of the Infant Saviour, with cherubims and garlands of flowers; and after disposing of these trifles at the fair at Seville, with a few pence in his pocket, neither asking advice nor taking leave of any one, he set out on foot for Madrid. It was in the year 1643. Arrived at Madrid, he presented himself to Velasquez, then in all the glory of his reputation and his good fortune. The king's favourite painter received the young artist kindly, encouraged him, promised him work, gave him the means of studying the works of the great Italian masters in the palaces and at the Escurial, and in his own studio Velasquez finally instructed and advised him. Murillo passed two years in studying the great colourists. The masters he preferred were Titian, Rubens, and Vandyke, Spagnoletto, and Velasquez. Less anxious for renown than for independence he left Madrid, notwithstanding Velasquez's wish to retain him in that city, and returned to Seville in 1645. It was said that Murillo took a disgust to courts and cities, in consequence of the disgrace of the prime minister Olivares, which happened in 1643. He was a great patron of the arts, and was sent into exile, where he shortly after died. His loss was deeply deplored by Velasquez; and it is probable that the excitable as patriots or poets. Hardly had Murillo's absence been noticed in his native town; but the astonishment was great when the following year he painted for the Convent of San Francisco three pictures, one was "The Death of Saint Claire," a picture that formed the principal ornament latterly of the Aguado Gallery at Paris. Every one inquired where Murillo could have learned this noble and attractive style, which partook of the manner of Spagnoletto, Vandyke, and Velasquez, and that was thought from its variety to be superior to all that they had produced. Notwithstanding the envy which generally follows success, notwith VOL. XXXIII. NO. CXCVI. standing the rivalry and hatred of Valdez Leal, of Herrera the younger, whom Murillo had dethroned from being at the head of their profession as painters, he soon rose from indigence and obscurity to renown; and, in 1648, he was in a position good enough to obtain in marriage the hand of a rich and noble lady, Doña Beatrix de Cabrera y Sotomajor. pencil. From the year that Murillo returned to Seville (1645), until his death in 1682, he rarely left his native place, nor indeed scarcely his studio; spending there thirty-seven years in constant and incessant employment, and by that means producing the enormous number of pictures that were the work of his Given up to his art, he sought neither the patronage of the great nor the applause of the multitude, but made his happiness in placing his talent at the disposal of those persons who pleased himself in indulging his taste for composing his pictures in retirement, and for being completely independent in his daily habits of life. The chapters, the monasteries, and the grandees of Spain sent incessant requests and orders to the artist of Seville; and there were few cathedrals, sacristies, or convents, that did possess some representation of their patron saint by his hand. Most of the illustrious and ancient families of Spain also aspired to the portrait of some ecclesiastic, friend, or relation painted by him. not The Convent of Capuchins at Seville at the beginning of this century, possessed nineteen first-rate pictures painted by Murillo, and the Hospital de la Caridad had in its little church eight of his most famous compositions. Ile received from the hospital for the painting of "Moses Striking the Rock," 13,300 réaux de vellon; for the "Miracle of the Loaves in the Desert," 15,975; and for all the eight pictures to gether, 32,000 réaux de vellon, a sum amounting to about 8501. of our money-a large sum for those days, and for Spain. The most laborious and productive time of his life was from his fiftieth to his sixtieth year; proving in art as in literature, that the greatest works of a man of genius are towards his decline, when he can unite experience and habit to inven K K tion and imagination. Murillo is, of all the Spanish masters, the one who possessed the most of the ideal and of a poetical grandeur in his works. He seldom made use of allegory in his compositions, but went straight to his point to represent the scene as he imagined it, without having recourse to learning, or to tradition, or to legendary tale, as had the great Italian masters. Murillo, like many of the great painters, had three successive manners; and these were called in Spanish, frio, calido, y vaporoso (cold, warm, and vaporous). These three terms sufficiently indicate the manner of each, the children, the beggars, and the scenes of every-day life, in which Murillo excelled, were painted in his first style, as were a few of his monastic scenes. greatest performance, "St. Anthony of Padua," a picture now in the chapel of the cathedral of Seville; however, many of his admirers prefer the picture of "St. Isabella of Hungary," now in the museum at Madrid. It represents the pious queen gaining a celestial crown, not by prayer, but by works. The scene takes place in a hall of simple and beautiful architecture, where Murillo has succeeded in combining all the perfection of each of his styles of painting, and of conveying to the eye and mind of the spectator a moral influence. In ancient times the kings of France and England were supposed to cure the evil. The kings of Hungary had another vocation, they cleansed and washed the lepers. The palace is converted into an hospital, where reigns a fearful and disgusting misery; the rags, dirt, and vermin, with which the children are covered, is suited but for Murillo's powers to represent. On one side are the ladies of the court, graceful, handsome, and magnificently dressed; on the other side are these wretched children, deformed, full of sores and suffering, amidst paralytic and almost lifeless old age. One profile of an old woman is brought out with great skill from a background, formed by the velvet robe of one of the court ladies. This is the triumph of colouring, as the whole picture is the triumph of contrasts. All that is brilliant in beauty, in health, and in luxury, is placed alongside of all the hideous ills to which human nature is subject. All of disease, all of splendour; but Charity approaches and unites these two extremes: a young and beautiful woman, wearing a royal crown beneath her nun's veil, is in the act of washing the impure head of a leper; her white and delicate hands seem to refuse the disgusting office that Religion calls on her to perform; her eyes are filled with tears, and her distress of mind is shewn on her countenance, but Charity overcomes disgust, and Reli The silvery tone in which his Annunciations are painted, are in the style called vaporous; harmonising all throughout, and giving to the scene the appearance of the lightedup clouds, a miraculous but fantastic light, full of the charms of effect and the triumph of colouring, and attempted previously but by Guido and Correggio. Murillo's third manner, the warm tint, was the one that he preferred. Some of his largest compositions, now in the Museum at Madrid, are painted in this manner, and they are all taken from the stories of saints. It is in such-like subjects of divine poetry that the pencil of Murillo, like the wand of the enchanter, can shew prodigies; and if in common life he is equal to the greatest of painters, he stands alone like Milton, in scenes of another world; and of the two great Spanish painters (him and his instructor Velasquez), it may be said that Velasquez was the painter of the earth, and Murillo that of the heavens. In his Assumptions, Murillo takes a lofty flight into aërial regions amidst the ecstasies of saints and the visions of the enthusiast. As Ve lasquez aspired to the illustration of gion carries her through her terrible truth and to precision in details, so did his friend Murillo live above realities. He loved poetical life, and addressed himself to the imagination. It was in the warm manner to which Murillo was so partial, that he painted what is esteemed his task. Such is the scene of a picture which causes artists and travellers such an admiration of the varied powers of Murillo; each detail is admirable; the least change would destroy the harmony of the whole; and Viardot says, "that this picture places Murillo by the side of Raphael.” The lover of painting has but few opportunities of studying the Spanish school in England. At Paris and at Munich the means are more at hand. In England, it is principally to the Sutherland Gallery that he must have recourse. That gallery possesses five pictures by Murillo, one of which is an acknowledged masterpiece of art. Four pictures by Zurbaran, one by Alonzo Cano, one by Spagnoletto, and one by Velasquez. At Dulwich are several pictures by the hand of Murillo; at Grosvenor House is the celebrated landscape formerly in the palace of St. Jago, at Madrid; at Lord Ashburton's are four of his works, one of which represents "St. Thomas of Villa Neve, when a Child, distributing Alms." At Mr. Wells', at Redleaf, is a very fine picture by Murillo, that was formerly in a church at Genoa; it also represents "St. Thomas of Villa Neve relieving the Sick." At Longford Castle, in Wiltshire, are two fine Murillos, along with some excellent specimens of Velasquez; at the Duke of Wellington's are several of the Spanish school; at Lord Lansdowne's is a curious picture of El Mudo (Navarete), a rare Spanish painter, as well as several works by the hands of Velasquez and Murillo; at Mr. Sanderson's is one Murillo; at Leigh Court, near Bristol, are three fine Murillos; at Lord Shrewsbury's are two, on sacred subjects; at Burleigh, one picture; at Woburn, one picture: and the above mostly comprise the whole of Murillo works to be found in England. With regard to the number of his productions, Murillo is only to be rivalled by his countryman, Lopez di Vega. Like that poet, his youth was but of little use to him; like him he laboured the rest of his life, and in his own line equalled the 1800 comedias, the 400 autos sacramentales, the epic and the burlesque poems, the sonnets, the stories, which made Cervantes call Lopez 66 a mon ster in nature;" unlike his master Velasquez, Murillo repeated his subjects often. Velasquez gave a care to every one of his paintings, all being intended for his king and mas ter, while Murillo's works, destined to become the property of various persons in different parts of Spain, were often repetitions, and thus he became his own plagiarist. Velasquez was most at home in common life in an adherence to truth to nature, while Murillo's greater energy, and more brilliant imagination, loved to soar above real life, though not like Zurbaran or Mogloom, who revel in penance, in surales, whose powers are in terror and perstition, in autos de fè, the scenes of the Inquisition, and the ecstasies of Loyola. The fine arts are proved to be passions in hundreds of instances, and like passion wholly and entirely lay hold of the mind of man; and when this is the case, the picture partakes of the character of the artist. There are many instances amongst artists of death occurring from grief, disappointment, jealousy, and envy, and particularly in Spain: amongst these examples is that of Castillo, a native of Cordova. He came to Seville in 1666, when Murillo was at the height of his reputation; and on looking at his productions, which he did with great astonishment, he saw Nature reflected in her most perfect shape, with a brilliancy that he knew he could not emulate, nor had he believed in the power of art to attain. At length he recovered his speech, but only to exclaim, "Yà muriro Castillo !" (Castillo is no more.) He returned to his home, but never again to paint. Castillo was a poet as well as a painter. Seized with a hopeless gloom, he lived a short time in a state of despair, dying of a broken spirit, proving that there are natures endowed with such susceptible passions, that to take away hope is to take away life. It has been written that Murillo was a stranger both to interest and to ambition. It was in 1670, when Murillo must have been about the age of fifty-seven, that one of his paintings was carried in procession at Madrid, at the festival of Corpus Christi. The subject was "The Immaculate Conception ;" and the picture made such a sensation at Madrid, and at court, that the king's impatience would brook no delay, and he sent for Murillo from Seville; but the love of ease and retirement of the painter was not to be conquered by ambition or honours. He refused the commands of his sovereign under various pretences, and continued to live on at Seville in independence, that is, in constant labour and study of his art. Pictures were, however, sent by him to the royal collection. But Murillo was not so totally engrossed with his art as to forget others. With the aid of his artistfriends, and the public authorities, he established an academy at Seville, of which he became director. It was opened in 1660, at a time of public rejoicing in Spain, at the peace of the Pyrenees and the marriage of Louis XIV. to the Infanta MariaTheresa. Neither in this work nor in any other did Murillo receive any assistance from his own family. His eldest son went to the West Indies as a merchant; his second son became a canon of the cathedral at Seville; and his daughter took the Iveil in the convent of the Madrè de Dios. In 1681 Murillo went to Cadiz to paint the altar-piece of "The Marriage of St. Catherine," for the Convent of Capuchins; he fell from a scaffolding erected near the painting, was much hurt, and returned to his home at Seville, ill, in consequence of his fall. After lingering for some time he died in April, 1682, and was buried in a vault in the church of Santa Cruz, under the chapel where is the painting of "The Descent from the Cross," by Pietro Campana, and where Murillo was accustomed to pass some part of each day in prayer and meditation. This magnificent picture had been ever the object of Murillo's admiration and reverence throughout his life. And in that same chapel where so many holy thoughts had entranced him, in the same spot where his mind had ever been intent on religious meditations and feelings, his body found a resting-place. There is a harmony and a peace in the whole of Murillo's life and death, very powerful in his religious and poetical life; and in him is found a painter, as Wordsworth is a poet. It is related, that one day when the church-doors were about to be closed towards evening, the sacristan reminded Murillo, then in medita tion before his favourite picture, that it was time to depart. "I wait," said Murillo, still in his ecstasy, "I wait until these holy persons have taken away the body of our Lord." After Murillo's death, it was discovered how entirely disinterested his life and character had been. No than further fortune did he possess a hundred reals, that he had received the day before he died; and that money, with sixty ducats found in a drawer, comprised the whole of his earthly possessions. ON SOME ILLUSTRATED CHILDREN'S BOOKS.* BY MICHAEL ANGELO TITMARSH. THE character of Gruff-and-Tackleton, in Mr. Dickens's last Christmas story, has always appeared to me a great and painful blot upon that otherwise charming performance. Surely it is impossible that a man whose life is passed in the making of toys, hoops, whirligigs, theatres, dolls, jack-in-boxes, and ingenious knickknacks for little children, should be a savage at heart, a child-hater by nature, and an ogre by disposition. How could such a fellow succeed in his trade? The practice of it would be sufficient to break that black heart of his outright. Invention to such a person would be impossible; and the continual exercise of his profession, the making of toys which he despised for little beings whom he hated, would, I should think, become so intolerable to a Gruff-and-Tackleton, that he would be sure to fly for resource to the first skipping-rope at hand, or to run himself through his dura ilia with a tin sabre. The ruffian! the child-hating Herod! a squadron of rocking-horses ought to trample and crush such a fellow into smaller particles of flint. I declare for my part I hate Gruff-and-Tackleton worse than any ogre in Mother Bunch. Ogres have been a good deal maligned. They eat children, it is true, but only occasionally,-children of a race which is hostile to their Titanic progeny; they are good enough to their own young. Witness the ogre in Hopomythumb, who gave his seven daughters seven crowns, the which Hopomythumb stole for his brothers, and a thousand other instances in fairy history. This is parenthetic, however. The proposition is, that makers of children's toys may have their errors, it is true, but must be, in the main, honest and kindly-hearted persons. I wish Mrs. Marcet, the Right Honourable T. B. Macaulay, or any other person possessing universal knowledge, would take a toy and child's emporium in hand, and explain to us all the geographical and historical wonders it contains. That Noah's ark, with its varied contents, - its leopards and lions, with glued pump-handled tails; its light-blue elephants and footed ducks; that ark containing the cylindrical family of the patriarch was fashioned in Holland, most likely, by some kind pipe-smoking friends of youth by the side of a slimy canal. A peasant in a Danubian pine-wood carved that extraordinary nutcracker, who was painted up at Nuremberg afterwards in the costume of a hideous hussar. That little fir lion, more like his roaring original than the lion at Barnet, or the lion of Northumberland House, was cut by a Swiss shepherd boy tending his goats on a mountain-side, where the chamois were jumping about in their untanned leather. I have seen a little Mahometan on the Etmeidan at Constantinople, twiddling about just such a whirligig as you may behold any day in the hands of a small Parisian in the Tuileries Gardens. And as with the toys so with the toy-books. They exist every where; there is no calculating the distance through which the stories come to us, the number of languages through which they have been filtered, or the centuries during which they have been told. Many of them have been narrated, almost in their present shape, for thousands of years since, to little copper-coloured Sanscrit children, listening to their mother under the palm-trees by the banks of the yellow Jumna-their Brahmin mother, who softly narrated them through the ring in her nose. The very same tale has been heard by the Northmen Vikings as they lay on their shields on deck; and by the Arabs, couched under the stars on the Syrian plains when the flocks were gathered in, and the mares were picketted by the tents. With regard *Felix Summerly's Home Treasury. Gammer Gurton's Story-Books. Revised by Ambrose Merton, Gent. Stories for the Seasons. The Good-Natured Bear. London, 1846. Joseph Cundall, Old Bond Street. |