Kneller, whose vanity "was redeemed by his naïveté and rendered pleasant by his wit. "Dost thou think, man," said he to his tailor, who proposed his son for a pupil, dost thou think, man, I can make thy son a painter? No! God Almighty only makes painters."

His wit, however, was that of one who had caught the spirit of Charles the Second's wicked court. He once overheard a low fellow cursing himself. "God damn you! indeed!" exclaimed the artist in wonder; "God may damn the Duke of Marlborough, and perhaps Sir Godfrey Kneller; but do you think he will take the trouble of damning such a scoundrel as you?" The servants of his neighbour, Dr. Ratcliffe, abused the liberty of a private entrance to the painter's garden, and plucked his flowers. Kneller sent word that he must shut the door up. "Tell him," the doctor peevishly replied, "that he may do anything with it but paint it."-"Never mind what he says, retorted Sir Godfrey, "I can take any thing from him-but physic.'

"Kneller was one day conversing about his art, when he gave the following neat reason for preferring portraiture. "Painters of history," said he, "make the dead live, and do not begin to live themselves till they are dead. I paint the living, and they make me live!" In a conversation concerning the legitimacy of the unfortunate son of James the Second, some doubts having been expressed by an Oxford Doctor, he exclaimed with much warmth, "His father and mother have sat to me about thirtysix times a-piece, and I know every line and bit of their faces. Mein Gott! I could paint King James now by memory. say the child is so like both, that there is not a feature in his face but what belongs either to father or to mother; this I am sure of, and cannot be mistaken; nay, the nails of his fingers are his mother's, the queen that was. Doctor, you may be out in your letters, but I cannot be out in my lines."

I

Passing over the long life of that singular and eccentric genius, Hogarth, we come to the Biography of the famous landscape painter, Richard Wilson, where at page 192, we find the following remarks upon the mortifying neglect which that great genius experienced.

"It was the misfortune of Wilson to be unappreciated in his own day;-and he had the additional mortification of seeing works wholly unworthy of being ranked with his, admired by the public and purchased at large prices. The demand for the pictures of Barret was so great, that the income of that indifferent

dauber rose to two thousand pounds a-year; and the equally weak landscapes of Smith of Chichester were of high value in the market-at the time when the works of Wilson were neglected and disregarded, and the great artist himself was sinking, in the midst of the capital, under obscurity, indigence, and dejection. He was reduced, by this capricious ignorance of the wealthy and the titled, to work for the meanest of mankind. Hogarth, as we have seen, sold some of his plates for half-a-crown a pound weightand Wilson painted his Ceyx and Alcyone for a pot of beer and the remains of a Stilton cheese! His chief resource for subsistence was in the sordid liberality of pawnbrokers, to whose hands many of his finest works were consigned wet from the easel. One person, who had purchased many pictures from him, when urged by the unhappy artist to buy another, took him into his shop-garret, and, pointing to a pile of landscapes, said, "Why, look ye, Dick, you know I wish to oblige, but see! there are all the pictures I have paid you for these three years." To crown his disappointments-in a contest for fame with Smith of Chichester-the Royal Society decided against Wilson.

"To account for the caprice of the public, or even for the imperfect taste of a Royal Society, is less difficult than to find a reason for the feelings of dislike, and even hostility, with which Wilson was regarded by Reynolds. We are told that the eminent landscape-painter, notwithstanding all the refinement and intelligence of his mind, was somewhat coarse and repulsive in his manners. He was indeed a lover of pleasant company, a drinker of ale and porter-one who loved boisterous mirth and rough humour

and such things are not always found in society which calls itself select. But what could the artist do? The man whose patrons are pawnbrokers instead of peers-whose works are paid in porter and cheese-whose pockets contain little copper and no gold-whose dress is coarse and his house ill-replenishedmust seek such society as corresponds with his means and condition-he must be content to sit elsewhere than at a rich man's table covered with embossed plate. That the coarseness of his manners and the meanness of his appearance should give offence to the courtly Reynolds is not to be wondered at-that they were the cause of his hostility I cannot believe, though this has often been asserted.Their dislike was in fact mutual, and I fear it must be imputed to something like jealousy."

We venture another extract from the Life of Wilson, exhibiting him existing in adversity, and in prosperity, which he did not attain, like many others, until it was too late in life for him to enjoy the possession of the comfortable means he arrived at.

"Wilson's process of painting was simple; his colours were few, he used but one brush, and worked standing. He prepared his palette, made a few touches, then retired to the window to refresh his eye with natural life, and returned in a few minutes and resumed his labours. Beechey called on him one day, and found him at work; he seized his visitor hastily by the arm, hurried him to the remotest corner of the room, and said, "There, look at my landscape-this is where you should view a painting if you wish to examine it with your eyes, and not with your nose." He was then an old man, his sight was failing, his touch was unsure, and he painted somewhat coarsely, but the effect was wonderful. He too, like Reynolds, had his secrets of colour, and his mystery of the true principle in painting, which he refused to explain, saying, "They are like those of nature, and are to be sought for and found in my performances," Of his own future fame he spoke seldom, for he was a modest man, but, when he did speak of it, he used expressions which the world has since sanctioned. "Beechey," he said, you will live to see great prices given for my pictures, when those of Barret will not fetch one farthing,"

66

"The salary of librarian rescued him from utter starvation; indeed, so few were his wants, so simple his fare, and so moderate his appetite, that he found it, little as it was, nearly enough. He had as he grew old become more neglectful of his person-as fortune forsook him he left a fine house for one inferiora fashionable street for one cheap and obscure; he made sketches for half-acrown, and expressed gratitude to one Paul Sanby for purchasing a number from him at a small advance of price. His last retreat in this wealthy city was a small room somewhere about Totten ham-Court Road;-an easel and a brush -a chair and a table-a hard bed with few clothes-a scanty meal and the favourite pot of porter-were all that Wilson could eall his own. A disgrace to an age which lavished its ten of thousands on mountebanks and projectors on Italian screamers, and men who made mouths at Shakspeare.

"It is reported that Reynolds relaxed his hostility at last-and, becoming generous when it was too late, obtained an

order from a nobleman for two landscapes at a proper price. This kindness softened the severity of Wilson's animadversions on the President; but old age with its infirmities was come upon him; his sight was failing, his skill of touching was forsaking him, and his naturally high spirit had begun to yield at last to the repeated injuries of fortune. London was relieved from witnessing the melancholy close of his life. A small estate became his by the death of a brother, and, as if nature had designed to make some amends for the neglect of mankind, a profitable vein of lead was discovered on his ground. When this two-fold good. fortune befel him, he waited on his steady friend, Sir William Beechey, to ask him if he had any commands for Wales. His spirits were then high, but appeared assumed, for his health was visibly declin ing, and his, faculties were impaired. He put his hands to each side, and pressing them, said, with a sorrowful smile, "Oh! these back settlements of mine !" He took an affecting farewell of Sir Wil❤ liam, and set out for his native place; where, far from the bitterness of professional rivalry, and placed above the reach of want, he looked to enjoy a few happy days.

"He arrived safely at Colomondie beside the village of Llanverris in Denbighshire, and took up his residence with his relation, Mrs. Jones. The house was elegant and commodious, and the situation of that kind which Wilson loved. It stood among fine green hills, with old romantic woods, picturesque rocks, verdant lawns, deep glens, and the whole was cheered with the sound as well as the sight of running water. He was now in affluence-was loved and respected by all around him—and, what was as much to him or more, he was become a dweller among scenes such as had haunted his imagination, even when Italy spread her beauty before him. He wrought little and walked much ;-the stone on which he loved to sit, the tree under which he shaded himself from the sun, and the stream on the banks of which he commonly walked, are all remembered and pointed out by the peasantry. But he wanted-what wealth could not give

youth and strength to enjoy what he had fallen heir to. His strength failed fast-his walks became shorter and less frequent and the last scene he visited was where two old picturesque fir-trees stood, which he loved to look at and introduce into his compositions. Walking out one day, accompanied by a favourite dog-whether exhausted by fatigue, or overcome by some sudden pain, Wilson

sank down, and found himself unable to rise. The sagacious animal run home, howled, pulled the servants by their clothes, and at last succeeded in bringing them to the aid of his master. He was carried home, but he never fairly recovered from the shock. He complained of weariness and pain, refused nourish

1782, in the 69th year of his age.

“As a landscape-painter the merits of Wilson are great, his conceptions are generally noble, and his execution vigorous and glowing, the dewy freshness, the natural lustre and harmonious arrangement of his scenes, have seldom been exceeded. He rose at once from the tame insipidity of common scenery into natural grandeur and magnificence -his streams seem all abodes for nymphs, his hills are fit haunts for the muses, and his temples worthy of gods. His whole heart was in his art, and he talked and dreamed landscape. He looked on cattle as made only to form groups for his pic. tures, and on men as they composed. harmoniously. One day looking on the fine scene from Richmond Terrace, and wishing to point out a spot of particular beauty to the friend who accompanied him" There," said he, holding out his finger, see near those houses-there, where the figures are." He stood for sometime by the waterfall of Terni in speechless admiration, and at length exclaimed, "Well done: water, by God!" In aerial effect he considered himself above any rival. When Wright of Derby offered to exchange works with him, he answered, "With all my heart. I'll give you air, and you will give me fire." In a future, number, we shall, if other pressing matter does not prevent us, turn to the contents of this very pleasant volume again; in the meanwhile, we recommend it to our friends as one deserving of their especial notice.

66

TALE OF A TUB. (For the Olio.)

I knew a Maiden in a vale

That lived beside the floods?

Her countenance was, like her, pail,
Her feelings" in the suds."

She wash'd from daylight to the dark,
And c-lack'd the wash-house over;
Till by her w-ringing came a spark,
A Lover-but, a Rover!

He p-leased her much, and, sooth to tell,
́She liked his “soap and size;"
But love, like truth, "lies in a well,"
And does not always rise.

The boreal songs of day,

She call'd them sails till they were blue,
And clear starch'd clean away.

"Will's crimp'd," she cried, "I know the drift, "Tis the tide-waiter's fate;"

Her shifts were wash'd, but did not shift
Her washing for a mate.

Time gather'd years and gather'd dirt,
The washing-block was still;
Betsy received a mortal hurt,

When mortals fetch'd her Will.

styled Typhonian, such as Heliopolis, Idithyia, Abarci, and Brusirus; in these, at particular seasons, they sacrificed men. The objects thus destined were persons of bright hair and a particular complexion, such as were seldom to be found amongst the native Egyptians. Hence we may infer, that they were foreigners; and it is probable, that while the Israelites resided in Egypt, they were chosen from that body. They were burnt alive upon a high altar, and thus sacrificed for the good of the people. At the close of the sacrifice, the priests gathered together the ashes of these victims, and scattered them upwards into the air, that where any atom of this dust was wafted, a blessing might be entailed."

On this cromlech, the stone of Ketti, the house of Baal, or Belatucadro, lord of the firmament, stood the trembling criminal, the captive taken in war, and, when these were wanting, the innocent victim destined to bleed as an offering to the sun for the sins of his nation! Already have they led him from the neighbouring temple of rocks, amid a long procession of Druidesses and Druids, with music aud solemn dances, where on his head the arch-priest poured a libation or lustration of holy water. By his side appeared the officiating Druid, with a broad knife flashing to the morning sun, ready to perform the bloody death-rite! Thousands of spectators, assembled by the signalfires of the Druids, lighted up the preceding evening on the surrounding heights, stand without the vallum and dyke which encircle the sacred place, like those which Moses raised round Mount Sinai, impatiently waiting to behold the fatal blow.

The signal is given by the Arch-Druid -up-flashing cymbal, pealing trump, and wailing horn, while the deep chariotdrum of battle rolled its hollow thunder from hill to hill! The glancing knife of the priest is buried in the heart of the victim, and the blood-streams rush over the sloping altar-stone, while the people behold, delighted, the writhings of the Haryhted, as he lies in the last agonies of dissolution! The whole congregation shout aloud, and the harps of the azure

* Other altars have been dug up in Britain, dedicated to this deity, by the name of Belatucadro; which, by their inscriptions, appear to have been erected after the conquest of this country by the Romans. He is also called Belenus-the Bell or Belus of the Assyrians, or the Bebatui-Cares, or Lord of the Assyrians, as the Phoenicians termed him,-the Apollo of the Greeks and Romans,-the Baal of the Canaanites,—and the Bealan, or Sun, of the Irish

+"They pour a libation on a man as a victin."-Strabo.

* See Exodus, ch. xix., v. 12,-23.

vested bards drown his parting groans with their wild and melodious death-hymn of praise to the worshipped king of day. Omens are predicted by the sacrificers from the flowing of the blood, and the intestines of the victim. He is then borne by the Vates to the flat hearth-stone, a few yards distant from the altar, where the lifeless and mutilated corse is prepared by fire as a grateful offering to their splendid divinity, and then lifted up with mysterious rites on one of the Tulithons, or high-places of oblation, in the adjoining circle or pillared throne of the sun.

It is certain that these horrible sacrifices of blood continued in the north to so late a period as the Ninth Century! when Einar offered up his captive, Hald, Prince of Norway, to Odin. We also find that in the western parts of Iceland, in the province of Fornesthing, there was a circle of stones, where tradition has preserved the record that men were sacrificed, after they had been killed at a vast stone placed near it.-Vide Arngrim ex Eyobyggia, Worm. Mon. Dan. p. 27.

Thus we perceive how nearly allied the religion of the Celtic tribes of this island was to the abominations of the eastern Gentiles, which, added to their incursive mode of warfare on each other, their many coloured garments, their devotion to consecrated groves and high-places, their hunting with hawks (unknown to any other of the western nations), their fortified hill-cities, their chariots of war, the gods which they worshipped, all clearly point out their eastern origin.

and

The gloomy night of superstition and blood hath long since passed away from the once mysterious isles of the west, and the day-spring of a brighter religion, a milder and a nobler philosophy, spreads its refulgent beams o'er the ocean-circled regions of the Cymry; while nothing remains to tell posterity of the awful rites and sanguinary ceremonies of those dark ages, save giant fragments of rock, that frown, like shadowy spectres of the past, on the desolate plain and lonely heath, far from the cheerful dwellings of man. J. FITZGERALD PENNIE. Rogvald Cottage, July 1829.

SINGULAR PHRASES.

The following terms, which were used in some parts of England, in former times, for pecuniary fines, have the following import :

Scot and Lot.-Public impositions, or contributions.

Danegeld.-A sum first paid to the Danes, to leave England at peace; but continued as a tax for some little time after the conquest.

Murdrum.-A fine imposed upon a place wherein a murder has been committed; or for not producing the murderer

if he had fled thither.

Lastage.-A compensation for liberty to bring goods to fairs and markets, or to carry them where the owner thought proper; paid by the last.

Passage.-Money paid for passing to and fro of persons and goods, in common shores, landing places, &c.

Pontage. Toll for passing over bridges, with horses, carriages, &c. or under them, in boats or other vessels.

Murage.-A duty collected upon carts or horses passing through a town, for building or repairing its walls.

Picage.-Money paid for breaking up the ground, to erect booths, stalls, &c. in

fairs.

Paage Is supposed to have been the same as Passage mentioned above.

ORIENTAL JESTS. (For the Olio.)

The practise of retaining fools or jesters to chase away their masters' care, was by no means confined to Christendom. The Caliphs of Bagdad always kept one at their court; and the famous Haroun Alraschid had one, by name Bahalul, who was as pre-eminent in his line as the Caliph was in his. The following are a few of his "merrie conceites," which prove him to have been more of a knave than fool.

An Easy Task.-His master one day took it into his head to order Bahalul to bring him a list of all the fools in his dominions. The jester answered, "That was not so soon done; but if his highness would command him to make a catalogue of all the wise men, he would do it in half-an-hour."

Haroun's courtiers, willing to be witty at A Compliment Returned.One of the expense of Bahalul, told him, " That the Caliph had conferred upon him the command of all the asses, wolves, and monkeys, in his kingdom.' To this the fool gravely replied," Could not you tell me at once that he had made me king of all the country, and that you were one of my subjects?" The nettled courtier slunk away abashed at having the tables so completely turned upon him, and never bandied jests with Bahalul afterwards.

Disadvantages of being a King.Bahalul going one day into the hall of audience, where the Caliph held his divan, and finding the throne empty, without hesitation threw himself down upon it, which the attendants perceiving, belaboured him most unmercifully. Bahalul on his part made the whole palace ring with his screams and lamentations, so that the Caliph hastily entered and enquired the reason of his grief. The attendant replied, because they had thrashed him a little for "That he made all that disturbance his impudence." "No, no," cried the jester, interrupting them, and addressing ed so much, but in compassion for you, Haroun, "it was not for myself I lamentmost mighty sultan; for if I have caught so many heavy blows for sitting once in my life upon the throne, what a pitiable condition must your's be, who occupy it every day!"

J. WOOD.

REMARKS ON THE GREEKS.

Captain Frankland, in his travels, from whom we extract, speaking of the Greeks, says, "The young men are the most beautiful race I ever saw; their long hair, of which they are very proud, falling over their shoulder from under the Greek red cap, their embroidered jackets, vests, and buskins, their splendid arms and white kilts, compose on the whole the most graceful and becoming costume in the world. There is a fire in their eye, and an elasticity and dignity in their step and demeanour, which impress the spectator most forcibly in their favour.

"The older men are less vivacious in their manner, but equally splendid in their dress. Like the Turks, these people seem to lay out all their money in decorating their persons, and in purchasing the most expensive arms. A great deal of wealth is thus, no doubt, lavished upon trifles, that might have been rendered more available to the well-being of the state. I must not forget that this nation is still barbarous; and that it naturally aspires and imitates the Turks in all their distinctive follies; and, I regret to say, vices."

But