know go far; and found means to pass with men of some discernment as a silent person of fair education, who did not wish to throw any wisdom away. The royal favour was much; and he had besides a certain quiet air of natural dignity in his manner.

The death of Reynolds vacated the President's chair, and no one then living was more worthy to fill it than Mr. West. The fierce temper of Barry left him no chance of the honour which his genius merited. To the choice of the Academy the king gave his eady sanction, and West took his place on the 24th of March, 1792, and delivered his inaugural address to an audience who much applauded a composition which could have cost him little thought, since it dwelt but on two topics-the excellence of British art, and the gracious benevolence of his Majesty.

The new President delivered many discourses, all more or less distinguished for plain practical sense. He pressed upon the students the value of knowledge and the necessity of study, and the uselessness of both without a corresponding aptitude of mind and buoyancy of imagination-in other words, genius. He advised them to give heart and soul wholly to art, to turn aside neither to the right nor to the left, but consider that hour lost in which a line had not been drawn nor a masterpiece studied. "Observe," he said, "with the same contemplative eye the landscape, the appearance of trees, figures dispersed around, and their aerial distance as well as lineal forms. Omit not to observe the light and shade in consequence of the sun's rays being intercepted by clouds or other accidents. Let your mind be familiar with the characteristics of the ocean; mark its calm dignity when undisturbed by the winds, and all its various states between that and its terrible sublimity when agitated by the tempest. Sketch with attention its foaming and winding coasts, and that awful line which separates it from

the heavens. Replenished with these stores, your imagination will then come forth as a river collected from little springs spreads into might and majesty. If you aspire to excellence in your profession, you must, like the industrious bee, survey the whole face of nature and sip the sweet from every flower. When thus enriched, lay up your acquisitions for future use, and examine the great works of art to animate your feelings and to excite your emulation. When you are thus mentally enriched, and your hand practised to obey the powers of your will, you will then find your pencils or your chisels as magic wands, calling into view creations of your own to adorn your name and country."

In this way he laboured to stimulate his youthful audience; but to awaken indifference into energyto add wings to those whose imaginations were fit for flight, and fuel to the fire of genius, required higher powers. He had no unstudied felicities of phrase, little vigour of thought, or happiness of illustration-he was cold, sensible, and instructive; and the student, who may learn from his pictures the way to manage a difficult subject, and from his life the art of employing his time, can hardly be expected to re-read his discourses.

So regular were West's hours of labour, and so carefully did he calculate his time, that to describe one day of his life is to describe years. He rose early-studied before breakfast-began to work on one of his large pictures about ten-painted with little intermission till four-washed, dressed, and saw visiters, and having dined, recommenced his studies anew. His works were chiefly historical; he dealt with the dead; and the solitude of his gallery was seldom invaded by the rich or the great, clamouring for their portraits. Visiters sometimes found their way to his inner study while he had the pencil in his hand; he had no wish to show off his skill to the idle, and generally sat as silent and mo

tionless on such occasions as one of his own apostles. His words were few, his manner easy; his Quaker-like sobriety seemed little elevated by intercourse with nobles and waiting gentlewomen. On the Windsor pictures he expended much study, and to render them worthy of their place, he "trimmed," as he told the King, "his midnight lamp." So closely was he imprisoned by their composition, that his attendance at the burial of so eminent a brother as Gainsborough was mentioned as something extraordinary.

It must not be supposed that he enjoyed without envy the threefold blessing of magnificent subjects, high prices, and kingly favour. Barry was famishing, and his complaints were loud and eloquent. Fuseli, with all his wit, learning, and imagination, could barely live; and Opie had been taught the severe though common lesson, that nothing is so unstable as the patronage of the powerful. The very calmness and moderation with which the King's historical painter carried himself was something provoking. He went from his gallery in Newmanstreet to Windsor, and back again, with the staid looks of one of the brethren going to, and returning from, chapel. Of his importance at Court, however, he was willing enough to speak, though in a mild and meek way; and as to high matters in general he affected somewhat of the vague diplomatic language of official men: West had probably no state secrets to conceal-if he had, his conversation kept them a mystery.

When he succeeded to the President's chair, the King wished to confer upon him the distinction of knighthood. To lay the royal sword on the shoulder of a Quaker was something new, and the curiosity of the courtiers was excited. The Duke of Gloucester called on West from the King to inquire if this honour would be acceptable. "No man," said Benjamin, "entertains a higher respect for political

The

honours and distinctions than myself, but I really think I have earned greater eminence by my pencil already than knighthood could confer on me. chief value of titles is to preserve in families a respect for those principles by which such distinctions were originally obtained-but simple knighthood to a man who is at least as well known as he could ever hope to be from that honour, is not a legitimate object of ambition. To myself then your royal highness must perceive the title could add no dignity, and as it would perish with myself, it could add none to my family. But were I possessed of fortune, independent of my profession, sufficient to enable my posterity to maintain the rank, I think that, with my hereditary descent and the station I occupy among artists, a more permanent title might become a desirable object. As it is, however, that cannot be; and I have been thus explicit with your royal highness that no misconception may exist on the subject." The Duke took West by the hand, and said, "You have justified the opinion which the King has of you; he will be delighted with your answer."

In that answer there was certainly very little of the Quaker. Possibly he was not without hope that the King would confer a baronetcy, and an income to support it, on one who, to descent from the lords of Delaware, could add such claims of personal importance. No farther notice, however, was taken of the matter; he went to the palace as usual, and as usual his reception was warm and friendly.

From 1769 till 1801 West had uniformly received all orders for pictures from his Majesty in person. They had settled the subject and price between them without the intervention of others, and, in addition to his one thousand pounds a year paid on account, he had received whatever more, and it was not much, might be due upon the pictures actually painted. A great change was near. A mental cloud fell upon

the King, and the artist was the first to be made sensible that the sceptre was departed from his hand. The doors of the palace, which heretofore had opened spontaneously like those of Milton's Paradise, no longer flew wide at his approach, but turned on their hinges grating and reluctantly. What this might mean he was informed by Mr. Wyatt, the royal architect, who called and said he was authorized to inform him that the pictures painting for the chapel at Windsor must be suspended till farther orders. "This extraordinary proceeding," says Galt, "rendered the studies of the best part of the artist's life useless, and deprived him of that honourable provision, the fruit of his talents and industry, on which he had counted for the repose of his declining years. For some time it affected him deeply, and he was at a loss what steps to take. At last, how

ever, on reflecting on the marked friendship and favour which the King had always shown him, he addressed to his Majesty a letter, of which the following is a copy of the rough draught, being the only one preserved." After mentioning the message to suspend the paintings for the chapel, it proceeds— "Since 1797 I have finished three pictures, begun several others, and composed the remainder of the subjects for the chapel, on the progress of Revealed Religion. Those are subjects so replete with dignity, of character and expression, as demanded the historian, the commentator, and the accomplished painter to bring them into view. Your Majesty's gracious commands for my pencil on that extensive subject stimulated my humble abilities, and I commenced the work with zeal and enthusiasm. Animated by your commands, I burned my midnight lamp to attain that polish which marks my scriptural pictures. Your Majesty's zeal for religion and love of the elegant arts are known over the civilized world, and your protection of my pencil had given it celebrity, and made mankind anxiously look for