distinction whatever the Almighty had impressed with the stamp of moral glory. His sense of its value was enhanced by its 'having been instrumental in perpetuating the negligent honest exteriors of the authors of the 'Rambler' and the Traveller,' and pressed by Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse;' adding, that it should find a reverential conservator whilst God permitted it to remain under his care.' [Sir Thomas Lawrence afterwards had this chair. Where is it now?] We can fancy such a tribute as this rendering a man of Barry's nature gentle as a lamb, as long as the influence of the gift remained uppermost in his mind. Occasionally such things were done unto him: a few, appreciating the sublime sternness of the painter-hero, came forward with words and acts of kindness; but it is difficult to know how to serve men differing in their actions, and motives of actions, from their fellows-it is only a high mind that can understand a high mind— and a desperate combat-a single-handed battle with the Royal Academy, which he had beyond question grossly insulted, made many forget what they owed to this man-as champion of historic Art. We said his combat was single-handed, but no; Joseph Nollekens did not desert him. His intemperate letter to the Dilettanti Society gave the Academy, whom he had frequently annoyed, a power over him-they brought various charges against him, without permitting him a copy of the indictment, or the means to offer a word in explanation or defence, ending their inquisitorial proceeding by degrading—No, THAT they could not do-by dismissing him from their professorship of painting, and expelling him from their body. Oh that such a man as Barry should have suffered his temper so to triumph, as to be in the position that every puny daw could peck his eagle plumage, and exclaim 'See there!'

His friends hoped he had now done with debates, and raised by subscription a thousand pounds, upon which the late Sir Robert Peel (father of the great Sir Robert, who must unhappily now be called also "the late") granted him an annuity. Here was another heart-crushing to the painterhe who had lived upon what others would have died on, to be GIVEN what he would far rather EARN. Of all mortal cups this must be the hardest to drink up, even when held to the lips by the fleshless hand of stern necessity. Still it supplied what he considered competence; and during the years which passed after his expulsion from the Academy, he had grown less ungentle

and unyielding. His real character became better developed, for he had ceased to be troubled by councils or committees. Still a large picture grew slowly under his hand; nor had he, at any time, that 'dashing alacrity' of execution which distinguished many of the old Italian masters, and renders all but miraculous the rapidity of thought and execution of Maclise-the fellow-townsman of Barry, and in many respects the superior of Barry even as an artist; while immeasurably beyond him in those gentlemanly habits, conciliatory manners, and amenities of temper which make and secure friends. Barry laboured unceasingly at his engravings; but mused, more than he painted, over his pictures. Dining at a cheap house, he was seized with sudden and violent illness; death had given him the unerring blow, and his great heart quivered under the shock. He was borne to the door of his lonely dwelling, and it could not be opened—some of those evil urchins who run about the streets had plugged the key-hole with pebbles. The night was dark and cold, and shivering with disease, Barry was carried to another abode. He was one of those strong men who cannot bear their weakness to be known. In his strange room he locked himself for forty hours, bearing his physical agony, it would seem, unheeded. At last he strayed out to make his complaint-for nature will have way-and the physician sent him to his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Bonomi, who now managed to receive him into their house. The struggle was strong, but not terrible. He was a Christian hero to the last, talking cheerfully and kindly to those around him, anticipating, but not fearing, death. If he had summoned the same mild fortitude to his aid through life, he would have lived a happier man-happier and more useful, for his powers would have been doubled, increasing by the exercise of the proprieties and suavities which sway, and ought to sway, society; and, adding unto admiration love, the combination would have given greater might into his single hands than was ever possessed by any British painter. He lingered for ten or fifteen days, and then expired. The monument erected by himself to himself is to be seen at the Adelphi ; that generously set up by Sir R. Peel, (honour to the name of a great father of a great son!) who paid the expenses of his funeral, stands in the cathedral of St. Paul.

The faults of this mighty master may serve to deter many from vain disputes and ill-tempered sarcasm, who have no pretensions to his talent,

and therefore have no claim whatever upon the respect and sympathies of their kind. For ourselves, we delight to recal his greatness, his fortitude, his desire from boyhood—arising, one might almost imagine, from instinct, but deepening into a principle-to depict only what is dignified, magnificent or sublime. His failing to reap the reward which ought to have waited upon him must be imputed, in a great degree, to his infirmity of temper, but in a still greater to the unawakened taste in the country for works of a high class of Historic Art. Is this last on the eve of remedy?

One word more, even though we have written words too many. The Academy did not forget their feud with the dead painter. He was borne to his grave by hands that had never touched a pencil!

His noble qualities stand out in bold relief from the mass of feeble indistinctness which surrounds him. When we recal the memories of his life and of his pictures, we honour him as a hero deserves to be honoured, whose chief failings and great errors arose out of an unpruned overgrowth of truth and fidelity.

And what a lesson does his life teach! It is needless to draw the moral. But may we not hope that many youths of genius will ponder over it; and, while they proudly and disinterestedly emulate the good, shun the evil of his example.

THE RESIDENCE OF DR. ISAAC WATTS.

HERE is but to look into our own hearts, to scrutinise our own habits, to close our eyes on the tumultuous present, and recal, by a simple effort of memory, the past, to be convinced of the immense influence which the Literature of Infancy, so to speak, has exercised over our whole lives. Servants, in nine

cases out of ten, are considered admirable care-takers of children, if they are good-tempered, clean, and careful; but they are suffered to remain altogether ignorant of moral training they pet the child to keep it quiet; disorder its stomach by sedatives, or what is worse; and foster its evil passions, rather than either cause its tears to flow, or tell to parents the truth. However disposed we may be, and ought to be, to deal leniently with the errors of our fellow-beings as we advance in years-the judicious mother knows that the fault of a young child should never be passed over without reproof; for as surely as it is, it will be strengthened by repetition

The child is father to the man.'

What ill passions may be nursed-what dangerous habits contractedwhat ruinous prejudices fostered-what bitter bondage to evil may be signed and sealed during the first years of life; while the unthinking and uneducated argue, that as the child knows no better,' no mischief can

ensue. Yet moral as well as physical diseases may be contracted in childhood, nay, in infancy, which Time and Reason can never entirely eradicate.

The great first lesson for the infant is obedience: it should be taught firmly, yet tenderly, before the rebellious spirit strengthens. The mother will, and must, suffer during the great sacrifice to duty she is called upon to make; but perseverance will go far to secure the happiness of both, and that of all with whom the future of the child may be associated or connected. The more difficult the task, the more needful that it be discharged faithfully.

Blessed privilege! not only to bring forth heroes, but to arm them for the battle of life with the shield of endurance-a sure defence only when tempered by self-restraint! We could enlarge upon this theme-a theme often suggested to us by some line from the Divine and Moral Songs of Dr. Isaac Watts, as it rings upon our heart. Memories they are of verses learned almost before we could lisp them, but which, second in value only to maxims of Holy Writ, have come to us, like angels' whispers, amid the labours, and trials, and struggles-ay, and amid the pleasures and triumphs—of life.

We do earnestly record our belief, that we never thought a complaint against the destiny that commands the daily and nightly toil of the inventive faculty, without the witness,'-as the 'Friends' call it,' within our breast,' taunting us with a reproach borrowed from Watts' Hymns or Moral Songs. Sometimes, when inclined to repose at the wrong time, The Little Busy Bee' will remind us of our duty, or The Voice of the Sluggard' rise up against us, and call to mind that terror of the wise, the consequences of indolent dreaminess. We might, indeed, quote such suggestions from nearly every page of his writings.

It is extraordinary how a thinking people, as we are believed to be, can neglect, as we do, the infant training of the upper classes. We supply infant schools to the people,' and we admit none but teachers properly instructed in the duties they engage to perform, and yet we confide the children of the higher, and most influential middle orders, to the care of persons who, in most cases, failing in every other undertaking, with broken means and shattered reputations, become the Mentors of Preparatory Establishments:' the blue board or brass plate seeming sufficient to satisfy