them? Do we not see the same purpose of prodigal and ostentatious display run through all her works? Do we not find the most beautiful and dazzling colours bestowed on plants and flowers, on the plumage of birds, on fishes and shells, even to the very bottom of the sea? All this profusion of ornament, we may be sure, is not in vain. To judge otherwise is to fly in the face of nature and substitute an exclusive and intolerant spirit in the place of philosophy, which includes the greatest varietybi of man's wants and tastes, and makes all the favourable th allowances it can. The Quaker will not wear colouredn clothes, though he would not have a coat to his back iw men had never studied anything but the mortification of their appetites and desires. But he takes care of his personal convenience by wearing a piece of good broadcloth, and gratifies his vanity, not by finery, but by having it of a different cut from everybody else, so that he may seem better and wiser than they. Yet this humour, too, is not without its advantages; it serves to correct the contrary absurdity. I look upon the Quaker and the fop as two sentinels placed by nature at the two extremes of vanity and selfishness, and to guard, as it were, all the common-sense and virtue that lie between." I observed that these contemptible narrow-minded prejudices made me feel irritable and impa-in tient. "You should not suffer that," said Northcote; it "for then you will run into the contrary mistake, and a lay yourself open to your antagonist. The monks, for instance, have been too hardly dealt with-not that I would defend many abuses and instances of oppression in them; but is it not as well to have bodies of men a shut up in cells and monasteries, as to let them loose to make soldiers of them and to cut one another's throats? And out of that lazy ignorance and leisure what benefits have not sprung? It is to them we owe those beautiful t specimens of Gothic architecture which can never be s ཞ surpassed; many of the discoveries in medicine and in mechanics are also theirs; and I believe the restoration of clasical learning is owing to them. Not that I would be understood to say that all or a great deal of this could not have been done without them; but their leisure, their independence, and the want of some employment to exercise their minds, were the actual cause of many advantages we now enjoy; and what I mean is, that Nature is satisfied with imperfect instruments. Instead of snarling at everything that differs from us, we had better take Shakspeare's advice, and try to find "Tongues in the trees, books in the running brooks, It was at this time that Mr. Northcote read to me the following letter, addressed by him to a very young lady, who earnestly desired him to write a letter to her : "MY DEAR MISS K- 9 "What in the world can make you desire a letter from me? Indeed, if I was a fine dandy of one-and-twenty, with a pair of stays properly padded, and also an iron busk, and whiskers under my nose, with my hair standing upright on my head, all in the present fashion, then it might be accounted for, as I might write you a fine answer in poetry about cupids and burning hearts, and sighs and angels and darts-such a letter as Mr. the poet might write. But it is long past the time for me to sing love-songs under your window with a guitar, and catch my death in some cold night, and so die in your service. "But what has a poor grey-headed old man of eighty got to say to a blooming young lady of eighteen, but to relate to her his illness and pains, and tell her that past life is little better than a dream, and that he finds that all ne has been doing is only vanity? Indeed, I may console myself with the pleasure of having gained the flattering attention of a young lady of such amiable qualities as yourself, and have the honour to assure you, that I am your grateful friend and most obliged humble servant, JAMES NORTHCOTE." "Argyll Place, 1826." I said, the hardest lesson seemed to be to look beyond ourselves. "Yes," said Northcote; "I remember, when we were young and making remarks upon the neighbours, an old maiden aunt of ours used to say, ‘I wish to God you could see yourselves!' And yet perhaps, after all, this was not very desirable. Many people pass their whole lives in a very comfortable dream, who, if they could see themselves in the glass, would start back with affright. I remember once being at the Academy when Sir Joshua wished to propose a monument to Dr. Johnson in St. Paul's, and West got up and said, that the King, he knew, was averse to anything of the kind; for he had been proposing a similar monument in Westminster Abbey for a man of the greatest genius and celebrity-one whose works were in all the cabinets of the curious throughout Europe-one whose name they would all hear with the greatest respect; and then it came out, after a long preamble, that he meant Woollett, who had engraved his 'Death of Wolfe.' I was provoked, and I could not help exclaiming, 'My God! What! do you put him upon a footing with such a man as Dr. Johnson-one of the greatest philosophers and moralists that ever lived? We have thousands of engravers at any time!' And there was such a burst of laughter at this! Dance, who was a grave gentlemanly man, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks; and Farington used afterwards to say to me, 'Why don't you speak in the Academy, and begin with My God! as you do sometimes?' I said, I had seen in a certain painter something of this humour, who once very goodnaturedly showed me a Rubens he had, and observed, with great nonchalance, 'What a pity that this man wanted expression!' I imagined Rubens to have looked round his gallery. Yet," he continued, "it is the consciousness of defect, too, that often stimulates the utmost exertions. If Pope had been a fine handsome man, would he have left those masterpieces that he has? But he knew and felt his own deformity, and therefore was determined to leave nothing undone to extend that corner of power that he possessed. He said to himself, They shall have no fault to find there. I have often thought, when very good-looking young men have come here intending to draw, 'What! are you going to bury yourselves in a garret ?' And it has generally happened that they have given up the art before long, and married or otherwise disposed of themselves." I had heard an anecdote of Nelson, that, when appointed post-captain, and on going to take possession of his ship at Yarmouth, the crowd on the quay almost jostled him, and exclaimed, “What! have they made that little insignificant fellow a captain? He will do much, to be sure!" I thought this might have urged him to dare as he did, in order to get the better of their prejudices and his own sense of mortification. "No doubt," said Northcote, "personal defects or disgrace operate in this way. I knew an admiral who had got the nickname of 'Dirty Dick' among the sailors, and on his being congratulated on obtaining some desperate victory, all he said was, ‘I hope they'll call me Dirty Dick no more!' There was a Sir Richard Granville formerly, who was appointed to convoy a fleet of merchant-ships, and had to defend them against a Spanish man-of-war, and did so with the utmost bravery and resolution, so that the convoy got safe off; but after that, he would not yield till he was struck senseless by a ball, and then the crew delivered up the vessel to the enemy, who, on coming on board and entering the cabin where he lay, were astonished to find a mere puny shrivelled spider of a man, instead of the Devil they had expected to see. He was taken on shore in Spain, and died of his wounds there; and the Spanish women afterwards used to frighten their children, by telling them 'Don John of the Greenfield was coming!'" Conversation the Fifth. who had NORTHCOTE mentioned the death of poor been with him a few days before, laughing and in great spirits; and the next thing he heard was that he had put an end to himself. I asked if there was any particular reason? He said "No;" that he had left a note upon the table, saying that his friends had forsaken him, that he knew no cause, and that he was tired of life. His patron, Croker, of the Admiralty, had, it seems set him to paint a picture of Louis the XVIII. receiving the Order of the Garter. He had probably been teazed about that. These insipid court-subjects were destined to be fatal to artists. Poor Bird had been employed to paint a picture of Louis the XVIII. landing at Calais, and had died of chagrin and disappointment at his failure. Who could make anything of such a figure and such a subject? There was nothing to be done; and yet if the artist added anything of his own he was called to order by his would-be patrons, as falsifying what appeared to them an important event in history. It was only a person like Rubens who could succeed in such subjects, by taking what licenses he thought proper, and having authority enough to dictate to his advisers. A gentleman came in, who asked if was likely to have succeeded in his art? Northcote answered, "There were |