some safe asylum, in another half-century little more will be left than the bare canvasses.'

Such were the pithy words of Sir George Beaumont in November, 1823; he had soon occasion to write with less doubt or despondency: he thus addresses Lord Dover :—“ Our friend Knight has informed me that parliament has resolved upon the purchase of the Angerstein collection; and as I shall always consider the public greatly indebted to your exertions, I hope you will pardon my troubling you with my congratulations. By easy access to such works of art the public taste must improve, which I think the grand desideratum; for when the time shall come, when bad pictures, or even works of mediocrity, shall be neglected, and excellence never passed over, my opinion is, we shall have fewer painters, and better pictures. I think the public already begin to feel works of art are not merely toys for connoisseurs, but solid objects of concern to the nation; and those who consider it in the narrowest point of view will perceive that works of high excellence pay ample interest for the money they cost. My belief is, that the Apollo, the Venus, the Laocoon, &c., are worth thousands a year to the country which possesses them."

That Sir George Beaumont was the main-spring in the establishment of the national gallery cannot be denied. Ministers were intimidated by the fierce attacks of the economists, and scarcely dared to propose such a measure themselves; and dreading the apathy of some, and the animosity of others, Lord Dover says he would have wanted courage to bring the subject before the Commons, had it not been for the stimulating zeal of Sir George, and the permission which he gave to announce the donation of his own magnificent collection to the country. Lord Dover was warmly aided by Mr. Stuart Wortley, now Lord Wharncliffe, Mr. Alexander Baring, Mr. William Smith of Norwich, and one or two

others; the ministers began to pluck up courage: in short, the feeling of the House was in the favour of something being done; and the result was the purchase of Angerstein's collection, and the establishment of a gallery, destined, I will not doubt, to become one of the noblest in the world. Sir George did not long survive this consummation of many an anxious thought: his health for some years had been declining, old age, rather than illness, began to sap his strength, render his steps insecure, and impress that darkening seriousness on his brow which indicates the consciousness of approaching death. He ventured to walk out among the scenes which he loved at Coleorton Hall; on his return, he complained of cold, was observed to shiver, and desired to be conducted to bed, from which he never again arose. He died the 7th of February, 1827, aged seventy-four years.

In person, Sir George Beaumont was tall and wellshaped; his hands were elegantly formed; and his aspect was erect and noble. There was great persuasion in his smile; his voice was gentle, and his conversation lively and instructive. Few represented so gracefully the man of birth and talents. He had all the dignity which we assign to the Sidneys and Raleighs of Elizabeth's court, united to the polished elegance of that of George IV. His knowledge was extensive, and sat gracefully on him, like an every-day dress; while his love of literature, and his admiration of the great masters in art, amounted to a passion. Nor could he conceal his liking for the stage, or his respect for its best ornaments. In one of his letters to Lord Dover, he says, "I believe Shakspeare and Garrick are the only persons who have had it in their power to make it impossible for their admirers to decide whether their tragedy or comedy was most excellent. Garrick is before me at this instant (February, 1824); I see his quick eye, and hear the electric tones of his piercing and rapid

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utterance. Other actors are men of slow proceedIt is quite imings; but he was like the lightning. possible to form an idea of the sensations he conveyed, whether he chilled you with horror, or convulsed you with laughter. Other actors may be compared to Otway or Rowe; but Garrick alone was Shakspeare." His sympathy was wide and far-reaching; nor did he think that to speak once to a man of genius in his life was notice sufficient. Jackson he ever regarded as a friend, and watched his progress in art with much solicitude. "I am rejoiced," he said to Lord Dover, "to hear of the recovery of our friend Jackson, whose life is as good as his works. I have known him from his outset; and I verily believe no human being was ever more free from envy, hatred, malice, and every bad and unkind passion." His generosity was great. He aided largely in bringing forward Jackson: he countenanced Coleridge; and when his hour of adversity came, he stirred himself so that the poet obtained that pension from the Royal Society of Literature, which men fondly hoped would last for life. While he lived, genius never solicited him in vain.

Of his skill as a painter I have heard artists speak both in terms of censure and commendation. While writing this imperfect sketch, I applied to one whom I reckoned equally clever and candid for his opinion; and his evasion of the question I must consider as unfavourable. I have, however, seen many of Beaumont's landscapes; for, as he painted for several hours almost every morning, he produced numbers, some of which he gave to his friends, and others to public galleries; and, if I may venture to speak from my own feelings, I must say there is nothing of He felt the commonplace in their conception. poetry of the scenes which he desired to delineate; and his notions are all akin to the lofty and the grand. An acre of meadow, a tree in the middle, a

cow at its foot, and a crow on the top, was a kind of landscape which he never contemplated. He loved Claude, and imagined that he imitated him. His heart was, however, with Wilson; if he set up the former for his model, his eye wandered unconsciously to the latter. In his works, there is less of the fine fresh glow of nature than I could wish to see there are glimpses of grandeur; indications rather than realities-the dawn, but never the full day. Yet nature had bestowed on him the soul and the eye of a fine landscape painter; scenes shone on his fancy which his hand had not skill to imbody: he saw paradise, with angels walking in glory among the trees; but the vision either passed away, or was dimly outlined on the canvass. Nature had done much for him; but fortune rendered the gift unavailing. Coleorton Hall, and a good income, hindered him from ranking with the Wilsons, the Turners, and the Callcotts of his day; the duties of his station, the allurements of polished society,-in short, the want of the armed hand of poverty to thrust him into the ranks of the studious and the toiling-hindered him from acquiring that practical skill of execution without which imagination and taste are comparatively fruitless. Yet, with all these drawbacks, he has left works which will continue his name for centuries among the lovers of the poetic and the beautiful.

The dignity of his household was well maintained after his death by his lady, who in look and taste so much resembled him that they seemed akin She did not long survive her bereavement. Coleorton Hall, with all its fine scenery, has passed into the hands of a kinsman, who sustains, I am glad to hear, the old estate and hospitality of the gifted family of Beaumont.

VOL. V.-M

LAWRENCE.

SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE, principal painter to the king, and president of the Royal Academy, was born on the 4th of May, 1769, in the parish of St. Philip and Jacob, Bristol, within a few doors of the birthplace of Robert Southey, the poet. He was the youngest of sixteen children, most of whom died in infancy. His father,-a Thomas also,-had been educated for the law; but was either so unsteady of purpose, or so unfortunate in choice, that he became successively attorney, poetaster, spouter of odes, actor, revenue officer, farmer, and publican, and prospered in none of these callings. The artist's mother, Lucy Read, was distantly related to the house of Powis, and, therefore, of gentle blood; -an honour which Lysons, the antiquarian, would fain have established for the family of her husband also.

The early history of the painter is painfully mingled with the fortunes of his father. One who saw him when young said he was a handsome child, with large bright eyes, and a voice unusually sweet. His father, at that time landlord of the Black Bear Inn, Devizes, turned his good looks and fine voice to advantage, and taught him the art of spouting select passages from the poets, for the entertainment of customers. Before he was five years old the child had stood on a table, held out his right arm, and recited to the wondering guests some of the speeches from Milton, and sundry of the odes of Collins. He had luckily done more; he had learned to write and moreover to draw portraits, which he did with such skill as to likeness that his father