washing in positive shadows by a series of middle-tints, which brought out the body of the design; it was heightened by simple washes of warmer colour, or strengthened by brown shadows. The early drawings of Turner, like those of Dayes, Hearne, and Rooker, are all formed on this model. Turner resided with his father, in Maiden Lane, until the year 1800, when he was elected an Associate of the Royal Academy; two years after this he added R.A. to his name. He had entered as a student there in 1789, his first oil-picture was hung in the exhibition in 1793. When he left Maiden Lane for the north of London (the artistic

Neither father nor son ever

quarter), his father went with him. lost a chance of securing or saving the smallest trifle. The painter has been known to take to a private purchaser a picture for which a thousand pounds has been paid, and then ask for the fare of the hackney-coach in addition,

Turner never allowed a visitor or a brother artist to see him at work, or to enter his painting-room. Slowly he emerged from his early style, and the works he executed at the beginning of the present century are among his best; they combine fancy with fact; ultimately he let his poetry so far predominate that "fact" could scarcely be recognised in his works. The want of discrimination in the mass of the world, and the large reputation the painter had earned, gave a somewhat exorbitant value to all his works; and his cold formal early drawings now sell for high. prices, while his later gorgeous dreams of colour, ill-defined, and hardly to be comprehended, are also bought at almost fictitious prices. Neither deserve to be placed beside such earnest and

truthful poems as his "Carthage," in the National Gallery, or his "Ulysses" in the "Turner Collection."

Turner's last residence was No. 47, Queen Anne Street, Cavendish Square. It is a gloomy house, with dull blank walls, and few windows; it was known by its state of dirty neglect for many years. Here were stowed away the great mass of pictures, sketches, and prints from his works, which Turner amassed care

fully. A curious instance of the value he attached to the merest trifle from his own hand, and the dislike he had to any person trading by chance with it, was related by an eminent printseller, into whose shop he once walked, to purchase, if possible, an

engraving made many years before from one of his pictures. His description of the subject he aided by a few rude lines, scrawled with a pen on a loose piece of paper, which flew behind the counter in turning over the portfolios to look for the print. Turner ultimately got his print, and, missing the scrap of paper, eagerly demanded it of the unconscious printseller, whose confusion redoubled the painter's anxiety, which was only appeased when the scrap of paper was recovered from a dark corner, and carefully wrapped with the engraving. In justice, however, to Turner, it must be admitted, from the facts which have been revealed to the public since his death, that he had a motive—and a worthy one too -in exercising this apparently avaricious and grasping disposition: he knew well that everything from his pencil, however insignificant in character, would realize money when he was gone; and he sought to accumulate it in every way for beneficent purposes.

The illness which led to Turner's death required him to take a change of air; but he dreaded expense, though now a rich man, and he found by chance a quiet lodging to let in a small house fronting the Thames, near Cremorne Gardens, Chelsea. Retaining his dislike of visitors, he never gave his name to the mistress of the house, nor did she know it until after his death, which happened here on the 19th of December, 1851. On a bright winter's day, a very short time before, the painter was carried to the first floor window to see the sun set with a calm glow over the Thames. On the 30th of the same month he was buried in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral, by the side of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom he highly esteemed, and by whom he desired to find a last