his name, too. It
became, therefore, an excellent advertisement for
Crib, as a dealer, for he made It appear that it
was through his discovery of one of my earliest
productions In oils that I won my first public
reputation, and that consequently his judgment in
pictures was to be depended upon.
I had considerable difficulty in getting my
money from him when the picture was finished,
notwithstanding his plausibility. I called at his
house several times, and eventually got paid by
^5 at a time, the first Instalment being given to
me only upon my pressing him, saying that I
wanted the money to go on a journey, which was
perfectly true, as I had a commission to execute
In the country.

MRS. FREKE. 245

On another occasion, somewhat later, I think, I
received a visit from a lady, who did not give me
her narhe. She was a handsome brunette, but
rather passie, and she told me that she wanted
two pictures for a present, requesting me on no
account to show them to anyone, as she wished
the affair to be kept secret. I promised, painted
the pictures that she had chosen, and she fetched
them away. Not very long after, I was surprised
by a visit from my old friend Mr. Freke, from
Brussels, the brother of the young lady who had
been my pupil, who surprised me still more by
saying that he understood that his wife had pur
chased two pictures from me. These two pictures
she had presented to him as a wedding gift, he
said, having discovered our old friendship, and
feeling sure that he would value anything done by
me, which he courteously added he did. I opened
my eyes in astonishment at the announcement
that the lady I had seen was married to him, for
she must have been at least fifty years of age,
while Mr. Freke was still a comparatively young
man — certainly not much over thirty. She was
undoubtedly very well preserved and ' got up,'
but- the fact was nevertheless apparent to every
one that the disparity In years between the hus
band and wife was great, and on the wrong side.

I246 INTENSE ANXIETY.
I learned some weeks afterwards that at the time
this lady had called upon me she was courting
Mr. Freke. This, also, was, according to my
ideas, on the wrong side ! but, as we have seen,
her efforts were crowned with success. She had
money, which covers a multitude of sins, and I
believe they lived happily together.
In the early spring of 1834, I had got the
picture for Mr. Vernon nearly finished, when he
called to see It After examining It with the
greatest care, he told me that he liked It ' ver)^
very much ;' and added, ' Send It by all means to
the Royal Academy ; I am sure they will accept It
for the Exhibition.'
At the proper time, therefore, I sent It In ; and
then followed a short period of uncertainty — a
period of the most intense anxiety and trepidation,
for I felt that my future career (at any rate, the
immediate future, if not the whole of my pro
fessional career) would be Influenced In a marked
degree by my success or non-success upon this
occasion. For several days I heard nothing. Then, at
last, I saw by advertisements In the papers that
the Council had concluded their sittings for the
selection of pictures from among the immense
number of works that had been sent In, and that

THE PICTURE ACCEPTED. 247
the business of hanging had commenced. I read,
also, that non-members of the Royal Academy,
who had sent paintings, were requested to apply
at Somerset House for information as to whether
their works had been accepted or not, and in the
event of their having been unsuccessful, they were
further requested to remove their pictures at once
from the building.
Accordingly, I proceeded without delay, as
directed, to Somerset House, and the recollec
tion coming over me of my juvenile tremors
when I first approached that formidable door, and
took that terror-inspiring knocker In my hand,
something of that old nervousness returned to me,
and I did not knock with quite such an assured
' bang ' as I did once in my life before. But I
might have done so, for I learned Immediately
that ' Mr. Cooper's picture was accepted !'
To have a picture accepted for the Royal
Academy Exhibition is the great aim of every
young artist, and the first time this object is
attained Is an event of the highest importance in
his eyes, and a source of the most intense gratifi
cation and pleasure, not only to himself but also
to all those who are interested In him, either from
a professional point of view, or personally from
ties of affection.

248 FAVOURABLE NOTICES.
It will readily be understood, therefore, how
great was my dear wife's rejoicing when I ran
home with the good news, for she felt, with
prophetical judgment, that this would be the com
mencement of a new era in my life as well as in
my career as an artist, knowing, as she did so
well, my temperament, and how I had built upon
success In this my first venture, which was in the
year 1834.
Outsiders had no tickets of admission sent to
them for the private view, so I had no oppor
tunity of hearing the remarks made about my
picture upon that occasion, though Immediately
after that day I saw several favourable notices of
it in the daily and weekly papers. The Observer
especially mentioned my picture with great praise,
and the Morning Post said of it : ' The distant
scenery of this picture Is beautifully painted, and
the richness and depth of local colour thrown into
the animals reminds us of the groups of Gains
borough and Cuyp, and materially contributes to
give to the scenery the effect which distinguishes
this meritorious performance.'
On the day upon which the Exhibition was
opened to the public, I was there in good time.
I met a few artists with whom I was acquainted
in the rooms, and they all assured me that they

MR. VERNON'S SPEECH. 249
considered my picture a decided success, and
congratulated me upon it. The approval of men
whose opinion I valued afforded me much satis
faction, not only for my own sake, but also for
Mr. Vernon's ; for, after all his kindness to me,
I was naturally anxious that he should possess
something of mine that should do justice to his
choice. He himself was gratified and pleased ; and
within a few days he Invited me to dine at his
house in Pall Mall, to meet some other artists
and men of note, with the kind Intention of intro
ducing me to their notice.
He entertained us very liberally, and when
dinner was concluded he got up and made a long
speech addressed especially to me, of which the
substance was as follows :
' I have something to tell you, Mr. Cooper,
about your picture at the Royal Academy. Mr.
Jones, the Royal Academician, a very dear and
old friend of mine, took me by the arm at the
private view to point out the pictures he particu
larly wished me to look at, as he was that year on
the Hanging Committee. After drawing my at
tention to a few by well-known artists, he said :
" Now come and give me your opinion of a very
good work we have here by a young man we

256 MR. JONES'S GENEROUS FEELING.
have not seen before." Then he took me up to
your picture, and pointed out all the parts he
considered to be particularly good. After that he
told me that the picture had been, through some
mistake, put aside by the Hanging Committee —
that it had been accepted in the first instance,
but that, when all the work of hanging was
finished, it was found to have been overlooked,
much to the regret of all the Committee. " But
I said," continued Mr. Jones, " we must not send
it back ; we have nothing of its excellence in that
particular class of work In the whole Exhibition.
We tried to make a place for It, but all the
rooms are so crowded, and the pictures so well
arranged, that we could not find a single bit
of space large enough to take it. Then it was
suggested that we should send it back to the
artist, assuring him that it was only on this account
that it was not hung. I, however, was so re
luctant to do this, that I had my own picture,
which was about the same size, taken down
and sent home, and this one was hung In its
place." " Well," said I, " that was a very
kind and honourable act of yours, Jones, and
I thank you, not only for the young man, but
also for myself for the picture Is mine. I
saw It In his studio, and it was finished for me,

'HE'S A NOBLE FELLOW !' 251
and I advised Mr. Cooper to send it for exhi
bition." '
This speech of Mr. Vernon's was received with
great delight and much enthusiasm ; and we all
drank ' Good health to Jones,' exclaiming : 'He's
a good fellow ! He's a noble fellow !'
I afterwards made Mr. Jones's acquaintance,
and he was always agreeable and polite to me.
His particular line of painting had been street
scenes, during the early part of his career, by
which he had gained considerable renown. He
entered the Royal Academy Schools as a student
when only fifteen years of age, but, being bitten
with the desire to try soldiering, he joined the militia
in the year 1808, and served In the Peninsular
War. After the peace he was with the army of
occupation in Paris for some time, and then re
turned to England, where he resumed his original
profession, taking up more especially, from that
time forth, the painting of battle-pieces. Soon
after his return he painted his large picture of the
Battle of Waterloo, which gained the premium
of the British Institution, and was then sent to
Chelsea Hospital. In 1824 he became a Royal
Academician, and later on Keeper of the Royal
Academy, so he was successful In his career as an
artist, which was somewhat surprising after the

252 'MILKING TIME.'

long interval spent in soldiering. So great an
admirer was he of the Duke of Wellington that he
endeavoured to imitate him In everything, dress
ing like him, and copying his manner and bearing.
My picture, which was described in the cata
logue of the Exhibition as ' Milking Time : Study
in a Farmyard near Canterbury,' is now in the
National Gallery as one of the Vernon Collection,
the greater portion of which was moved there
from the South Kensington Museum (where the
whole of this valuable collection was first placed)
some years ago.
I now found myself in a prosperous condition
and was full of work, for not only did I get some
commissions for oil paintings, but had also to
continue making water-colour drawings at the
request of dealers ; and I still did a good many
drawings on stone. I felt also that It was more
than ever necessary that I should persevere in
studying from nature, and I managed to find many
opportunities of sketching out of doors, both by
taking occasional trips Into the country, and by
visiting Regent's Park and other spots in and
near London.
Those who have not had their attention drawn
to the fact that there is extremely pretty country
surrounding London, or who have not sought It

PUPILS. 253

for themselves, would be surprised if they were
introduced to the picturesque and really beautiful
spots which may be found in the Immediate
vicinity of the great Metropolis. I have made
many a sketch within an easy walk of my London
home, and this may still be done, even in this age
of building.
I was also at this time engaged to give lessons
in several private families. Among my pupils
were the three daughters of Lord Liverpool, the
daughters of Lord Fitzwilliam and of Lord Sturton,
who all showed great talent, particularly Lady
Catherine Jenkinson and Mrs. Brand, who was
one of the ladles of honour to the Queen. I
taught her at Burlington House, litrie thinking
then that I should one day be on the Hanging
Committee of the Royal Academy In the same
building !
I also taught Miss Bates, the daughter of an
American merchant and banker, who lived in
Porriand Place ; and there I once met, and was
introduced to, Fenimore Cooper, the famous
American novelist. He was a very fine, hand
some man ; he loved art, and, as he often said,
everything that elevated and refined the human
mind, being himself a most cultivated man. He
was of fresh colour, well bronzed by the sun, and

254 FENIMORE COOPER.
he habitually wore a blue coat with metal buttons
and a velvet collar, a style of dress much in vogue
at that time. The novels of Mr. Fenimore
Cooper were just then becoming known. He
had commenced his career in the navy, but after
six years' service he retired and married ; shortly
after which event he took up literature as a pro
fession, though he did not venture to publish his
first novel till after he had turned thirty years of
age, when he Immediately made a hit with the
public, and from that time forth he steadily kept
up his reputation.
Mrs. Bates continued for several years to give
a present to my eldest child on her birthday, which
was on July 4, the anniversary of the declaration
of American Independence. My pupil, Miss
Bates, was afterwards married to Monsieur Van
de Weyer, the Belgian Ambassador. I recollected
him well. He was a lawyer In Brussels, and was
sent as a delegate to the British Government by
the Provisional Government of Belgium, after the
Revolution in 1830, upon which occasion he made
the acquaintance of his future wife.
About this time I received a visit from Mr.
}. D. Harding, who found me finishing a small
picture (twelve Inches by nine, upright) of a bull
with two cows. He took a great fancy to It, and

MY WORK INCREASES IN: VALUE. ,255
asked me how much I wished for it. I said that
I would let him, being an artist, have it for ^8.
So he took it at that price. We talked a good
deal about Carpenter's request that I should paint
three pictures for him at £2,0 each, and of his still
urgent desire that I should sign a paper to that
effect. Harding said he hoped L would not agree
to such a proposal then or at any time, as he was
sure that Carpenter would charge ^100 each for
them — too unfair to me ! I heard in later years
that this little picture which Harding bought from
me was sold, among other personal property at his
death (which occurred in 1863), and realized .^60.
My productions increased in value to an amusing
extent as time went on. One of my drawings,
nine inches long, which I sold to Mr. Fuller for
£2,, was sold by him for ^5 — I forget to whom ;
but it came Into the market again, and Fuller
bought it back for seven guineas, and sold It at
another profit. Again he bought it back for twelve
guineas, and finally sold it for twenty guineas.
Each time this drawing came into his hands he told
me of the transaction, and laughingly remarked
what a good investment It had been to him.
Having been successful in getting the first
picture I sent in for competition accepted by the
Council of the Royal Academy, I determined that

256 PUBLIC CRITICISM.
it should be through no want of effort on my part
If I failed upon any subsequent occasion. I there
fore continued to work very hard, and my exer
tions were rewarded by success ; for from the first
year that I began to exhibit at the Academy to
the present date, I have never once missed having
one or two, and In later years even more, pictures
in the Exhibition, though often my contributions
were only commission pictures, as, for instance,
that of 1835, which was simply named ' Stock' In
the catalogue. This was bought by Colonel Dick,
an American gentleman, who informed me that
he should take it out with him to his home. I
have several times since read accounts of this
gentleman's doings In the papers, and he is evi
dently a distinguished man In his own country.
My paintings were always well received, and
met with favourable criticism, generally, at the
hands of the writers for the press. The style of
painting which I had taken up was not, however,
one of unmixed satisfaction to an artist, for a great
portion of my commissions were nothing but
portraits of animals, often fat prize cattle ; and
though their form, as a rule, was good, they were
not always subjects that one would have chosen
to make pictures of and their treatment presented
many difficulties from an artistic point of view.

[257 ]

CHAPTER XII.
Picture from Thomson's ' Seasons' — Series of Drawings on Stone for
McLean — Visit to the Rev. H. Duncombe — The Cumberland
Fells — Sketches of Drovers — The Handsome CoUie — Cattle
and Sheep — Beautiful Effects of Atmosphere — The 'Drover's
Halt,' 1838 — Picture attracts Great Attention— The Royal
Academy is moved to Trafalgar Square — Annual Dinner at
the Close of the Exhibition— Sir Martin Shee's Toast— Re
sponse — The 'Drover's Halt' is sent to the Liverpool Exhibition
— Mr. Blundell sends for me to paint his Prize Stock — Prize
from the Liverpool Academy — Also the Haywood Medal
awarded to me at Manchester — Many Commissions from
Country Gentlemen — Mr. Harvey — Samuel Lover — Campbell,
the Poet — Cultivated Society — Sketching again in Regent's
Park — The Infuriated Ox — Reputation as Animal-Painter
established — Mr. Gurney — Bull on the Veranda — Drive in the
Cold — The Prize-Fighter — Norwich Bank — Portrait by Opie —
Not appreciated — Mr. Gurney's Black Bottle — The Young
Lord — Miss Gurney — Kent Cricket Club — Old Members
passed away — Health failing again — Long Evening Walks —
Frightful Accident to Mrs. Cooper — Her Illness — Recovery
— Hope and Security — How Short a Time they lasted — How
Fallacious they were.
I THEN commenced, and was soon fully engaged
upon, a large picture which I Intended for the
Exhibition of the Royal Academy in 1836. The
subject was ' A Summer's Noon,' which I had
VOL. I. 17

258 THE EXHIBITION OF 1836.
chosen from the following lines in Thomson's
' Seasons ' :
' Around the adjoining brook that purls along
The vocal grove, a various group, the flocks and herds compose
Rural confusion !'
and it was not a commission picture, but painted
out of my own fancy.
I got It finished In good time, and a good many
people came to see it at my studio before I sent
It in. Among them a Mr. Bishop, of Devonport,
who was a shipbuilder, saw it, and wished to
purchase it I asked ^150 for It, but he said he
would only give me .1^125, and after holding out
for some time, I let him have It for that sum. I
regretted this afterwards, as I received several
much better offers, but it answered very well In
the end, as through this picture I obtained a good
many advantageous commissions.
It was much liked by the Council of the Royal
Academy and several other artists, many of whom
spoke to me about it in very encouraging terms,
praising more particularly the landscape part of It
and the trees.
Mr. McLean, of the Haymarket, father of the
present Mr. McLean, employed me during that
year — 1836 — to draw on stone some groups of
cattie, sheep, etc., in large folio size. These,

VISIT TO YORKSHIRE. 259
when published, proved a great success, and
helped much towards making my name known.
During this same summer, I received a com
mission to paint two pictures for the Rev. Henry
Duncombe ; and at his pressing invitation I
went down to pay him a visit at Kirkby Misperton,
In Yorkshire.
I spent a most agreeable time In the neighbour
hood, and after making the necessary studies for
his two pictures, I visited many of the surrounding
properties by the invitation of their owners, and
made several other important studies of cattle and
stock, besides some landscape sketches.
At Lord Faversham's place, he being Mr.
Duncombe's uncle, I made a drawing of a fine
bull ; and at Major Bower's I did two. Alto
gether I spent a very profitable week or ten days
In the neighbourhood.
The burning down of Welham, the fine old
mansion near Malton, a few years ago, was a
very sad occurrence. Most of the family were
absent at a ball, some distance off, on the night of
the catastrophe, and returned home just in time
to see the roof fall In, the fire having then been
raging for some hours. Mr. Robert Bower, the
son of Major Bower, who was then owner of
the place, was at home, as well as two of his
17 — 2

26o BURNING OF WELHAM.

daughters ; and they would probably have been
burnt In their beds had not the butler, feeling ill,
got up and gone downstairs, when he discovered
the fire. He saved their lives, but the house was
burnt to the ground, and all the valuable property
which It contained was destroyed.
From Yorkshire I went to Cumberland, amongst
the fells, a part of England I had long desired to
visit. Being already so far north, it seemed to
me a good opportunity to gratify this desire, and
I did not regret the extra journey, for in that wild
region I found much to Interest me and to employ
my pencil. I got some splendid subjects, and
made a considerable number of good and useful
studies of landscapes, introducing cattle and
figures. The Scotch drovers, coming south with
their droves of cattle, generally passed over these
fells to avoid the tolls, and often halted there for
a night, sometimes even for a longer time. They
were very glad when the people from the towns
and villages went up and milked their cows and
ewes, and when, in exchange for the milk, which
they were pleased to get, they gave food, and gin,
and beer.
The men were a civil and obliging set, as a rule,
and as a drove halted whilst I was In the neighbour
hood, I took advantage of so grand an oppor-

THE SCOTCH DROVERS. 261
tunity, and made some capital studies ; for as I
found plenty of material to my hand, I determined
to do as much as I could in preparation for my
next large picture. Amongst other useful sketches,
I painted portraits of two of the drovers — fine,
brawny Scotchmen — picturesque in themselves
and in their dress.
As It came on to pour with rain while I was
occupied with the sketch of these men, one of
them consented to sit for me at the inn where I
was staying. He brought his collie with him, and
both of them were dripping wet, so he put off his
plaid and laid It on the floor by the dog. I made
a very successful sketch of the man, but before I
had finished it the dog got very fidgety with the
wet plaid, and his master said : ' Tak' It awa,
mon ! tak' it awa !' So the dog took the end of
It between his teeth, and dragged it out of the
room. The drover then asked me If I had done
with him, and I replied that I had, and paid him
something for his time. He came to look at his
portrait, and said : ' It looks natural,' but he could
not understand a man taking to such a business as
mine, for he supposed I could not get much for
such things anyhow. ' But then,' he added In a
patronizing way, 'we must take different drifts,
for we can't all be drovers.'

262 THE SAGACIOUS COLLIE.
I then asked him if he thought his dog would
lie quiet for a little time, as I wished much to
make a sketch of him, to which he answered ;
' Oh yes, mon ; he'll do anything I say to him.'
So he called 'Watch,' and zuhustled {siS the Scotch
pronounce it) for him ; but as the dog did not
answer to his call, we went together to look for
him, and found him In the kitchen, sitting In front
of the fire with the plaid in his mouth, holding it
up to dry ! I was much surprised, and expressed
my admiration at the dog's intelligence, thinking
immediately what a subject it would have been
for Edwin Landseer. ' Ah, he's a canny creature,
sir ; he knows a many things, does that dog, sir !
But come awa, mon ; the gentleman wants to
mak' your picture.' So we returned to my room,
and I made a more successful study of the hand
some collie than I anticipated ; and I have it to
this day.
I also painted the portraits of two women in
very picturesque costumes ; and after having been
fully occupied in this manner for a week, I re
turned home with a capital assortment of studies
of figures, animals, and mountain scenery. In ex
cellent health, and with a joyful heart. The fells
make capital accessories to pictures of animals,
there being no trees, and often splendid effects of

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 263
sunshine and mist. The forms of the animals,
with the background of rocks and crags, in vary
ing outlines, being, under these conditions of
atmo-sphere, partly veiled in vapour, are rendered
more pleasing to the eye, and the whole effect is
decidedly picturesque, besides being peculiar to
the country in that part of England.
As I always think that one's best paintings are
from subjects suggested by recent sketches and
thoughts, I commenced. Immediately after my
return to London, my picture called ' A Drover's
Halt on the Fells, Cumberland,' which I Intended
for the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1838, so I
had plenty of time before me to work at it.
A peculiar and very beautiful effect of mist,
which I observed during my stay among these
Cumberland mountains, was so Indelibly impressed
upon my mind that I painted a picture ten years
later to introduce It. The picture was exhibited
at the Royal Academy in 1847, under the tide of
' Mist Clearing Off among the Cumberland Moun
tains.' To the Exhibition of 1837 I sent two pictures,
'A Group of Scotch Mutton,' and 'Morning:
Study on a Farm near Canterbury,' a sort of
companion picture to the evening effect, ' Milking-
Time,' of three years before.

264 THE 'DROVER'S HALT.'
As soon as these two were off my hands, I set
to work more vigorously on the ' Drover's Halt,'
hoping to make a decided success of it, which I
think I may say I did, for it was well placed at
the Exhibition, and I received fresh marks of
approbation from various members of the Royal
Academy and other artists.
In the catalogue, under the title of my picture,
a paragraph was quoted, as being explanatory of
the subject, from ' Manuscript Notes on the
Customs of British Peasantry ' ; and as it gives
a very graphic description of the scene depicted, I
will venture to requote the words of the author
here :
' On the sides of these dreary mountains, and
over difficult and cheerless tracts, the border
drovers drive their flocks and herds over their
Insulated surface, leaving the more regular turn
pike roads to avoid the tolls ; and when the hour
of rest arrives, they seek the daily necessaries,
water and fodder. The sheep, cows, bulls, and
bullocks, brindled, brown, black, and sheep of
many hues, commence cropping the scanty herbage
among furze and heather, or resting In groups
ruminating. ' The peasants arrive with pails and yokes, and
bargain for the milk of the cows and ewes, forming

THE ANNUAL ROYAL ACADEMY DINNER. 265

such Anglo-Berghem parties rarely to be seen In
any other county in England.'
The scenes that are to be met with in those
wild Cumberland fells are indeed peculiar to that
county, and for the artist quite ' out of the beaten
track,' literally and figuratively, and most in
teresting. My picture attracted the public a good deal at
the Exhibition, and I heard many an appreciative
remark about it from them, as well as from con
noisseurs. The Royal Academy had been moved the
previous year from Somerset House to the build
ings in Trafalgar Square in which the National
Gallery was and still is, several of the rooms
which are now occupied permanently by pictures
belonging to that Institution having been. In the
days of which I am writing, set apart for the
annual Exhibition. They were an improvement
upon the rooms at Somerset House, but not so
good as those we now have at Burlington House.
The first Exhibition held in Trafalgar Square was
that of 1837.
At that time it was the habit of the Academi
cians to hold annually a dinner, after the close of the
Exhibition, at which each member, by payment of
a guinea, was entitled to introduce an exhibiting

266 SIR MARTIN SHEE, P.R.A.
non-member — a cordial, kindly idea, as it gave
these outsiders the opportunity of becoming
personally acquainted with men of professional
standing, to whom they might otherwise remain
unknown. In this manner I was invited that
year, and was most kindly received.
I was taken with great surprise when Sir Martin
Shee, the President, after making some very en
couraging remarks on the works of many of the
outsiders, proposed the health of the non-members
and coupled my name with It. I well remember
the spasmodic sensation in my throat as I rose to
return thanks ; but I managed to struggle through
a short speech, which was well received, several
of the members nodding approval to me. I well
remember, too, how happy I felt when I returned
home and related to my wife all the circumstances
of the evening, which gave her the most intense
gratification. Sir Martin Shee had, at the time of which I am
writing, already been President of the Royal
Academy for several years, having been appointed
to that post immediately after the death of Sir
Thomas Lawrence ; and he retained the position
till the time of his own death, in 1850. He was
known as a portrait-painter, but never attained
any great renown in the world of art.

TO LIVERPOOL BY STAGE-COACH. 267
I did not sell that picture of ' The Drover's
Halt ' at the Academy Exhibition, but after It
closed I was requested by the secretary of the
Liverpool Academy to send it to their exhibition,
which was to be held later In the year. This I
did, and I received a letter the day after the
private view to say that It had been bought by a
Mr. Blundell for .1^200, the price I had put upon
It. The secretary who wrote to tell me of the
purchase also said that Mr. Blundell wished to
see me, as he had a favourite bull and other stock
that he would like me to paint, to make a com
panion picture to the one he had bought at the
Liverpool Exhibition. This was really good and
unexpected news, and I quickly made arrange
ments to start for Liverpool.
I went down by the stage-coach, the journey
In those days taking twenty-four hours, and I
arrived safely and well. I put up at an inn called
the Saddle, and in the evening had a visit from
the secretary, who had heard of my arrival. He
congratulated me on the sale of my picture, telling
me that It had been greatly admired and had
attracted many visitors to the Exhibition.
' But,' said he, ' this Is not the only thing upon
which I have to congratulate you ; for to-day the
committee of the Liverpool Academy have

268 'Charley:

awarded you their annual prize of .^50 — a
cheque for which amount it gives me great
pleasure to hand to you, the painter of so fine
a picture.' This was another bit of unexpected and pleasur
able news. I begged the secretary to tender my
thanks to the committee, and I wrote to them
myself the next day to express my gratification at
this unexpected mark of their appreciation of my
work. The following morning I called upon Mr.
Blundell, who lived some little distance out of
Liverpool, his residence being near the seat of
Lord Derby. He received me very cordially,
and after expressing his pleasure at being the
possessor of a picture that was the admiration of
all connoisseurs and the talk of the town, as well
as at making my personal acquaintance, he took
me to see his farm. The bull that he wished me
to paint, of which he was so proud, was a fine
shorthorn, well marked for a picture. ' Charley '
was of the highest pedigree, and I at once saw that
I could make an effective painting of him with a
cow and calves ; so I set to work Immediately,
and by the end of a week had made large and
successful studies of them.
Mr. Blundell was extremely kind, and enter-

SUCCESS AT LIVERPOOL AND MANCHESTER. 269
tained me well. He introduced me to several
collectors ; and my visit to Liverpool was altogether
as advantageous to me as it was agreeable.
I returned to London, and painted the picture
from the studies I had made. As soon as it was
finished, I sent it down to him, and he was highly
pleased with It. Through Mr. Blundell I received
many other commissions, and the picture I painted
for him got my name up In the neighbourhood. I
sent some of my works every year, after my first
visit, to the Liverpool Exhibition, and also to
Manchester, in both of which places I was success
ful in selling my pictures, besides being awarded
the .;^20 prize at Manchester, and the Haywood
medal. I was still living, through all this period of
my existence, in Portland Terrace, St. John's
Wood, and my next - door neighbour was Mr.
Harvey, the woodcut illustrator of books, and the
right-hand man of Charles Knight, the publisher.
It was at Knight's house that I first met Mr.
Harvey, as well as several other men of note and
distinction — amongst others, Samuel Lover, who
was one of the most entertaining men I ever came
across. He used to read to us, at our little social
gatherings, some of his unpublished Irish stories,
keeping us In roars of laughter, while his own

270 S. LOVER, AND CAMPBELL THE POET.
countenance was as composed and self-possessed
as if he were talking on the most common-place
topics. He rolled out the rich brogue and fun of
' The Gridiron ' without a smile on his face, and
with a manner as quiet and collected as when
reading ' The Angel's Whisper,' the sweet pathos
and charm of which contrasted strangely with his
humorous passages. He was really a wonder
fully clever man, being poet, painter, and musician.
He was a good narrative-painter, and composed
the music to all his songs ; and could, moreover,
sing them to his own accompaniment.
I also met, at my friend's house, Campbell, the
poet another most amusing man, full of jokes and
anecdotes, and as bright and sharp as a needle.
He was a peculiar-looking man, with sharp blue
eyes, a long and tapering nose, that would go
through a keyhole, of fresh colour, and, I think,
marked with the small-pox. He was a man of
keen observation, and was always delightful com
pany — a man who Impressed and singularly
attracted me ; but I never could think of him as
the author of that beautiful ode ' The Evening
Star,' or of ' The Last Man,' and other serious
productions. They did not seem to belong to his
character or nature, and I could not understand
the apparent anomaly. His manner of express-

SOCIAL ENJOYMENT. 271

ing himself was insinuating, cheerful, and bland ;
and there was great and pointed humour in his
conversation, his fun being always full of vigour
and real wit, but never In the slightest degree
coarse or vulgar.
I often regretted that I did not meet him
oftener, for I thoroughly enjoyed his company, as
I did that of many others with whom I came in.
contact at that time. The thought constantly
struck me that I had gained much happiness
through being an artist — the exercise of my pro
fession having brought me Into intimate relation
with so many distinguished men of letters, of
science, and of art, the intercourse with whom
had helped me to cultivate my mind, thoughts,
and manners. I always felt the better for being
in their company, and had a continual desire for
further opportunities of meeting such men.
I continued to work hard through this year,
but I found time at intervals to accomplish some
amount of studying from Nature. I still often
sketched in Regent's Park, where there were
always plenty of cattle and sheep to be found
grazing, though it was not enclosed in the same
way as formerly.
One day I was sketching near a bridge over
the canal, on the north side of the park, when an

272 THE INFURIATED OX.
accident occurred to me which might have had
serious results. The subject of my study was an
ox, who, when I first began to sketch him," was
quietly browsing, and apparently took no notice
of me or my doings. Suddenly, however, he
became restless, began trotting up and down, and
finally charged me.
I jumped up, and seizing my easel and other
Implements, ran for safety to an enclosure just
under the bridge — the animal, now seeming quite
furious, galloping after me. I escaped to the
haven of refuge, but unfortunately I dropped my
drawing on the way, through which the ox put
his hoof And all this fury was, I then saw,
caused by a poor harmless dog, who was quietly
passing over the bridge with his master. It was
hard that I should have been singled out by the
Infuriated animal for an attack, instead of the
offending dog, or even the other man ! However,
I was glad to have made good my escape with no
bones broken, though I grieved at the destruction
of my drawing. He was a fine subject ; and the
study I was making of him bid fair to be a success
ful one.
A good deal of my work began at this period
(as I have before observed) to consist of com
mission pictures, mostly portraits of stock, etc..

COMMISSIONS. 273

for my reputation as an animal-painter was
steadily gaining ground, and I was constantly
sent- for by gentlemen in the country for this pur
pose. Indeed, as each December came round I
could almost reckon upon having some prize
cattle to paint, either before they came up to
the great Smithfield Show, or after they returned
from it to their country homes.
Two I painted In London — a Hereford and a
Devon — and though the outline and general form
of these animals were only fit for portraits, and
not at all calculated to make good or effective
pictures, as pictures, yet their colouring was very
beautiful, and the heads of both of them very
fine, particularly the eyes and nostrils ; and I am
sure that the constant practice I had in painting
all kinds of cattie, whether good or bad, improved
me much.
Amongst those gendemen who sent for me to
paint their cattie and stock was Mr. Richard
Gurney, a Norwich banker, whose seat was
situated about four miles from the town. He
had gained the first prize at the annual local
cattie-show, with a Scotch two-year-old, and it
was of this animal that he wished to have the
portrait. He was a magnificent ox — very fine in
form, and fat — and directiy I saw him I felt cer-
VOL. L 18

274 THE OX ON THE VERANDA.
tain that I should be able to make an effective
picture of him. The weather was, however, any
thing but favourable to our project, for it was not
even bright winter weather, but dreadfully cold,
cloudy, and dull, with a bitter east wind ; and I
soon found that it was quite Impossible to do
anything out of doors in the way of painting on
this account.
We could not think how this difficulty was to
be overcome, till Mrs. Gurney conceived the
bright idea of having the animal brought on to
the lawn in front of the drawing-room window.
This was at once carried into effect, and the beast
was comfortably installed under the veranda.
The poor thing was very fidgety at first in Its
novel position, but soon got used to its strange
surroundings, and I could take my time over the
sketch, sitting in comfort, as I did. In the warm
room, the window of which opened on to the
terrace where the ox was placed. The result was
perfectly successful. I was able to manipulate
better than I could possibly have done with no
shelter over me, with numb fingers and an unquiet
mind ; and the study that I made was, therefore,
entirely satisfactory. The colour of the bull was
black and tan, which I hit off very successfully ;
and the family were so pleased with my work

THE PRIZE FIGHTER. 27s
that they not only praised me, but thanked me
for the care I had bestowed on the sketch.
Mr. Gurney asked me to drive with him into
Norwich before dinner, which I was pleased to
do ; but we went In an open trap, and the wind
was so bleak and cold that I did wish I had no
nose ! Mr. Gurney did not seem to mind it, and
said it was usually so in December In that part of
the country. As we approached the town, he
pulled up at the gate of a cottage, where an old
man was working in the garden, and he called
out to him :
' Well, Ned, how are you ?'
' Pretty well, sir, thankee,' was the reply, ' but
not so active as once.'
' Very likely, I suppose ; but you can get about
your garden ?'
' Yes, I can do that ; thanks for your kind
ness.' Then, throwing him a piece of money, Mn
Gurney said :
' All right, Ned ; good afternoon,' and drove
on. Then he asked me if I knew the man, and 1
said :
' How should I ?'
' You know him by name, I dare say.' 18—2

276 JOHN OPIE.

' Who is he, then ?' said I.
' Why, that is Ned Painter, the once famous
prize-fighter. I often backed him, and hardly
ever lost my money. But he fell into a disabled
state after a time, so, having an interest in him, I
put him into that cottage of mine, and I allow
him a pension. He Is now a very steady man,
and deserves helping.'
We soon reached the town and went to the
bank, where Mr. Gurney introduced me to the
principals, which did not interest me much. But
one thing did, and that was a half-length portrait
by John Opie, which hung over the door — a very
fine one. In beautiful tone, although cobwebbed
and dirty.
This artist was a man of very superior attain
ments ; entirely self-taught, having been the son
of a poor carpenter in Cornwall, who was very
anxious that his son should be brought up to his
own trade, and did everything In his power to
discourage the passion for drawing which young
Opie showed from his earliest years. Eventually
the young man went to London, and succeeded
In obtaining an Introduction to Sir Joshua Rey
nolds, who gave him much valuable assistance
and advice.
The manager of the bank told me, when I asked

THE PORTRAIT BY HIM. 277
the history of It, that the picture which had taken
my fancy was the portrait of one of the family, a
former partner In the bank, and he did not think
much of it But I thought it of a very superior
class and quality, and said :
' Why, I would cover its value three times over
with my own works to be the fortunate possessor
of that painting !'
At which he smiled, probably thinking what an
infatuated young man I was ; and then we pro
ceeded home.
The prize-fighter was still working in his
garden as we passed, and greeted us civilly ; but
we did not stop again, as we had only just time
to reach the house in time to dress for dinner,
which was at seven o'clock sharp.
Mr. Gurney was a very liberal and sumptuous
entertainer. Besides his own family, which con
sisted of a wife and young daughter, there were
present at dinner, on this occasion, an M.P., a
neighbour, the rector of the parish, and a young
nobleman, whose name I have forgotten — a very
cold set of people ; but they warmed up and
became more affable as the wine went round.
Mr. Gurney did not drink wine, but had a
black bottie placed by his side by the butier,
through the whole of the dinner, and again at

^78 THE YOUNG LORD.
dessert, when the cloth was removed. After
about half an hour he got up, to my surprise, and
bade us good-night, leaving us to entertain each
other. I expected this would prove to be a very
dreary proceeding, but I was mistaken, for I
found that the two older men were interested in
art and literature, and I enjoyed their conversa
tion very much.
All at once the young lord cried out, ' I
wonder what our host has been drinking all
through dinner out of his black bottle ?' And, his
curiosity getting the better of his discretion, he
took hold of the bottle and poured out — brandy !
To our surprise we found that the larger half
of the contents of the bottle had been imbibed,
and then I understood his precipitate retreat from
the table. I think the rector knew about it,
judging from the expression of his face, but he
said nothing ; and soon after this episode we
joined the ladles in the drawing-room.
The next day I packed up my canvas and
left for London, In order to finish the picture at
home, which I succeeded In doing to my satis
faction within a short time. Those who saw it
thought very highly of it, and Mr. Gurney
himself always referred to It with pleasure when
ever I came across him.

KENT CRICKETERS. 279
Mr. Gurney's daughter, with whom I made
great friends during my visit to her father's house,
was married, not very long after that time, to a
gentleman whose name I cannot now remember,
a well-to-do man, who placed her In a very com
fortable position, which I was very glad to hear,
as she was a friendly, kind-hearted girl, to whom
I took a great fancy, which, I flatter myself was
reciprocated. Shortly after her marriage she
wrote me an extremely nice letter, and asked me
to do her a small pencil drawing as a remem
brance, saying that she would prefer a little group
of cattle to anything else. I was much gratified
by her request, and by the charming way in
which she made it, and gladly did what she
wanted. Mr. Gurney I frequently met in after-years at
Lord's Cricket Ground, when I was a member of
the Marylebone Club. Cricket was a game in
which I always took great interest and watched
with pleasure, particularly when the representatives
of my native county club were playing. One of
the grand yearly matches in those days was Kent
versus ' All England,' when Fuller Pilch and
Wenman, Felix, Hillyer, Adames, and Alfred
Mynn, etc., were to the fore. I for years invited
the members of the Kent Club to supper after the

28o EVENING WALKS.
match, whether victorious or not, and some of
their opponents ; but these men are all gone now,
and the county is no longer able to encounter
' England ' with success.
Again, towards the end of this year my health
began slightly to trouble me. In my youth I had
led such an utterly free, unconstrained life, taking
an Immense amount of exercise, and spending so
much of my time in the open air, that I never
could thoroughly accustom myself to the sedentary
occupation of an artist or the confined air of a
studio. The change to this life, at any rate, had
come upon me too suddenly, and I felt that some
thing must be done to mend matters.
In order to counteract, therefore, the 111 effect
of my necessarily close application to my work, I
now, by the advice of my medical man, began to
take long walks, daily, out into the country.
These walks I took of an evening, so as not to
encroach upon the precious hours of daylight more
than was absolutely necessary, and I often saw
lovely sunset effects which compensated me in
some measure for the effort it cost me to tear
myself away from my studio.
These and many other beautiful effects of nature
I stored in my memory for future use, and the
feeling that I was not wholly wasting my time.

MRS. COOPER'S ACCIDENT. 281
while gaining immense benefit from the regular
exercise, was so great a consolation to me that I
have kept up the habit ever since ; and even now,
at my advanced age, I take a considerable amount
of pedestrian exercise.
On returning home one night from one of my
long walks, I found that a great calamity had
befallen my dear wife. As I neared the door of
my house — indeed, as I entered the outer gate — I
could see that something had happened, for the
doctor was just emerging from the house, with a
very anxious expression upon his face, and I
dreaded what I might hear.
He came up to me and informed me that my
wife had met with an accident, and was frightfully
burnt. He said that she was then lying insensible
in her bed, and he begged that I would by no
means disturb her till he returned in an hour's
time. This news was naturally a terrible shock to
me, and I went into my house feeling greatly upse
and depressed. I then learned the cause of this
sad accident It seemed that the children having
chilblains (the weather being cold and wintry),
my wife had gone to my room to fetch my bottle
of turpentine, with which she had rubbed their feet
and had then put them to bed. After this she sat
down to her evening work, when suddenly looking

282 SHE WAS FRIGHTFULLY BURNT.
Up and observing that she had not replaced the
cork in the bottle, she reached up to the mantel
piece, where she had put It, to rectify this omission.
In doing this she upset the bottle, which broke,
and the fluid, flowing down from the mantelpiece
Into the fire, was quickly Ignited. She took up the
hearthrug to throw over the flames, and tried to
extinguish them, but she did not succeed, and
some of the spirit, which was alight, ran on to her
back, as she bent forwards, and set fire to a lace
pelerine that she had about her neck. She called
frantically to the servant to come downstairs and
help her, but the girl was frightened and would
not come down. She tried to pull up the stair-
carpet to put out the fire, but could not. So then
she took the poker and knocked loudly at the
wall, and Mr. and Mrs. Harvey got into the house
and came to her assistance. Fortunately my wife
had on a cashmere dress, which resisted the fire,
and the pelerine was soon put out, but she was
nevertheless frightfully burnt ; and though these
kind friends did all they could for her, and sent at
once for our medical man, she became Insensible
before he arrived.
When he returned, within the hour, he dressed
her wound, and then I saw In what a dreadful
condition she was, her hand and arm being ter-

IN GREAT ANXIETY. 283
ribly burnt, as well as her neck. We watched by
her all that night, and when the doctor undid the
dressings in the morning, the whole of the flesh
came off the surface from shoulder to shoulder ;
and he considered her to be in a most precarious
state. After three or four days he said that he had
every hope that her life would be saved, though
he still greariy feared the shock to her system.
However, by God's mercy, she recovered In five
or six weeks, and at the time we hoped that she
would feel no further 111 effects from the accident.
During these terrible weeks I naturally made
but little progress in my work, for not only had I
the care of the children and of the house on my
hands till things went on again in their usual
course, but the state of anxiety I was In quite in
capacitated me for all mental exertion.
My intense relief and thankfulness, therefore,
when my wife was pronounced convalescent, may
easily be conceived. My energy came back to
me in renewed force, and I seemed to gain new
life and vigour, with fresh hopes and aspirations,
trusting that my dear wife would be spared to me
for many years to share my contentment, and, I
may add, my triumphs, cheering me on, as before,
to higher aims and greater exertions.

284 FALLACIOUS HOPES.
How short a time this sense of joy and security
lasted, and how fallacious were my hopes that my
beloved wife's recovery would be complete, will
be seen if the reader will have the patience to
peruse only a few more pages of my reminis
cences.

[285]

CHAPTER XIII.
WiUiam Burgess turns up again — A Great English Scholar — Smith-
field Market — The fine Bull's Head — We bring it Home in a
Cab — The Policeman on PentonviUe Hill — Not 'Burkers' —
Allowed to proceed — Studies from the Head — As Long as it
would keep ! — Quickness in Painting — A Challenge — Country
Patrons — Trip to the Lakes — Rydal Water — Robert Southey
— Mr. Gillott, of Birmingham — His Liberality — Miss Lushing
ton — Sir A. Callcott — The Earl of Tyrconnel — Many Com
missions — Great Prosperity — Joy damped by Serious lUness
of my Wife — She goes to the Isle of Wight — Only relieved
for a Time — My own Health suffers — Hard Work — Copies of
Pictures and Forged Signatures — Action at Bury St. Edmunds
— About the Fee charged for Certificates — Position among
Artists secured — My Wife's Last Illness — Her Death.
About this time my old friend, William Burgess,
crossed my path again, and truly glad I was to
see him after so many years of separation. During
the Interval that had elapsed since we had met, he
had also become an artist, but he never rose to
any eminence in the profession. He had no
great ambition, and was content to live and die
a drawing-master. In this capacity he settled at
Dover soon after our meeting in London, and
there he remained till his death, many years
later.

286 WILLIAM BURGESS AGAIN.
He had, however, not been idle, for he had
studied much and had become a great reader and
scholar in English literature, for which class of
study he had much more taste and fancy than for
that of drawing or painting ; but as he could not
make a living out of his knowledge of books he
had been obliged to do what he could in the way
of teaching drawing, In order to keep himself and
his family. He spent all the time that he could
spare from his avocation among his books, so he
was happy in his life on the whole, being content
to remain In obscurity.
While he remained In London we saw a good
deal of each other. He accompanied me in my
walks, when we talked of old times and the present
time, for we had many interests in common.
Among other amusements we sometimes went
together to the Smithfield Cattle Market, to look at
the animals collected for sale there from all parts
of England. These were generally bought by
butchers in Whitechapel, and on one occasion we
saw one of these butchers purchase a magnificent
Hereford bull, with a white head and some spots,
which had previously attracted our notice and
admiration. We spoke to the man, and hearing
from him that he Intended to kill the animal the
next day, I told him that I should like to have

THE HEAD OF THE BULL, 287
the head as a model for painting, if he would sell
it to me cheap. This he agreed to do. If I would
fetch it away for myself to which proposition I
also agreed.
So the following morning Burgess and I set off
in good time for the butcher's shop, and directly
he saw us he recollected his bargain and said he
was ready for the job. Instead of using the pole-
axe, he ' pithed ' the beast behind the horns, so
that no blood flowed till the head was off, which
he then packed for us in a hamper. The head
was very little discoloured by blood, and I was
delighted with my acquisition, though the butcher,
I imagine, thought me rather demented, for he
not unnaturally considered the value of the beasts
that passed through his hands from his own point
of view, which was simply as meat.
Then we hailed a cab. Now, the hackney cabs
of that period were quite different to those of the
present day, being two-wheeled vehicles with a
small seat over the wheel on the off-side for the
driver, a kind of cab that did not continue in
favour for any great length of time.
Well, we put the hamper on the splash-board,
and started off gaily for St. John's Wood ; but on
going down PentonviUe Hill we met (singular to
relate) a policeman, who called out to our cabman

NOT 'burkers:

to stop. He then came up to the cab, and desired
the coachman. In a peremptory tone of voice, to
open the hamper, as he had seen blood trickling
from it on to the road. We made no demur, but
did as he demanded at once, and displayed its
contents to the astonished ' Bobby ' (for so the
police were even then called, as well as ' Peelers,'
In honour of Sir Robert Peel, who had just then
reorganized the force).
As soon as he saw that we were not ' burkers,'*
and felt quite satisfied that our actions were above
suspicion, he apologized to us for having detained
* 'Burker' was a slang term of the day for a murderer, derived
from Burke, an Irishman, who had been hanged but a few years
before for having perpetrated several shocking murders in Glasgow
and Edinburgh, not for plunder, but in order to sell the bodies for
dissecting purposes. He was associated in his crimes with another
man, named Hare, and their practice was to inveigle unwary
persons into their homes, where they first made them insensibly
drunk by mixing some opiate with their potations, and then
smothered them. Their object was not direct plunder, but the
acquisition of considerable sums of money by the sale of the bodies
of their victims for dissecting purposes. They are said to have
murdered sixteen persons, principally in Edinburgh and the low
lands of Scotland, having begun their iniquitous proceedings by
rifling the graves ; but some suspicion of this having been roused,
they took to the greater crime of murder, to supply the hospitals
and doctors (who were greatly and justly blamed in the matter)
with subjects for their anatomical studies. The discovery of this
shocking business was made through a youth who was supposed to
be ' daft,' but who watched them decoy away an old woman who
was a relative of his.
The affaii; was at this time still fresh in the minds of the public,
and the term 'burker' (and ' to burke,' as a verb) was freely used ;
but now it seems almost to have died out.

A SUSPICIOUS-LOOKING ARTICLE. 289
US, explaining that the police had received strict
orders to watch for and examine any sack or
parcel that might have the slightest suspicion of
containing a human body or a portion of one, as
several horrible murders had recently been com
mitted, and the bodies of the victims secretly
conveyed away. We could not deny that our
hamper came under the category of a suspicious-
looking article, and as the policeman allowed us
to proceed on our way without more ado, there
was nothing more to be said or done on our part.
He seemed to be amused at the Incident, as were
we, so bidding him ' Good-morning,' we left him
to watch for other hampers or packages, and
again started for home, which we reached without
any further adventure.
I was soon occupied in making a study from
this fine head, rather larger than half the size of
nature ; but I found it very difficult, as it had a
curly front, and there was great variety of tone,
from a warm brown to pure white. I kept this
head also as long as it was possible, and made
several smaller studies from it in different positions,
both in drawing and painting, all of which I
finished highly, and found them of great use to me
afterwards In my now established line of painting.
My commissions from country collectors were
VOL. I. 19

290 MY CHALLENGE.

daily Increasing in number, and my reputation as
an animal-painter seemed to have more particularly
gained ground in Liverpool, Manchester, and
Lancaster, and I think that the last-named place
contains the greater number of my principal works.
I was frequently sent for by gentlemen in the
neighbourhood of these cities, and was now really
pressed with the amount of work I had to get
through, so I had to be quick as well as careful
and accurate — a feature that I have cultivated
with great success.
Upon one occasion, on ' varnishing day ' at the
Royal Academy, I was putting a small group of
sheep into a landscape, which seemed to require
the addition — it was either a friend's picture or my
own (I forget which) — when Webster came up to
look on, and remarked to someone : ' How quick
he does them !'
Whereupon I said : ' I will offer a challenge to
any artist who will take it up, and will bet ^i,ooo
to .2^500 that I will draw a thousand sheep In a
thousand hours without any copy ; each one to be
in a different position, done from memory (to
ensure which they might be removed, as soon as
they were finished, out of my sight) ; and every
sheep to be not less than the length of my fore
finger in size.'

ROYAL ACADEMY PICTURES. 291
Nobody took up my challenge, so I never made
the attempt ; but I believe I could have done it.
I was, at the time that I' offered the bet. In the
prime of life and full of energy and vigour ; I
reckoned that I could draw each animal in ten
minutes or a quarter of an hour, and that by
beginning one at the last quarter of the hour and
going on with the second immediately after, I
should have a good hour and a half for rest
between the painting of each couple of sheep.
Although my time was very fully occupied by the
claims of my country patrons, I contrived to send
two or three pictures to the Royal Academy every
year (very few of my works being sent to any
other exhibitions in London) — always landscape
subjects with cattle, composed from my many
sketches and studies, of which I always kept a
continually fresh stock on hand. At this period
the scenes of several of my pictures (when not
commissions) were laid in the fells of Cumberland,
introducing the various effects of atmosphere that
had struck me with such admiration when I was
in that neighbourhood. Other pictures were
often taken from subjects near my old home at
Canterbury ; the Fordwich meadows and other
parts of the country round that city affording
as beautiful scenery as anyone could wish to see,
19 — 2

292 SOUTHEY, THE POET.
and the endless farms within easy distance afforded
ever-varying scenes of animal life suitable to a
painter of my style.
I also, during the summer months, generally
made some trip farther afield, often combining
some commission business with my pleasure
excursions, thus becoming acquainted with the
greater part of our lovely country. I often think
it a pity that people go so far afield in search of
scenery when so much beauty is to be found in
that of our own favoured land, which. If not grand,
at all events abounds In picturesque spots.
One year, when I was up in the Lake Country,
I was sketching at Rydal Water, when a gentle
man came up behind me, and after watching me,
as I painted, for some time, said :
' The man who can do that should have a
name.' I answered, just as he moved away :
' The man who can see that ought to have a
name too.'
This he only answered with a grunt, and
walked on. He looked very peculiar, and I asked
some men, who were working in a stone quarry
close by. If they knew who he was.
' Oh yes,' they said ; ' why, that's Southey, the
poet. He's a funny fellow.'

HIS SAD END. 293

' How funny ?' I asked.
' Why, he's mad !' they answered.
My meeting with him occurred just at the time
when the poor man's mind was beginning to give
way, though I did not know it then, and it had a
very saddening effect upon me, when I heard not
so very long after that he really was in that most
melancholy condition. I often thought of my
short encounter with him, and of our little inter
change of humorous politeness, and regretted that
I had not known who he was when he spoke to
me. He lived in that state of mental darkness
upwards of twenty-five years after I met him.
What a sad end to so fine and powerful a mind !
I was now a regular attendant at the annual
dinner given by the Royal Academicians at the
close of the Exhibition (which dinner has been
discontinued since about the year 1848, or rather,,
I should say, has been superseded by the soiree
now held annually Instead), and having many
friends amongst them, I began to feel ambitious
and to think about the possibility of becoming an
Associate myself Several of my friends advised
me to put my name down as a candidate for that
honour, and so I did add my name to the list of
applicants — a paper for which purpose always. In
those days, lay on a table at the Academy during

294 THE 'FIGHTING TEMERAIRE.'
the month of May- — and I had every reason to
hope that In the course of a few years I might be
elected to that honourable post.
About this time Mr. Gillott, of Birmingham,
the celebrated steel-pen maker, started as a picture-
dealer, offering more liberal prices than were
usually given at that date. I painted many
pictures for him at different times, and became a
great favourite of his ; for he said that he much
admired the branch of art that I had taken up, and
was Interested in watching the steady progress I
was making in It.
He went into the speculation with vigour,
and bought some very expensive pictures —
amongst others, several of Turner's works. He
told me later, when I became more intimate with
him, that he had bought eight of Turner's pictures
at .^500 each, and that he sold six of them for the
aggregate sum that he had given for the eight,
viz. : ;^4,ooo, having retained the two best as his
profit. Of these, the ' Fighting T6meraire ' was
one, which after Glllott's death fetched a very
high price.
This famous picture by that great master passed
through several hands after that, and finally found
its way to the National Gallery, where it now Is,
being one of those works which were repurchased

SIR AUGUSTUS CALLCOTT, R.A. 295
by Turner himself and left by him to the nation
at his death.
Mr. Gillott was a liberal man in every way, and
I always found him thoroughly straightforward
in all business transactions, which I fear cannot
be said of all dealers. He once asked me, in a
jocular manner, after giving me commissions for
several pictures, ' what I would paint a gross for !'
Needless to say, that was a proposal I did not
entertain. I still gave lessons to several ladies, amongst
whom was the daughter of Dr. Lushington, of the
Admiralty. She told me one day that she had
met Sir Augustus Callcott at dinner, and had been
handed by him to the dining-room, where, in the
course of conversation, she had mentioned to him
that she was having instruction in drawing from
me. ' Indeed !' said he to Miss Lushington ; ' he Is a
new man lately come amongst us, and we esteem
his work highly. I have no doubt that, if he
lives, he will become a master of effect.'
I was very much gratified to hear such com
mendation expressed by so distinguished a painter,
and one for whose works I had the greatest ad
miration, always studying them earnestly whenever
I had an opportunity of so doing.

296 A CURIOUS APPLICATION.
I had a curious application from the Earl of
Tyrconnel, an Irish peer, upon one occasion.
He called at my house, and said that he wished
to give me a commission to paint him a picture ;
but that, as he practised the art himself, he
particularly wanted to see me paint it. I had
never had such a proposal before, but I had no
objection to doing it before him, and so I con
sented. He came regularly for two hours every
day till I had finished the picture, which I did much
to his satisfaction. He watched me narrowly, and
was much surprised at my being able to paint it
with no model or sketch by my side. He thought
I must have a wonderful memory to be able
to do that ; but I explained that the power had
come to me through my practice of continually
sketching animals of every description and land
scapes from Nature, making always very careful
outlines, and painting them when opportunity
offered, which had given me such a thorough
knowledge and appreciation of form and anatomy,
as well as an eye for colour and effect, that I could
then draw from my Imagination without any diffi
culty. Commissions now came pouring in from all
quarters, for art was just then beginning to be
'patronized,' and to become 'the fashion,' so there

IN GREAT ANXIETY. 297
was more stir both among dealers and artists than
heretofore. Better prices were given, and as art
generally seemed to be better understood, real
merit was more appreciated and came to the
front. Painting, therefore, as a profession began
altogether to look up, and I, amongst others,
reaped the benefit of this improved state of things,
which lasted for some little time.
The pleasure that I should naturally have felt
in my prosperity, however, was cruelly damped by
the failing health of my dear wife, which at this
time began to cause me the greatest anxiety and
the most poignant grief During the year 1839
she had a serious attack of pleurisy combined with
inflammation of the lungs, brought on, according
to the opinion of the medical men I consulted, by
the severe shock to the system at the time of her
frightful accident When these serious symptoms
developed themselves, I was advised by the
doctors to take her to the Isle of Wight, in the
hope that the change to the mild climate of that
place might restore her to health. This hope
was fallacious, as the sequel will show, but she
did gain some benefit at the time, and was en
abled to keep about for some months longer. I
was buoyed up, for the time being, with fresh
hopes, and, to a certain extent, deceived by the

298 MY OWN HEALTH SUFFERS.
serene cheerfulness of manner which she, in her
sweet amiability, assumed (for she knew that her
end was near only too well), in order to give me
courage to continue my routine of work. This
was becoming harder every day, my exertions to
satisfy the claims of my numerous employers
giving me no time for rest, or mercifully, I may
add, for brooding over my troubles.
My own health began at last to suffer under the
strain of anxiety, which I could not wholly shake
off, coupled with the constant and almost too
heavy pressure of work, and I was forced to take
a little care of myself My evening walks went
on as usual, but notwithstanding these and all
other measures that I tried. In the hope of gaining
renewed strength, I constantly felt a sense of
lassitude and want of vigour which, although
probably brought about as much by mental worry
as by physical weakness, was very trying.
However, I managed to struggle on, though
sometimes with a certain amount of difficulty, and
continued to paint for six or seven hours every
day, and to draw much on stone, till the year 1 840,
when I did my last large work of that description.
This was a series of studies of cattle, sheep, and
other animals, collected in a book, and published
by Ackerman, of the Strand, at four guineas a

A FRAUDULENT PRACTICE. 299
copy. The work was copied and republished in
Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, at a much cheaper
rate, and as there was no law of copyright in
France or Germany then, they sent copies of the
book back again to England, where they sold
them at half-price, to the detriment of the original
publishers. It is from this work that so many
pictures have been painted, and sold as mine, with
forged signatures, several legal processes having
been the result of this fraudulent practice. I
hardly know why, but it seems to me that more
frauds are practised upon my works than upon
those of any other artist.
In 1878 an action was brought at Bury St.
Edmunds by a man named Barns, against a dealer
in paintings and all kinds of old curiosities, one
Johnson by name, ' upon an alleged warranty of a
picture as by Thomas Sidney Cooper, R.A.,' to
quote the words of the report of the case in the
Times. This man Barns stated at the trial that
he had seen the picture, with others, at the shop
of the defendant in November, 1877, and that it
bore the signature of ' T. S. Cooper, 1840.' That,
after some discussion and hesitation, he eventually
bought it for £25, purchasing one, at the same
time, by Percy, for £7, or, rather, giving .^32 for
the two ; that he got the painting restored, for

30O CASE BROUGHT INTO COURT.
which he paid ^3, and that it hung for some time
in his house. In the course of the next year,
however, he wished to sell some of his pictures,
and then a doubt was thrown upon the genuine
ness of this particular picture bearing my name ;
whereupon he sent it to me to find out if I had
really painted it or not, paying me a fee of ^5 5 s.
for my certificate. My answer was : ' The pic
ture sent is not painted by me, and is not a copy
of any picture painted or drawn by me at any
period of my career.'
Upon this he requested Johnson to take it back,
and upon his refusal to do so the case was brought
Into court. I was called as a witness on behalf of
the plaintiff, and in the course of my examination
I said that the value of the picture was simply the
value of the canvas, viz., about 2s. 6d. The
painting was rubbish — worth nothing ; and I
added that out of 153 pictures submitted to me
for examination at different times, only eleven
were genuine, the remaining 142 not being so.
This was, of course, up to the date of this trial.
Being asked, in cross-examination, if the picture
looked so bad at a distance, I replied : 'Sir, it is a
dreadful thing,' which seemed to cause some
amusement in court ; ' It Is an insult to me to
ascribe it to me.'

VERDICT FOR THE DEFENDANT. 301
For the defence, Johnson said that he did not
guarantee either of the paintings purchased from
him by the plaintiff; that he did not understand
pictures at all himself but that, having bought this
one at a sale in a good house — that of Mr. Capon,
of Dennington Hall, a great connoisseur in cattle —
he had supposed it was a genuine production of
Cooper's, of whom he knew nothing, except that
he was an animal-painter.
The verdict was given for the defendant. This
was, as the Times says, ' a curious case, illustrating
in a remarkable way the uncertainty, for persons
not acquainted with art, as to the authorship of
paintings even by living artists and bearing the
signature of the supposed painter.' But it was not
by any means the only case that has been brought
into court with reference to copies or imitations of
my works.
It would be as well that I should here explain
the reason of my taking a fee for examining
pictures sent to me, and giving a certificate of
their genuineness or the reverse, as I have heard
opinions expressed not very complimentary to
me about this practice of mine, which I imagine
some people think seems mean.
As long ago as the year 1845, people began
sending me pictures to look at, putting me to

302 FEE FOR CERTIFICATES.
considerable trouble and expense to have them
repacked and sent to railway-stations, etc., to
say nothing of my time, and often I did not get
even a ' thank you ' when, as was too frequently
the case, I had to say that the picture was not
painted by me, as if this was my fault. And this
went on for months, even years. One clergyman
sent a large case from Cumberland, others from
other counties, and at last a man named Walker
brought me a picture painted on a panel, from
Birmingham, having purchased it from a dealer
in that place. It was black with dirt, cracked,
and injured — altogether in a terrible state. He
wished me to clean it, which I did, and finding,
when I got the first crust of dirt off, that it was a
genuine picture of mine, I took great pains with
it, filling up the cracks and painting them over,
and getting It altogether into a much better con
dition than I at first thought would have been
possible. When I sent it back to Mr. Walker
he was pleased with what I had done, and wrote
to ask me what he was indebted to me for it I
answered that I had expended 7s. 3d. upon it,
that the job had taken me half a day, and that I
would leave it to him to pay me what he thought
right Upon this he sent me a post-office order
for 7s. 6d., with his thanks !

CHEQUE STOPPED AT BANK. 303
I candidly confess that I was as much dis
gusted as I was surprised at this uncalled-for
insult ; and from that moment I determined to
spend no more of my time or money upon people
who could treat me in such a manner. As it was
impossible to make a distinction between those
who might turn out to be gentlemen in their
conduct, and those who would prove the reverse,
I announced that in future I would charge a fee
for every picture sent to me for a certificate, and
this fee I fixed at five guineas.
Up to this year I have given one hundred
and ninety-nine certificates, and have received
my fee in every case except one, and this was
a dealer in Pall Mall, who sent me a cheque for
;^5 5s. with the picture, and when he found
by my certificate that it was not painted by
me, he stopped payment of the cheque at his
banker's — a proceeding which surprised me not
a litde !
One lady asked me to take half my fee, as the
picture she brought to me turned out to be a
worthless one. I said that as I exacted it in
every case, I could not act so dishonourably to
others as I should be doing if I lessened the
charge to her. So then she paid me with sorrow,
and seeing how distressed she was, I said : ' You

304 DA UBS SENT FOR INSPECTION.
have a long distance to go, and I feel very sorry
for your disappointment — allow me to return you
£2, 5s. as a gift.' In every other case I received
my full fee.
Out of the one hundred and ninety-nine
pictures sent to me, only fourteen paintings and
two drawings were done by me. The others
were not even copies of my pictures, but were
mostly done from the lithographic prints of my
drawings on stone. Many of these, having been
traced, were not so bad as far as the form of the
animals went, and might, with greater show of
reason, have been taken for productions of mine
than some of the awful daubs sent for my inspec
tion. Most of these fraudulent pictures were
signed ' T. S. Cooper.'
Talking to my friend Sir James Wigram, late
Vice-Chancellor, one day, about this question of
the fee, he said that he considered I was per
fectly justified in demanding it for the protection
of my reputation. 'If he added, ' gentlemen
will purchase pictures of others while the painter
Is living, It Is their own fault if they are taken
in. You cannot prevent anyone copying your
pictures, and the only remedy you have is to
bring an action against the person who puts your
name on his copies, for that is a vile forgery, and

PEOPLE EASILY DECEIVED. 305
lays the perpetrator open to severe and well-
deserved punishment.'
This, of course, I could not do ; first, because
it would be endless trouble, and, in many cases,
impossible to find out the copyist, and also
because, perhaps, he may be sometimes a poor
man, who does these things for very little money,
depending upon his work for his livelihood, and
not being able to do anything of his own. Many
of the things sent to me were shocking produc
tions, not worthy of being called pictures, and it
surprises me how people can be so easily de
ceived, for one would think that the veriest
tyros in art would gain some little knowledge by
practice, or. If they felt that they could not trust
to their own judgment, that they would take the
opinion of others better versed in those matters
before embarking upon the purchase of works of
art. Besides the one hundred and ninety-nine for
which I gave certificates, I have received two or
three hundred applications from people who
would not pay the fee I charged.
During the years 1840, 1841, and 1842, I sent
to the Royal Academy Exhibition nine pictures
in all, most of which were well received by the
public and well reviewed by the press, and I felt
VOL. I. 20

3o6 DEATH OF MY WIFE.
that my position among artists was now acknow
ledged and my prosperity secured.
This would naturally have been a source of the
greatest joy and satisfaction to me, but I could
scarcely rejoice in my success, as all this was
going on while my heart was very sad ; for my
dear wife was fast wasting by consumption, and I
felt that her end was approaching. The children
were, with their governess, sent to Walmer, near
Deal, as she feared that they might be con
taminated by kissing and embracing her, for
through all her suffering they were her constant
care. Even in her sadness at the thought of
being parted from them, her words were so
gentle as to be far nearer allied to resignation
than repining, and often a sort of buoyant out
break of joyousness was expressed for them.
Alas ! all was soon over. I had scarcely
realized her value before death took her from me.
She was pure and intelligent, a good wife and
mother, and our home was sanctified by her
presence. Surely in womanhood God delights
to show the 'beauty of holiness,' of which He
is the infinite Source.
My beloved wife had always cultivated a
gentleness of temper such as to render our home
intercourse amiable and affectionate, and always

MY LONELINESS. 307
did she strive to adorn It with the charms which
good sense and refinement Impart My loneli
ness when she was taken from me can readily be
conceived. The loss of her ready sympathy in
my troubles and my work, and of the help which
her constant presence afforded me, made me feel
as if all my spirit for art was gone, and It was
a long time before I could work again with any
satisfaction to myself though I did go on work
ing, and very hard, too, for I felt that to be the
only chance of recovery for me from the terrible
depression that seemed to settle like a pall over
my heart.
My beloved wife passed away during the
month of October, 1842, at the age of thirty-one,
after an illness of three years' duration, borne with
patience and resignation to the Divine will ; and
of her death nothing better can be said than that
it was that of a sincere Christian.
The two or three years that followed my great
bereavement are almost as a blank In my memory,
and over that sad period I will draw a veil, as
no incidents occurred which would be of the
slightest interest to the general reader.

20-

[308 ]

CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. C. Landseer's Opinion about Chance of Associateship — Picture
for Exhibition of 1845 — Tilbury Fort — Picture painted after
Forty Years — Election of Associates — Hopes and Fears —
Dinner-Party at St. John's Wood — I am Successful — Turner
President pro tern, — The Royal Academy Dinner — My Visit
to Turner in Queen Anne Street — The dirty Servant and
untidy House — His Autograph — Next Exhibition Picture —
Bought by the Duke of Northumberland— Private View — In
troduced to Macready — ' The Half-past One o'Clock Charge at
Waterloo ' — Life Guardsman as a Model — Cab-Horse ditto —
Exhibition at Westminster Hall — Sir Robert Peel — Visit to
Mr. Frederick Lee, R.A. — Joint Productions of Lee and Myself
— Trip to North Wales — Fine Rocky Scenery — Guffer Roberts
— Wild Goats — Return to London — Visit from Mr. Vernon —
Commission for another Picture from him — Sir David Wilkie's
Opinion of my Picture — His Work — Mr. Vernon's Illness —
My Last Visit to him — His Death, and his fine Collection of
Pictures left to the Nation.
I HAD now reason to believe, from what Mr.
Charles Landseer told me, that I stood well In the
estimation of several of the Royal Academicians,
and that I had a good chance of gaining an
Associateship at the next vacancy, If I could get
ready another picture of importance for the next
Academy Exhibition.

COMPOSITION OF A SPECIAL PICTURE. 309
I was SO occupied with commissions from various
dealers for pictures that I had promised by certain
dates, that it was very difficult for me to find time
enough to set earnestly to work upon, or even to
gain sufficient mental repose for, the composition
and arrangement of a work requiring all my best
energies. However, as there was no likelihood
of a vacancy occurring among the Associates for
some months I had time before me, and no feeling
of hurry to contend against ; so I had my picture
in hand nearly a year, and it was a successful one
in the end.
I first looked over all my out-of-doors studies
of animals and figures, and my landscape sketches,
of which I had several by me carefully drawn and
painted, from which I made a selection and com
posed my subject, expending much thought and
care over it. Then I commenced the picture,
painting steadily at it at every opportunity. I
did not allow any dealer to see it till the spring, as
I had refused to paint a commission picture for
exhibition, wishing to be at liberty to choose and
arrange the composition as I liked. The dealers
were always too dictating as to what they wished,
and allowed me very llttie free agency In the
matter of subjects, so that I found It extremely
difficult to avoid repetition, and to give variety to

3IO SCENE AT TILBURY FORT.
my compositions ; and in my picture for the
Royal Academy Exhibition I naturally wished to
give evidence of my best abilities in every respect
upon so Important an occasion.
This picture was finished In good time. It was
accepted by the Hanging Committee and well
placed ; and I felt that I had maintained by it the
good opinion of those upon whom rested my
chance of election. The picture was called ' A
Group In the Meadows,' and I sent another
smaller picture, ' Going to Pasture,' to the Exhi
bition also this year, 1845.
On or about my fortieth birthday, I went down
to Tilbury Fort to see a friend off to some foreign
place by a steamer, and I was very much struck
by the scene, as I stood on the shore after parting
with my friend. It was a lovely afternoon in
autumn, calm and peaceful ; and as I gazed, from
a slight elevation, over the river and scenery at
my feet, thinking what a beautiful subject for a
picture it was, a boat full of soldiers put off from
the shore, and pulled away towards the guard ship
Ramilies. This gave just the touch of movement
which was required to make the scene perfect, and
I turned to another friend who was with me, and
said that if I lived till I had attained my eightieth
birthday, I would paint that view on a large scale.

IN MY MIND FOR FORTY YEARS. 311
for I knew that with the regular routine of work
that I had fallen into, I should never find time for
so large an undertaking till then, or possess a room
large enough to hold a picture of the size that I
intended this one to be.
I kept that scene in my mind for forty years,
and on the day that I completed my eightieth
year, I commenced the picture which now hangs
in my large dining-room at Vernon Holme, filling
the whole of the end wall. In building the room
I bore my proposed picture in mind, though I
hardly thought at the time that I should live to
carry out my project.
The canvas measures eleven feet by seven feet,.
exclusive of the frame, and the group of cattle
forming the foreground are three-quarters the size
of life. My vigour was still so mercifully pre
served that I finished the picture in six weeks
from the day on which I commenced it, and those
among my many friends and patrons who have
seen it will bear me out In saying that It bears
no evidence of hurried painting, but Is, on the
contrary, as highly finished as so large a picture
should be.
Towards the end of the year 1845, it was given
out that an election of Associates of the Royal
Academy would shortly take place, and as soon as

312 VACANCIES AMONG THE ASSOCIATES.
this was generally known, great was the excite
ment amongst all artists.
Formerly, the number of Associates was only
twenty, but it had been increased to thirty, and
now there were three vacancies to be filled up, a
new rule being made at this time that all vacancies
were to be filled up within three months after they
occurred. I had followed the advice of my friends, and
had given my name In as a candidate for election ;
but though I was full of hope, as everyone under
the same circumstances would be, I could form no
idea as to whether my chance of success was really
a good one or not, as one never knows how far
one may trust to the exertions of one's friends
when the test Is put to them.
As the day approached on which the election to
this honourable position was to be decided, the
hopes and fears of all those whose names were to
come before the Council reached boiling-point,
and the excitement amongst their friends, also,
was great.
The matter is decided by the votes of the
Royal Academicians in the same manner as at the
election to the full honours of that Institution,
which I will describe later.
The evening arrived, and the alternating feel-

WATCHING FOR THE POSTMAN. 313
ings of hope and fear among those Interested
reached a climax almost past bearing with out
ward equanimity — at any rate it was so with
me, and I think the others were all really as
bad. The following day I watched eagerly for the
postman, but no letter from the secretary came,
nor any intimation of the result of the election.
Two more days, and no letter. This rendered
me terribly downcast and sad, for my hopes sank
to zero ; but I continued to work hard, feeling
that to be my best remedy, and trusting that I
might be successful upon some other occasion, if
I found I really had failed this first time.
On the third evening after the election, I dined
with a friend in St. John's Wood, and being Intro
duced to Captain Harris, a gentleman of cultiva
tion who. was interested in artistic topics, almost
the first words he said to me were :
' I have to congratulate you, Mr. Cooper, on
your election to be an Associate of the Royal
Academy.' ' I think you are wrongly Informed,' I answered,
' for I have received no Intimation to that effect,
nor have I heard who were elected.'
'Well,' he said, ' I saw in the paper three days
ago that three Associates had been elected at the

314 GLORIOUS NEWS.
Royal Academy the night before — Elmore, Sidney
Cooper, and Frith.'
Upon that they all congratulated me, and I
went home, treading on air, and expecting to find
the important communication from the secretary.
But no — nothing was there, and again the next
morning no letter came. So I went down to see
Charles Landseer ; and the moment I entered his
room, he congratulated me, shaking me warmly
by the hand. I said :
' Is it true ?'
' True ?' he answered ; ' why, have you not
received the notice from Howard ?'
' No ; I. have received no letter,' said I.
' That Is just like him ! Go and blow him up.
You came In after Elmore, and Frith after you.'
This was Indeed glorious news. I went at
once to call upon the Academicians to thank them,
as is usual. The first was Landseer — Sir Edwin,
I mean ; then came Mulready, Bailey, Cooper,
etc. All of them received me kindly, and
appeared to feel cordially towards me, giving
me good counsels and advice.
At the time of the election. Sir Martin Shee
was 111, and Turner was acting president /r6> tem.
He had, therefore, to sign the diplomas of the
newly-elected Associates, and I am one of the

TURNER'S AUTOGRAPH. 315
fortunate few who possess his autograph. I
mention this, as it is a well-known fact that he
had an insuperable objection to giving his auto
graph to anyone — one of his strange eccentricities
- — and people used to resort to all sorts of dodges
to get his signature.
Upon an earlier occasion some little time before
this, I had been staying down at Ramsgate, and
was intending to finish my visit there the day
following that upon which the Exhibition of the
Royal Academy closed. The day before that I
was down on the pier-head, when, to my surprise,
I met Stanfield.
' Holloa, Cooper!' said he, 'what are you doing
here ?'
' The same as you are,' I answered — ' drinking
in a breath of fresh air ; and I am very glad to
have met you, for I leave to-morrow for London,
and wish to be present at the dinner at the
Academy to-morrow evening. As for this I
must have an introduction from a Royal Acade
mician, will you give me yours ?'
' My dear fellow,' he said, ' I would give you
mine with great pleasure, had I not already given
it away to another exhibitor who wishes to be
there also. Upon your arrival in town, go and
call upon any other Academician you know.

3i6 / CALL AT TURNER'S HOUSE.
There Is Turner — I have no doubt that his intro
duction is still to be had, for but few would like
to ask him for it.'
' But he does not know me,' said I. 'I have
only seen him when I have been at the same
dinners before, and have never been introduced
to him. Perhaps he would not even admit me if
I went to his house.'
' Never mind ; try him,' said Stanfield, In reply.
' Tell the servant that you want to see him on
business.' And so we parted.
The next day, when I reached London, I called
upon Turner at his house In Queen Anne Street,
and a dirty-looking house It was ! There was no
evidence of its having been painted for a great
many years. I knocked, and knocked again,
when at last the door was opened by a most
frightful-looking creature — a short woman, with a
very large head, wearing a dirty white gown, and
with a ragged dirty thing tied round her head and
throat, making her already large head twice Its
natural size. She looked just like those ogres
one sees In the pantomimes before the transforma
tion scene, and was altogether a most appalling
vision. I told her that I wished to see Mr. Turner if

HE ADMITS ME. 317

he was within. She said he was in, but she did
not think he would see anyone. ' But I will go
and see if he will,' she added, and showed me
into a small room by the entrance, where she left
me. I shall never forget the damp, dirty smell of
the inside of the house. It was dreadful — as If it
had never been washed or cleaned, or even
dusted, and I am sure no window was ever
opened to let In any fresh air. The atmosphere
was quite sickening.
However, Turner did come in to see me. I
expressed to him my desire to attend the Royal
Academy dinner, and told him of the difficulty I
was In to procure the necessary introduction,
finishing by asking him for his. He hesitated at
first, as he did not know me, but I told him that
I had been at the dinners several times before,
and that he might remember having seen me
there. Then he took a card from his card-case,
and wrote upon it, 'Admit the bearer to the
dinner,' only signing it ' J. M. W. T.'
Still, even his initials, in his own handwriting,
were something to possess, considering how chary
he was of giving his name for any purpose ; and
I treasured this great man's card accordingly.
And now I found myself in a position requiring
all my efforts to maintain it and show how highly

3l8 AT THE PRIVATE VIEW.
I esteemed the honour that had been conferred
upon me.
I had a large picture already well advanced, so
I took that In hand for the coming Exhibition.
The subject was a group of cattle by a river, the
principal figure being a black-and-brown bull ; and
It was the largest picture I had ever attempted up
to that time.
It was well received by the members of the
Royal Academy, and was hung in a good place
at the Exhibition when the time came. Whilst
there, it was boughi; by the Duke of Northumber
land, and was taken by him, I believe, to Zion
House ; and for all I know, it is still there. This
picture I called ' Cattle Reposing ;' but I sent two
other pictures to the Academy that year — ' A
Summer Evening,' and 'A Mountain Group' —
the latter from a sketch in the north, the other
two being home subjects from sketches taken
near Canterbury.
At the ' Private View,' at which I was now
entitled to attend. Sir Martin Shee, the President,
took me by the hand and talked to me for a long
time about my picture, and about the position I
was now in. He explained to me all the advan
tages of the Royal Academy as an institution, in
his cordial, smooth, and silky style, and informed

THE GREAT TRAGEDIAN. 319
me of the duties devolving upon every member of
it — Information which I found very useful to me
afterwards. While conversing with me, a gentle
man came up to him, whom Sir Martin seemed
pleased to see, greeting him with the assurance
that ' all Britain would be glad to find he had
returned In health and safety.'
He thanked Sir Martin for his kindness, and
remarked :
' You have a fine picture here, Sir Martin. Its
style is new to me.'
' Yes, this Is by our new Associate ; I will intro
duce him to you.'
Then turning to me, he said :
' Let me introduce you to Mr. Macready.'
I started with surprise. He shook my hand,
saying that he was ' highly pleased to shake a
hand that had painted so fine a work.'
I thanked him, and said how pleased I was to
make his acquaintance. I expressed my surprise
at not having recognised him, as I had seen him
the night before in ' Virglnius.'
He smiled, and said :
' Situations and costumes make a great
difference.' This was the way in which I made the acquaint
ance of the great tragedian.

320 EXHIBITION IN WESTMINSTER HALL.
Towards the end of the year 1845 I began
my large picture of ' The Half-past One o'Clock
Charge at Waterloo,' which I intended to get
ready for the grand Exhibition which was to be
held In Westminster Hall some time during the
spring of 1847, and of which notice had been
given during the summer.
This Exhibition was a scheme proposed by
the Government for the encouragement of art
generally, and they held out as an inducement to
artists to 'put their best foot foremost,' the
promise that they would purchase all the most
Important works that were exhibited on that
occasion (a promise which It Is almost needless to
state they did not keep !), so I determined to
leave no stone unturned to make my picture a
success. I began by making the acquaintance of Captain
Siborne, who was then exhibiting his large model
of the Battle of Waterloo, and he permitted me
to sketch from It that part which I had decided
upon for my subject In this manner I got my
outline, and the general bearing of the points of
Interest, which It was necessary to have accurate.
From Belgium, I had sent to me one of each of
the real brass and steel breastplates and helmets
of the Cuirassiers and Carabineers that had

PICTURE OF WATERLOO. 321
actually been in the battle of Waterloo. I had
a friend in Brussels who knew some of the men
who had been engaged, amongst others a Cuiras
sier and Carabineer, and he procured from them
these treasures for me. I have them now, and I
lent them to Sir Edwin Landseer for his picture
of Waterloo. These regiments were met by the
Life Guards as they came over the hill between
La Haye Sainte and Hougomont, the Blues being
held in reserve ; and it was this episode in that
memorable battle that I proposed to myself to
depict. In my picture I introduced nearly eight
hundred figures of men and horses of all sizes.
The Colonel at the Albany Barracks most kindly
responded to my request for the ' loan ' of a
soldier as model ; entering with enthusiasm Into
the matter, and he promised to let me have a
man whom he said he considered ' a thorough
Life Guardsman.'
He came, and proved most useful to me. He
dressed for the various figures, and helped me
much as to the positions of the men in action and
in repose. He told me that his father had been
engaged in the battle, and was now living in
Tottenham ; but as he said that he sometimes
came to town to pay some pensioners, I asked
him to bring him on the next occasion. This he
VOL. I. 21

322 THE LIFE-GUARDSMAN.
did ; and the old soldier looked very carefully over
my picture, saying, after his scrutiny :
' It looks like it ; but those who are In the thick
of the engagement see very little of it except just
what is going on close around them. You have
the Blues all right in support, and all the positions
seem to me to be correct'
Then, taking something out of his waistcoat
pocket (which I thought was a tobacco-stopper),
and showing It to me, he said :
' This is the mouthpiece of the bugle upon
which I blew the charge of the Blues. The
leading officer of the enemy. In their advance,
made a thrust at me, and, quite by accident, my
sword went through his mouth, while the motion
of the horse drew It out again as he fell in the
most extraordinary manner.'
I got some useful hints from this man, and was
very glad of his visit.
I was at that time living in the Wellington
Road, St. John's Wood, and as it was a tolerably
quiet and open street, I engaged a strong cab-
horse to be galloped up and down in front of my
house. As I had a detached villa with a walled-
In garden, I was able to have him inside the wall,
and from this and other horses I painted my
studies for the chargers in my picture, while their

'PICTURA EST POEMA: 323

veins and muscles were fully developed from the
exertion. It was a large undertaking, but I accomplished
it in time, and it was sent to Westminster Hall,
where it was hung near to a battle-piece by Sir
W. Allen, R.A. Before I sent the picture to the
Exhibition, people of all sorts came to see it at
my house — artists, reporters of the press, and
others. Amongst them came Sir Edwin Land
seer, who examined my work with a magnifying
glass, which I thought was very unfair. How
ever, he expressed his approbation and surprise,
which soothed me down. Mr. Macready also
came and praised the picture, expressing his
pleasure in very friendly terms. I took the oppor
tunity of asking him for his autograph, telling him
that my daughter was collecting those of all
eminent persons. He acceded to my request
promptly, saying, ' Certainly — with pleasure,' and
at once wrote for her In Latin, ' Pictura est poema '
(the picture is a poem), and presented the writing
to her with the utmost courtesy. My daughter
has it still.
Sir John Millais, then quite a young man,
exhibited upon this occasion for the first time.
He sent his picture called ' The Widow's Mite,'
a fine work for so young a lad, painted with care,
21 — 2

324 AN OPPOSITION GOVERNMENT.

and showing little or no evidence of that ' Pre-
Raphaelite ' style which he shortly afterwards
took up for a time.
My picture I sold afterwards to a gentleman at
Liverpool for ;^i,ooo, so my labour was not
thrown away.
Had Sir Robert Peel been Prime Minister at
the time that the Exhibition was open, as he was
when it was first proposed, it would have had
much more satisfactory results to artists, and
would have given a greater stimulus to art
generally than It did ; but unfortunately he was
not in power just at the right moment, as he re
signed after the repeal of the Corn Laws in June,
1846, and Lord John Russell came into office
again. Sir Robert Peel was a great patron of art,
and treated all artists with the utmost courtesy,
showing his appreciation of their works with kind
ness and intelligence, but he could not control an
Opposition Government, or Induce them to en
courage art against their inclinations, which did
not flow In that direction.
The Exhibition did, however, do some good,.
and gave a little impetus to the traffic In pictures,
though It Is to be regretted that the Government
did not behave with more honesty and generosity
In the matter.

VISIT TO F. LEE, R.A. 325
Late In the following summer, having received
a very pressing invitation from Mr. Frederick
Lee, R.A., the eminent landscape painter, to
visit him in Devonshire, I went down to his
place and spent a very agreeable time with him.
His house was situated on the slope of a wooded
valley, in a most picturesque position, and the
view from It was over a beautiful and extensive
distance, against which many fine fir-trees reared
up their heads from amongst a thick undergrowth.
I had seen a good deal of this kind of scenery
in his pictures, and now I perceived that it came
from the country surrounding his own place. I
expressed a desire to paint some sketches during
my stay, to which he readily agreed, saying :
' All right. Cooper, we will start out together.
I will take out my gun, and while you are painting,
I will get something to sustain nature.'
And this we did for several days running. The
plan was a most agreeable one, and greatly con
duced to my enjoyment ; and, I may say, to his
also, for he liked me to sketch almost as much as
I did myself and was very fond of wandering
about with his gun over the lovely country, the
weather being glorious at the time. I also greatly
enjoyed the proceeds of his shooting, so we were
mutually pleased and contented.

326 SALMON FISHING.

He brought home each day several delicious
woodcock, which I ate at luncheon and dinner
with great relish ; but I observed that he did not
partake of the birds himself which I thought
singular, and remarked upon it to him. He said
that he never liked eating anything that he had
shot or hooked, and his wife told me that this was
quite true, and that he never could be persuaded
to taste any of the results of his sport at any
time. Lee, besides being a good shot, was a first-rate
angler, and for many years he had been In the
habit of going to Scotland regularly for the
joint purpose of sketching and salmon-fishing.
He told me that in his pursuit of sport he had
often stood up to his middle in water for half an
hour or more at a time to play a salmon. I
believe that this Is not infrequently done by
ardent fishermen, but it seems to me to be a
great risk, and so I observed to Lee. He
answered that he did not mind about catching
cold so long as he killed his fish.
'Why, Cooper,' he added, 'I have sprung a
leak In my chest six times through doing that,
and I have always got over it.'
I thought he was a very fortunate man not to
have been seriously affected in his health by such

A- BAD MAN OF BUSINESS. 327
foolish conduct, and told him that I feared he
would do it once too often. I have often remarked
how thin and flat he always appeared In the
chest. During my stay with him, we talked over an
idea that had come into our heads, which was
that we should paint some pictures conjointly —
he to do the landscape part, and I to add groups
of cattle and sheep — an idea that we afterwards
carried into effect.
But he said he was a bad man of business, and
he neither could nor would enter at all upon the
question of price, or come to any decision upon
our division of labour as far as our mutual share
of the profits was concerned.
'You must settle all that. Cooper,' he said;
' you are a good one at that sort of thing — I am
not' I found out afterwards that this was really the
case, and it was a source of great satisfaction to
me that in all our future arrangements I was able
to conduct our joint affairs (which he insisted upon
my undertaking entirely) in such a manner as to
please him and to be just to us both ; and our
friendship was never in the slightest degree
impaired by our business transactions.
Lee was fond of his profession to a certain

328 LEE DIES AT THE CAPE.
extent, but more as a pastime than as a business,
and he always gave me the impression that he
considered the profession beneath him, which I
could not but think a great pity, as what could be
more glorious and elevating than to be able to
depict nature as he could do it ?
He was rather of a restless turn of mind, and
began life as a soldier, but he did not remain in
the army for many years. Then he had a very
successful career In art, which lasted for upwards
of forty years ; but again tiring of this line of life,
he retired from the Royal .Academy (of which he
had been a full member from the year 1838) as
soon as he could afford to do so, and bought a
large yacht. In which he made long cruises,
spending the greater part of his later years at
sea. He finally died at the Cape during one of
his voyages In 1879, and was burled there.
Most of the works by which Lee Is known to
the world are of English scenery, and his last
exhibited picture was ' The Land's End,' which
was at the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1872 ;
but this was after he had given up painting as a
means of livelihood. He also painted some fine
pictures during his travels, which are well known,
especially 'The Bay of Biscay,' and one or two
views of Gibraltar. Several of his works are In

OUR JOINT PICTURES. 329
the National Gallery, and many of them have
been engraved.
W^hlle I was with him in Devonshire we settled
all the preliminaries for our first joint pictures,
and as Lee had by him a considerable number of
landscape studies, painted in oils, we decided upon
two of them to begin with — Scotch scenes — for
our subjects.
We settled that he should paint the landscape
part first, and send the pictures up to me in an
advanced state, the part where I was to introduce
the cattle being only just coloured over.
A fortnight after I had left Devonshire I
received, to my great surprise, two canvases from
him, measuring six feet by four feet, when I had
only expected two small ones, about thirty inches
by twenty inches. But they were fine subjects,
and I set to work upon them immediately, so
that I should have something to show him when
he came to London, which I hoped would give
him satisfaction.
As soon as he arrived, later in the season, and
saw what I had done, he was delightedj and we
then agreed to finish up the two pictures for the
next Exhibition. It soon became known that we
had been painting together, and we had many
applications from people wishing to see the

330 'THE BOOT WAS ON THE OTHER FOOT:
pictures. A gentleman of the name of Rutter,
from Clapham Common, was the first who came,
and he at once bought them for ;^6oo each, but
with the understanding that they were to be sent
to the Exhibition first.
In due time we sent them to the Royal
Academy Exhibition of 1848, where they created
a great sensation ; and after this we received
many commissions for our joint productions, Lee
declaring to me that he could no longer sell his
landscapes unless I put groups of cattle and
sheep Into them. I was praised by some and
blamed by others for doing this. It was reported
by many of my detractors that Lee painted land
scapes Into "my pictures, whereas ' the boot was
on the other foot.' I was painting cattle into his
landscapes. As soon as we got into a regular swing of
work together. It became necessary that I should
have some entirely fresh studies. I wished much
to get some sketches of wild animals, with suit
able landscapes, both for my own use and to put
into many of Lee's pictures of wild mountain
scenery. For this I purposed going off, as soon
as I had sufficient leisure, on a second trip to
North Wales, and this I managed to find that
same summer. I preferred that part of the

TRIP TO NORTH WALES. 331
British Isles to Scotland for two reasons, or, I
may say, three. First, because Landseer was
that year painting in Scotland ; secondly, because
the bare or stony hills or mountains of North
Wales suited me for what I was at the moment
particularly wanting, better than the heather-
covered Scotch hills, with their warm colouring ;
and, thirdly, because the Welsh scenery was less
well known, out of the beaten tracks, where many
beautiful bits may be found for sketching. This
kind of scenery pleased me much, at any rate for
a change, and I was glad to have made up my
mind to take this trip.
My son accompanied me, and we set out In
good spirits for Capel Carrig, which place we
reached after a rather tedious journey, for rail
ways, where they existed (which was not by any
means everywhere), were not In those days what
they are now. Changes and delays were fre
quent, and travelling was altogether a much less
luxurious proceeding than it Is at the present time.
Upon my arrival I inquired if anyone possessed
a right over the range of mountains where there
were wild goats, and Mr. Williams, the landlord
of the hotel, directed me to Guffer Roberts, who
lived about a mile off, at the foot of Moel Siabod.
After following a very rugged road, In the direc-

332 MOEL SIABOD.

tion Indicated, I found the place. On the way
I met Mr. A. Vickers, the landscape painter,
whom I knew, and he turned back and joined me
and my son In our search. When we discovered
this Guffer Roberts we found that he could not
speak, or even understand, a word of English,
and we feared that our rough walk would have
been undertaken for nothing ; but fortunately his
daughter and boy came up, and they could talk
our language a little ; so we explained to them
what we wanted. They lived in a pretty,
picturesque cottage, with its surroundings of
rocks and crags, and their costumes were equally
picturesque. As soon as the father understood what I was
asking for, he put his glass to his eye and made a
careful survey of the range. Then he nodded and
said ' Yes,' adding something that we did not
understand ; but the girl translated it for our
benefit, and explained that her father would have
some goats ready for us there by ten o'clock the
next morning. We spent the rest of the day in
making sketches in oils of the locality, which was
beautiful of Its kind — the mountain near, with Its
almost perpendicular face of rock reaching quite
to the summit, being particularly fine, and of a
very uncommon character.

WILD GOATS. 333

The following morning, sure enough, there
were two goats ready for us — beauties — of good
colour, and with fine horns and bright eyes. They
were very restless, but I managed to get good
studies of them, first in outline for their form, and
then in colour.
They hunt the goats with well-trained dogs,
who catch them by the hock without injuring
them with their teeth ; and I heard afterwards
that this Guffer Roberts made a very good living
out of the business. I also made a study of the
boy, as he sat in a picturesque attitude on the top
of a rock as high as his cottage ; and we returned
to our hotel fully repaid for all our trouble and
our struggles over the rugged road. Mr. Vickers
left us the morning after our expedition to Moel
Siabod, but my son and I stayed In the neigh
bourhood for some days longer, enjoying our
rambles together about the wild and picturesque
country in this part of Great Britain.
Before leaving Wales I made several more
sketches, and then went back to my London
home, invigorated both in mind and body by the
freedom of the life and the clear mountain air,
which is always conducive to health, and particu
larly so in my case.
Not long after my return, I received another

334 COMMISSION FROM MR. VERNON.
visit from Mr. Vernon. He was not looking
well : he told me he suffered much from gout ;
but with his usual kind and benevolent manner,
he looked over many of the sketches I had done
from nature since last seeing him. Two of them
he admired particularly — a brown bull, and the
Scotch drover's dog. He gave me a commission
to paint him a mountain scene, introducing the
said bull and dog, and he wished the picture to be
three feet long.
He assured me that he never ceased to value my
painting of the ' Farm In Kent,' and told me that
poor Sir David Wilkie, whenever he had dined
with him (up to the time that he started on his
expedition to the East, which had ended so sadly
by his death when off Gibraltar, and his burial
at sea), had always left the table to look at It,
speaking of my work with the highest approval.
' Vernon, he Is just the mon to fill the gop,' he
used to say of me to his friend, with the broad
Scotch accent that was natural to him, for, as he
remarked, there was no other man painting that
branch of art in the English school at that time.
This praise, which Mr. Vernon, with his sincere
kindness of heart, repeated more than once, was
delightful news to me, coming as it did from a
man who had done such matchless work in his

SIR DAVID WILKIE. 335
own line, and who had always stood in such high
reputation ; and it appeared to give my kind
friend as true pleasure to repeat It as it did me to
hear It.
I was always a great admirer of Sir David
Wilkie's paintings, and always contemplate them
now with pleasure when I have the opportunity.
Eleven of his works (some of his best amongst
them) may be seen now In the National Gallery.
As the picture that I was painting for Mr.
Vernon approached towards completion, he natur
ally wished to see It, but he sent me word that he
was too 111 to come to my house, and begged that
I would take It to him, naming a day and hour at
which he could receive me.
I did as he wished, having by that time finished
the picture entirely, and arrived at his house just
at the same time that Mr. Webster brought a
picture of his to show him, which was likewise a
commission. We were both admitted, but were
told that we must take our pictures into Mr.
Vernon's room, as he was unable to leave his bed.
We found him sitting up In his bed, supported by
pillows, and looking wretchedly ill. He received
us most kindly and examined both the pictures
carefully, noting the different passages In each
that he thought especially worthy of commenda-

336 MR. VERNON'S DEATH.
tion, and finally said that they were quite equal to
his desire. It was very painful to me to see him
so much changed ; he was quite thin and pale,
rather flushed in the face, and his hands were like
the skin of an onion, and shiny. He, however,
still had the use of them sufficiently to write us
each a cheque, which he gave us with some kindly
words of praise, thanking us both for the pains we
had evidently taken to please him, and wishing us
every success in our future career.
I never saw him again, for shortly after this he
fell Into a still worse state of health, and suffered
so much that he could only see quite his most
intimate friends, even at his own house.
I did not hear of his purchasing any more works
of any importance after this, but he had made a
fine collection, and at his death, which occurred In
1849, he left It Intact to the nation. This collec
tion was originally placed In the South Kensington
Museum, my two pictures being amongst the
number, but afterwards a portion of it was removed
to the National Gallery. The first of the pictures
I painted for him is amongst these latter. The
last, which turned out one of the best I had
hitherto painted, is still at South Kensington.
Thus passed away one of my kindest and best
friends, and the greatest and most appreciative

HIS FINE COLLECTION. 337
patron of British art during my time. His name
will be handed down to future generations as the
accumulator of one of the most renowned and
important private collections in England, and as
having set an example, by his noble gift to the
nation, worthy of imitation by all wealthy men.

VOL. I.

INDEX TO VOL. I.

Abbott, Mr., proctor, 51
Abram, schoolmaster, 5
Academy, Royal, 107, 108, no, 114,
118-122, 124-126, 130, 131, 135,
136, 235, 285, 290, 291, 293
dinners, 265, 266, 293, 315, 317
exhibitions, 246-252, 257, 258, 263,
265, 290, 291, 305, 308, 310,
318, 319, 328, 330
Ackerman and Co., 212, 213, 214,
216, 298
Adames cricketer, 279
Ajax, Head of, 112
Allen, Sir William, R.A., 323
Allied Sovereigns, Reception of, 30,
31
Amateur Actor, The, 78, 79, 97, 98
Amsterdam, 172, 173, l8o, 183-185,
191
Anderson, J., teacher, 5, 6
Andreaga, Count, 157, 209, 210
daughters of, 156-159, 209, 210
Angerstein Gallery, 122, 123
Antwerp, 173, 181, 188, 205
Arenburg, Prince de, 168, 169
Art Journal, 240
Associate, R.A., 293, 308, 309, 311
my election, 312-314, 319
Baker, Miss, actress, 76
Bailey, Dr., 18-20
Mr., R.A., 314
Barns, Mr., 299-301
Bates, Mr., 253
Mrs., 254
Miss, 253, 254
' Battle of Hastings,' The, 77
scenes for, 73-75> 7S'8°
Belford Regis, 244
Berghem, 183
BerUn, 299

Bingley, 13
Birmingham, 302
Bishop, Mr., 258
Blackheath Hill, 134
' Bloody War, The,' 31
Blucher, Prince, 31
Blundell, Mr., 267-269
Bonaparte, Jerome, 168
Napoleon, Emperor, 29, 30, 32-35
Book of Gems, 240
Bosford, MouHn de, 171
Bower, Major, 259
Mr. Robert, 259
Brand, Mrs., 253
Breda (Frontier Town), 187
Bridge, 136
British Museum, The, 16, 110-114,
121
Britton and Co., 43
Bruges, 147
Brunswick, Duke of, 34
Brussels, 142, 147, 150-176, 206, 208
exhibition at, 171, 172
revolution at, 176-179, 186-205
Buckstone, J. B., 69, 70, 89-100,
103
Mrs., 98, 99
Bull, Paul Potter's, 183
Bundock's Corner, 52
Burgess, coachbuilder, 20, 21, 36-39,
50, 52-54, 60, 61, 104
son of, 61, 104, 105
William, 9, 12, 14, 20, 61, 62, 104,
105, 137-149. 151. 285-289
Burke, 288
Burlington House, 253, 265
Bury St. Edmunds, 299
' Cachet du Roi,' 186, 191
Cafe de I'Europe, 95
Calais, 137-139. 141. 142

340

INDEX TO VOL. I.

Callcott, Sir Augustus, R.A., 295
Campbell, the poet, 270, 271
Cannes, 32
Canterbury, I, 18, 23, 28, 30-33, 46,
100, 102, 106, 133-136, 176, 211-
213. 291. 318
Archbishop of, 45, 46, 48, 49,
Sl
Cathedral, 3, 4, 13, 24, 25, 39, 40,
42, 43. 47. SI. S2
Cathedral Tower, Bell Harry, 3,
39.45
Theatre, S9-63, 95, 106
Capel-Carig, 331
Capon, Mr., 301
Carabineers, French, 199-201, 203,
204
Carohne, Queen, 105, 106
Carpenter, Mr., picture-dealer, 221,
229-231, 238, 239, 255
Cattermole, George, 41-43
' Cattle Reposing,' 318
Certificates, 300-305
Challenge, 290, 291
Chambers, George, 221-224
Chimney on fire, 223, 224
' Clearing ofTat Sunset,' 10
Clerkenwell Green, 109
Cobbelfs Magazine, 227, 228
Comet of 181 1, 24
Constable, John, R.A., 128
Cooper, Abraham, R.A., 116-118,
'314
Fenimore, 253, 254
Mrs., moth-r, 1-3, 13, 17, 24, 49,
5°. 52. S3. 59. 60, 63, 102, 103,
105, 107, 108, 114, 13s, 140,
17s, 176
Mrs., first wife, 170, 171, 174-177,
186, 187, 195, 197, 198, 208,
211, 213, 220, 227, 229, 233,
238, 248, 281-284, 297, 298,
306, 307
T. G., son, 331-333
T. Sidney, birth and baptism, i
education, 2, 4-8
early drawing, 3, 4, 8-13, 18-20,
39-41. 43-52, 54, 57-62
work at coachbuilder's, 20, 21,
36-39. 52-54. 104-106, 135, 136
story of the pencils, 39-42
with the puppet-show, 54-57
as a scene-painter, 62, 63, 65-95,
106
as an actor, 66-69
return to Canterbury, 100, 102,
103

Cooper, T. Sidney — continued.
incident at Tenterden, IOI, 102
goes to London to study drawing,
108
studies at the British Museum,
110-118
at Somerset House as probationer,
119-125
accepted as a student R.A., 126-134
obliged to return to Canterbury,
13s
becomes drawing-master, 136
goes for a trip to Dover, and
thence to Calais, 137-141
walks tn Gravelines, and thence to
Brussels, 143-147
settles at Brussels, 148-174
visit to England, 175, 176
returns to Brussels, 176
leaves for Amsterdam, 180
terrible journey back, 187-196
during the imeute and after, 196-
210
return to England for good, 211
first struggles to make a livelihood,
212-221
commencement of success, 221
first exhibited picture, 224-228
continued success, 229-246
first Royal Academy picture, 246-
252
visit to Yorkshire and Cumber
land, 259-263
pictures for Exhibition, and com
missions, 263-269, 272-278, 289-
292, 294-296
shocking accident to wife, 281-284
trip to the lakes, 292, 293
trial about picture, 299, 300
certificates and fee, 301-305
wife's increased illness and death,
306, 307
associateship and election, 308-314
visit to Turner, 316, 317
R.A. exhibitions, 318-320
picture of ' Waterloo,' 320-322
Exhibition, Westminster Hall, 323,
.324
visit to, and painting conjointly
with, F. Lee, R.A., 324-330
trip to North Wales, 331-333
last picture for Mr. Vernon, 334-
337
William, brother, 2-4, 18, 19, 27,
31, 211, 212
Copenhout, 188
Cowton, Alderman, 46, 47

INDEX TO VOL. I.

341

Crib, Mr., carver and gilder, 219,
220, 243, 244
Cricket, Kent Club, 279-280
Marylebone Club, 279
Criticisms, 172, 227, 228, 232, 250
Cumberland, 260-265, 291, 302
Cuyp, 181
Dawes, R.A., 132
Dean Street, Soho, 218
Delft Haven, 181, 182
Derby, Earl of, 268
Devrier, Baron, 151-154, 160
Dick, Colonel, 256
Dinant, 169
Diploma Gallery, 129
Discobolus, The, 114
Dixon, Joe, 33
Dover, 28, 55, 136-141, 211, 285
Dowton, theatrical manager, 62, 63,
95. 106
Doyle, scene-painter, 58-62
Drawing-master, Set up as, 136, 137
Drovers, Scotch, 260-262
Duncombe, The Rev. Henry, 259
Dunkirk, 146, 147
Dutch canals, 182, 184-186
Elba, Isle of, 30, 32
Elliston, R. W., comedian, 80-83
Elmore, Alfred, R.A., 314
Elvey, Mr., uncle, 107-110, in, 113,
119. 133
Mrs., 109, 119
Essex, Earl of, 240-243
Etterbeek Ponds, 195, 199
' Farm in Kent,' 334
Faversham, 136
Lord, 259
Theatre, 63, 63-69
Fawcett, Mr., actor, 234, 235, 237
Fee for certificate, 300-305
Felix, cricketer, 279
Fetter Lane, 109
' Fighting Temeraire,' 294, 295
Fitzwilliam, Lord, 253
' Folly,' Sir Sidney Smith's, 55
' Fording a Brook,' 219
France, Affairs of, 173, 174
Frederick, Prince, 188, 205
Freke, Mr., 194, 195, 245, 246
Mrs., 245, 246
Frith, William Powell, R.A., 314
Fuller, dealer, 239, 255
Fuseli, R.A., keeper, 121, 122, 127-
130, 132

Gallery of Art, Canterbury, 23, 24
Garde, Mr., property manager, 72,
75. 96
Gelderland, 186
George HI., king, 22, 105, 131,
132
George IV., king, 105
Ghent, 32, 147, 173
Gillott, Mr., dealer, 294, 295
Gladstone, Mr., 86
' Going to Pasture,' 310
Gould, Sir George, 154, 167
Gravelines, 143, 144
Gray's Inn Lane, 109
' Great Church,' The, 4, 8, 39, 40, 44
' Group in the Meadows,' 310
' Group of Scotch Mutton,' 263
Guilford, Lady, 127
Gurney, Mr. Richard, 273-279
Mrs., 274
Miss, 279
Guy Fawkes' Day, 27, 28
Hague, The, 182, 183
' Half-past One o'Clock Charge,'
320
Hall, Mr. S. C, 239, 240
' Halt, A Drover's,' 263, 264, 267
Hamihon, Mr., 44
Harding, Mr. J. D., 229-331, 254,
255
Hare, the murderer, 288
Hare and Hounds, Lunch at, 82, 83
Harris, Captain, 313
Harvey, Mr , 269, 282
Hastings Theatre, 72-84
Haye-Sainte, La, 321
Haywood Medal, 269
Heme Bay, 136
Hillyer, cricketer, 279
Holborn, 109, no, 112, 134, 213
Holland, J., 42
King of, 172, 188
Queen of, 171
Hotham, Captain Charles, 169, 170
Hougomont, 321
Howard, R.A., Mr., 15, 115, 116,
314
Huy, 171
Illuminations, Canterbury, 30, 31
Isle of Wight, 297
Jenkinson, Lady Catherine, 253
Johnson, dealer, 299-301
Jones, R.A., Mr., 249-252
Jubilee of King George III., 22, 23

342

INDEX TO VOL, I.

Kean, Charles, 8 1, 86, 87
Edmund, tragedian, 75-S6
Mrs., 76, 81, 86
Kirby's Field, 58
Knight, Charles, publisher, 269
John Prescott, R.A., 14-16
' Little,' comedian, 14, 15
Lake Country, The, 292
Lalang, Comtesse de, 154-156
Lancaster, 290
' Landscape and Cattle,' 227, 232
Landseer, Sir Edwin, 41, 262, 314,
321, 323, 331
Charles, 41, 308, 314
Lanfranc, 25
Lanois, Comte de, 154
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, P.R. A.,
128-132, 266
' Lazar House,' The, 127
Lee, Frederick, R.A., 325-330
Leipzig, Battle of, 30
Leopold, King of the Belgians, 205,
206
Le Roi, dealer, 163
Lessons at Brussels, 154-160, 167,
170
' Liar, The,' comedy, 82, 83
Liege, 169, 173
Life Guardsman, The, 321, 322
Liquorpond Street, 109
Liverpool, 267, 269, 290, 324
Lord, 253
London, 107-134
Louis Philippe, 206
Louis XVIII., 32
Louvain, 188
Porte de, 195, 196
Love, Miss, actress, 76, 77
Lover, Samuel, 269, 270
Low, George, carrier, 64
Lushington, Dr., 295
Miss, 295
Lyons, 32
Macbeth, Representation of, 66-68
McKenny, J., teacher, 5, 8
McKenzie, Mr. F., 123
McLean, Mr., dealer, 258
Macready, tragedian, 319, 323
Manchester, 269, 290
Manners-Sutton, Archbishop of Can
terbury, 45-49. 51
Lord George, 49
Margate, 136, 175
Marylebone Cricket Club, 279
Mazella, Mr., usher, 5-7

Mechlin, 188
Mercery Lane, 52
' Merchant of Venice,' 78-So, 84
Metcalfe, Rev., minor canon, 51
Meuse, The river, 169, 187
Michaelmas Fair, 24, 25
Michado, Don, 167
' Milking Time,' 252, 263
Millais, Sir John, R.A., 323, 324
' Mist Clearing Off,' 263
Mitford, Miss, 244
Moel Siabod, 331-333
' Morning,' a study, 263
Morning Post, The, 1 72, 248
Morton, Mr., dramatist, 234, 237
Moscow, Retreat frcjm, 29
' Mountain Group,' A. 318
MS. Notes, 264, 265
Mulready, William, R.A., 314
Museum, South Kensington, 123,
252, 336
Mutton Hill, 109
Mynn, Alfred, cricketer, 279
Namur, 169
Road, 189
Porte de, 194, 195
Napoleon, Emperor, 29, 30, 32-35
National Gallery, 122, 131, 252, 265,
294. 329. 335. 336
Newcastle, Duke of, 86
' Niobe,' 121
Northumberland, Duke of, 31S
North Wales, 330-333
Norwich, Bishop of, 49
Nugent, Patrick, 41
Observer, The, 248
Opie, John, Painter, 276, 277
Orange, Prince of, 160, 174, 194
Ostend, 147, 175, 176
Owens, Mrs., actress, 67
Painter, Ned, prizefighter, 275-277
Paris, 32, 173, 299
Passport, 137, 138
Paul Potter, 160, 168, 170
Paul Potter's 'Bull,' 183
Pearson, George, 177, 178, 195, 197,
198
Miss Charlotte, 178
Mr., 170, 196-198, 204
Peel, Sir Robert, 288, 324
PentonviUe Hill, 287
Picton, General, 34
Pierce, Dr., 39, 48-51
Pilch, Fuller, cricketer, 279

INDEX TO VOL. I.

343

Ponsonby, General, 34
Portland Terrace, 269
Portrait-painting, 144, 145, 151-153
Primrose Hill, 233
Puppet-show, 54-57
Pyne, J. B., 221
Queen of England, 22
of Holland, 171
Ram, The white-faced, 217
Ramsgate, 315
Raymond, Mr., actor, 76, 95
Raza, Monsieur, 137
Recruiting, 25, 26, 32
Regent's Park, Sketching in, 214,
215, 252, 271
Reilly, 54-57
Rembrandt, 183
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, P.R.A., 121,
132
Richmond, George, R.A., 114, 115,
120, 127, 130, 132, 135
Roberts, Guffer, 331-333
Mr., acior, 95, 96
R.A., 41, 226
Robinson, Rev. Canon, 51
Robianno, Comte de, 154, 173
Rotterdam, 181, 182, 187
Russell, Lord John, 324
Russia, Emperor of, 31
Rutland, Duke of, 49
Rutter, Mr., 330
Rydal Water, 292
Sage, Mr., theatrical manager, 76-78,
92-96
'Satan Calling upon his Legions,'
129
Schevelin, 183
Schiedam, 181, 182
Searle, Mr., 154, 161, 162
Severe winter of 1812, 18, 29
Shee, Sir Martin, P.R.A. , 266, 314,
318, 319
Shovellor, Serjeant, 28
Siborne, Captain, 320
Siddons, Mrs., 85
Sidney Gallery, 23, 24
Simmonds, Mr., 43, 48, 50-52
Smith, Catterson, 114, 115, 120, 127,
130, 132, 135, 216
Mr., keeper B.lil., 110-114
Smithfield Market, 217, 286, 287
Smollet, Joe, actor, 67
Society of British Artists, 221, 224-
228

Somerset House, 118, 120, 125, 126,
247, 265
Southey, Robert, poet, 292, 293
South Kensington Museum, 123, 252,
336
Spryht, Mr., 169
Stanfield, Clarkson, R.A., 41, 226,
31s
Starr, Mr., auditor, 51
Stevens, Miss Kitty, 243
St. John's Wood, 221, 233, 269, 287,
313. 322
' Stock,' 256
Stodart, Mr., sculptor, 128
Stone, Frank, 41
Sturton, Lord, 253
' Summer Evening,' 318
' Summer Noon,' 257, 258
Tenterden, 100, loi
Thwaites, Colonel, 123
' Tilbury Fort,' 310, 311
Times, The, 41, 232, 291, 301
Tottenham Court Road, 213
Traekschout, The, 182, 185
Trafalgar Square, 265
Troops, English, 31-34
French, 29, 32-34
Turner, J. W. Mallord, R.A., 294,
29s. 314-317
Tyrconnel, Earl of, 296
Ursell, Due de, 154
Uxbridge, Lord, 34
Vanderveldt, Adrian, 168
Van de Weyer, Monsieur, 254
Vandyke lace, 67
Verbockhoven, E., 160-169, 174.210
Vernon, Mr. Robert, 225, 226, 229,
233-239. 246, 249-251, 334-337
Vernon Holme, Canterbury, 311
Vickers, A., 332, 333
Victoria, Queen, 22
Vienna, 299
Visit of Allied Sovereigns, 30-32
Vurin, 194
Wales, North, 330-333
Walker, Mr., 302, 303
Walmer, 306
Wapping, 222
Ward, R.A., 115
War of the Empires, 34
Waterloo, Battle of, 3-).
Gallery, Windsor, 131
Picture, 320-324

344

INDEX TO VOL. I.

Webster, Thomas, R.A., 290, 335
Welham House, 259, 260
Wenman, cricketer, 279
Westgate, Canterbury, i
Westminster Hall, Exhibition, 320
323
West, Sir Benjamin, R.A., 132
Whitechapel, 286
Whitehall Meadows, 9
Wigram, Sir James, 304

Wilkie, Sir David, R.A., 334, 335
Williams, Mr., 331
Windmill Street, 217
Winter of 1812, 28, 29
Woolpack Inn, The, IOI, 102
Yorkshire, 259, 260
Zeeland, 181
Zion House, 318

END OF VOL. I.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. /. n. &= Co,

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

3 9002 08867 3174

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