the exhibition. The following year he sent no fewer than thirteen, and in 1790 twelve pictures. Among the latter were portraits of some of the most eminent personages in the land. In the catalogue of 1792 he is described as "Thomas Lawrence, a principal painter in ordinary to his majesty." The year previous he had been elected an associate of the Royal Academy.

Under ordinary circumstances he would now have been in easy circumstances, but his pecuniary affairs were far from affluent. The draughts made on his purse by his parents were frequent and deep. Thomas was only too glad to supply their wants, and toil for more, that they might share it.

On the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1792, Mr. Lawrence had not completed his twenty-third year, but was the recipient of many honors which had been denied to others. The Dilettanti Society unanimously chose him to succeed Sir Joshua as their painter, although to effect this they were obliged to rescind a regulation (and a very stupid one) which prevented the admission to the society of any person who had not crossed the Alps. Mr. Lawrence's foot had never quitted the soil of England. The king, George the Third, also appointed him to succeed Sir Joshua Reynolds as his principal painter in ordinary.

Thus established as the popular portrait painter of the day, Lawrence experienced no scarcity of patrons. He gradually raised his prices as he advanced in fame, but the sitters came even in larger numbers. In 1802 his charge for three quarters size was thirty guineas; for a full length, sixty guineas; and for a whole length, one hundred and twenty guineas. In 1806 the three quarters rose to forty guineas, and the whole length to two hundred. In 1808 he raised the smallest size to eighty guineas, and the largest to three hundred and twenty guineas; and in 1810, when the death of Hoppner swept all rivalry out of the way, he increased the price of the heads to one hundred, and the full-lengths to four hundred guineas.

About this time he was suspected of serious love-making in a very high quarter, and a good deal of scandal was the consequence. For some time Lawrence had been a frequent guest at Montague House, Blackheath, the residence of the Princess of Wales; and as he continued his attentions after the portrait of that unfortunate lady was finished, his visits were ascribed to no proper motive. This was rigorously inquired into by the com

missioners appointed to investigate the general conduct of her royal highness. Light of heart, and of a natural levity, which disregarded the smaller delicacies of her sex; deserted or driven away by one who had taken upon himself the office of protector, and with manners much more free than were common in England, this princess was exposed to insinuations which any other lady in the kingdom might have escaped. From all that was criminal, the charity or the justice of the commissioners of that day entirely freed her, and the conduct of the painter would have been forgotten, had not his own restlessness under the suspicion hurried him before a magistrate, to make oath that his visits arose from friendship, and were platonic and pure.

Sir Thomas Lawrence died very suddenly on the 7th of January, 1830. Four days previous he had been dining with some friends. After their departure, he felt so indisposed that he sent for his friend, Dr. Holland, who conceived his case so dangerous that he even sat up with him the whole night. No idea of danger had been previously entertained, nor any notion that he was worse than what is usually called poorly. On the evening before his death he was so much better that he received two of his friends, and entered into a pleasant and easy conversation on the subject of art and other matters. After a while the two friends left the sick man's chamber, and retired for a short time to an adjoining one. Presently they were alarmed by the servant's cries for assistance, and, on running into the room, to their horror they beheld Sir Thomas a corpse. The servant related that when he was called in his master's arm was bleeding (he had been bled at the commencement of the attack). He leaned back in his chair, seemed much oppressed, and exclaimed, “I am very ill; I must be dying!" These were the last words he uttered. A postmortem examination revealed the fact that he died from very extensive ossification of the vessels of the heart. He was buried with great pomp in the Cathedral of St. Paul's, where lay the earthly remains of the preceding president of the Royal Academy, Sir Benjamin West.

Sir Thomas Lawrence was a remarkable instance of a perfect artist, entirely self taught. Painting was with him so natural a gift, that some of his earliest productions are marked by the same grace and finish that characterize his later works. An eminent writer says with great justice, "To become the most illustrious

portrait painter of any age or country, somewhat more is required than the attributes, however essential, of a mere artist. A practiced mastership of the manual dexterities of his art, an exquisite perception of the beautiful, a mind delicately organized and enlightened by study, are not alone sufficient to form a Titian, a Vandyke, a Reynolds, or a Lawrence. In addition to those characteristics, it is indispensable that the tone and address of an individual destined to record upon his canvas all that is illustrious and beautiful, in his time, should be such as to qualify him for habitual familiarity with the objects who seek favor with posterity through his interpretation-that he should live, and move, and have his being in that factitious atmosphere which has called into life the fair and fragile flowers whose beauty is destined to be immortalized by his touch. Instead of rising from the sordid trivialities of vulgar life to welcome some noble into his studio, before whose overpowering dignity his own greatness of conception sinks rebuked, the painter of princes should be the guest of princes-should learn to note the aspect of the vain beauty, not as when, discontented and shivering, she throws her listless length into a chair to be copied by the servile painter, but as when, with all her beauties radiant around her, with all the enchantments of her grace called into energy by the emulation and inspiring flattery of the ball-room, she expands into a brighter self. Nay, more than this, he should be permitted to follow his subjects into the gorgeous retreat of their luxurious homes, catching the air and negligent individuality of the statesman, pen in hand, beside his own disordered table, and the domestic loveliness of the young mother, who exchanges the diamond necklace for the twining arms of her beautiful children. It was to a participation in advantages such as these that the super-eminence of Sir Thomas Lawrence as a court painter might in a great measure be attributed. The airy grace, the exquisite high-breeding of his female portraits. -the tone, in short, of his art, was but the tact of an elegant mind refined by high association.”

WILLIAM GIFFORD.

WILLIAM GIFFORD was born at Ashburton, Devonshire, England, April, 1756. His father was a wild, dissipated fellow, who neglected his wife and family for the fatal attractions of the ale-house. He was a plumber and glazier, and made some feeble attempts to teach his son the same profession, but he was too idle and dissolute even for this. He died finally of a decayed and ruined constitution, leaving a widow and two children, of whom William was the eldest. For a time Mrs. Gifford endeavored to carry on her husband's business for the sake of the family, but the effort was ruinous. Taking advantage of her ignorance, her two knavish journeymen wasted her property and embezzled her money. Overcome by anxiety and grief, she sank into the grave within twelve months of her unworthy husband.

The children were left completely destitute, for what few things were left in the house at Mrs. Gifford's decease were seized by the landlord. William was taken into the house of this individual, probably because he was useful, while his little brother was sent to the almshouse. Rumors began to circulate in the town that the landlord had more than overpaid himself by the property taken from the deceased widow, and, to hush these unpleasant rumors, he made a show of taking a great interest in William, and sent him to the grammar-school, where the boy made the most of his opportunities. But, at the end of three months, the old curmudgeon of a landlord began to grudge the expense and trouble of William's education, and determined that he would get rid of him. At first he tried to place him on a farm, but Gifford was physically unable to endure the laboriousness of this occupation. As he could read and cipher, his godfather next proposed to send him out to Newfoundland, to assist in a store-house. A Mr. Houldsworthy, of Dartmouth, was to fit him out and have his services. When, however, they met, the boy was ignominiously dismissed as "too small.” Finally he obtained a berth on a small coasting vessel. In this situation Gifford remained for nearly twelve months, undergoing considerable hardship as a sea

man, and in addition performing all the menial offices of the cabin. At length the knowledge of his situation became known in Ashburton, and became the scandal of the place. His godfather determined to recall him, and on Christmas-day, 1770, he ceased to be a sailor boy. Once more he was sent to school, and his diligence was again unexceptionable. In arithmetic, which was his "darling pursuit," he made such rapid progress that in a few months he was at the head of the school. On some occasions he was even called on to assist the teacher, and when this happened, he received a trifle as a reward. This circumstance suggested the idea of obtaining subsistence by becoming the master's regular assistant, and also by instructing a few evening scholars. He hoped that, if he could bring this to bear, he might ultimately succeed his former master, Mr. Hugh Smerdon, who was now so old and infirm that his tenure of office was not likely to last beyond three or four years. These ideas were put to flight by his godfather, Carlile, who informed him that he intended to bind him apprentice to a shoemaker. Shortly after the ceremony took place, and Gifford, burning with literary ambition, was consigned to the lapstone for six years. A business so distasteful failed, of course, to engage his attention, and he became the common drudge of the shoemaker's family. But his ambition was unaltered; he determined to make the most of every opportunity to add to his scanty stock of knowledge, so that, if fortune befriended him, he would be found ready. His opportunities were few, and the temper of his master unfavorable. He possessed but one book, a treatise on algebra, and this was unintelligible to him, owing to his ignorance of simple equations. A lucky chance enabled him to overcome the difficulty. His master's son had bought "Fenning's Introduction," which he secreted, so that no one but himself might peruse it. Gifford discovered its hiding-place, sat up several nights to study it, and had completely mastered its contents before its owner was aware that it had been used. He was now in a position to use his own book, if he could only procure pens, ink, and paper. What was to be done? He had no money and no credit. He beat out scraps of leather till they were smooth, and on these he wrote his problems with a blunted awl. He was assisted by his memory, which was so tenacious that he could multiply and divide by it to a great extent.

About this time he displayed some aptness in making rhymes,