contention going on in Gainsborough's own mind between his remembrance of Thicknesse's kindness and his own frank independence.

Mr. Thicknesse wanted his portrait painted, and Gainsborough hesitated and delayed; and neglecting a man's portrait is tantamount to neglecting himself. Bit by bit the habits and circumstances upon which so many trifling friendships are created, crumbled away, and at last the painter was freed from caresses which, however well intended, seemed more likely to suffocate than support their object. Every one has a real or imaginary 'John Jones,' a person or annoyance in his way; and, whatever fits of vexation the exquisite taste and refined feeling of the painter might have experienced from other sources, the Governor of Landguard Fort was his rock ahead.' His Excellency's bitterness found at last vent in a pamphlet, which perpetuates his name and his pompous nature. Still Gainsborough's was, as we have said, a happy life. If he was at times depressed, he was generally buoyant—of a bright, truthful nature— careless of his wealth, and enthusiastic! and what stock so good to work upon as enthusiasm ? An honest man, adding enthusiasm to his honesty, will triumph, where a man of only genius will flounder and fail. He talked of music while he painted, and passed many of his happiest evenings in the very brightness of the London success that followed his sojourn at Bath, sitting by the side of his wife, sketching his thick-coming fancies, not one in ten of which he preserved. It is said that at one of the Academy dinners, speaking of Gainsborough, Sir Joshua observed to a friend, He is the best English landscape-painter.' 'Not so!' exclaimed Wilson, who overheard the conversation, he is not the best landscape-painter, but he is the best portrait-painter in England.' Great compliments to the versatility of his talents, but full of bitterness each to the other party. Perhaps this very sentence rankled and festered in Sir Joshua's mind, and assisted the coolness which crept in between himself and Gainsborough. We cannot fancy the elegantly rural Gainsborough living in that ruddy old house of Duke Schomberg's, in Pall Mall, a portion of which is now occupied by Harding's most perilous bonnets and Parisian fineries. Yet there was his gallery; there some of his portraits were said to rival the President's, and displayed a Vandykean force and freedom which commanded popularity; there was exhibited a domestic sort of display-of the King, Queen, and

three of the Royal sisters; there the dazzling beauty of the all-beautiful Duchess of Devonshire so bewildered the painter, that he drew his wet pencil across lips which all who saw declared to be lovely as life, and confessed, Her Grace is too hard for me!'

tormented him he could not catch their faces.

Garrick, too, and Foote
Though not fond, like Sir

Joshua, of literary society, Johnson-as great in literature as Cromwell in the state-was sometimes his guest, with the eloquent Burke, and the man 'Whose humour, as bright as the fire-fly's light,

Shone round every object, and shone as it played;
Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,

Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade'

Sheridan. He was his brilliant yet tender friend. The painter was as susceptible of gentle emotions to the last day of his life as a young girl is at seventeen. Melodious sounds entranced him as with a spell. Giardini and his violin, Abel and his viol-di-gamba, Fischer and his hautboy, all fascinated him in their turn; and if he had had but the perseverance necessary to acquire the grammar and construction of the science, there is little doubt but his eloquence in music would have equalled his eloquence on canvas: as it was, he was a delicious musician. It is really cheering, after turning over the pages that illustrate alternately the struggles of genius with misery, and misery with genius, to meet one who, from his cradle to his grave, never had a bout with poverty-who pictured forth the pleasant places of our own land, so as to make us love it all the better, and who united in his own person few eccentricities and many perfections: his imagination never betrayed him into the unreal, though it exalted and beautified the real; or rather he saw nature through the Lorraine '-glass of his bright and sunny mind. His ready and rapid hand was accelerated by his ardent temper, and not only Art but affection bound him to his native country.

Gainsborough did not create a paradise and leave it untenanted. He cherished deep human sympathies, and peopled his scenes not with the many but the few. There is no purely rural sentiment in crowds: so he delighted most in woodland figures, such as are still frequently met with on the outskirts of Fakenham Wood, or wandering on the boundaries of Fornham St. Genevieve, down by the Abbot's Mill, almost as wild as the

There are spots in

wild-fowl that shelter along the banks of the Burn. Suffolk shown still as having been selected by this charming transcriber of nature as his sketching-points; and truly, above all others, his landscapes are English. For this we dearly love him! He felt his country's beauty, and made others feel it-he was A PAINTER-PATRIOT! and this deserves our gratitude. Where can be found more bosky dells, more deep rich valleys, than in our own beloved England ?-where cultivation beautifies, where the earth displays her tangled treasures-tangled in their abundance; soft gentle waters and blue eddying pools, round whose margins the deep green moss sleeps in sunshine and the rush bends her tasseled blossom. There you are sure to find some ancient pollard willow, still sending forth tufts of green sappy stems, where reed-birds and finches hide; the knarled trunk shelters countless multitudes of curious insects, creeping and winged; the merry wood-pecker taps the old bark, while from some rooty hole the silent kingfisher darts across the stream. Sweet English scenes! which Gainsborough so exquisitely rendered, feeling and depicting every little beauty, and imbibing the fragrance of nature into his own being. His kindred bear testimony to his being a kind and generous relative, who anticipated the wants of others, and bore his prosperity with the ease of a gentleman who feels that he is not indebted to affectation or display for his position in society. His memory is beloved, and his name recals the music of soft waters, that fertilise and beautify without storming the senses or bewildering the imagination. The freshness of spring, the fulness of summer, the peopled abundance of autumn-our glens, and forests, and cottagers-life and lifeloving scenes were all given to him for an inheritance; he was, and is -OUR OWN-a pure English painter. Such scenes were, in truth, the studios of Thomas Gainsborough.

While attending the trial of Warren Hastings, Gainsborough was suddenly seized with a pain in his neck, which eventually proved to be cancer at that time he was residing in Pall Mall, though he had previously occupied houses at Kew and Richmond. His bodily sufferings were augmented on his deathbed by a terror which took possession of his mind, that after his wife's death his daughters would be left without provision, as his thoughtless extravagance and generosity never allowed him to lay by any portion of his earnings. On this point his gentle wife soothed him

by the information, that 'As he always threw his money about, leaving it at the mercy of every one, she had taken, in the course of twenty or thirty years, as much as had enabled her to secure 10,000l. in the funds; and with that, and the sale of "The Woodman," and other pictures, doubtless their children could subsist in comfort.' He thanked and blessed her warmly, saying, 'She had done perfectly right; that it was true he had sometimes thought he had more bills than he found, and been puzzled about it, but never suspected that any one had made free with what now made his deathbed one of tranquillity and peace.'* He then sent for Sir Joshua Reynolds, resolved that he would cherish no unkindness in his last moments towards any one: and these great men were reconciled in the eighth week of his affliction; Gainsborough exclaiming, with much joy, 'We are going to heaven, and Vandyke is of the company.' He is buried in the spot he loved best-at Kew.

* This anecdote we have received from an old and beloved friend of the family. The honours of the Arts have been continued in the line. Mr. Richard Lane is one of the grandnephews of Gainsborough. Another of his nephews-Mr. Edward Lane-has been equally distinguished as a traveller and a man of letters. His publications concerning Egypt rank among our standard English works; and his translation of the Arabian Nights' has obtained a reputation throughout Europe. Their sister also-Mrs. Poole-is known and respected as the author of several very valuable books, and as a lady of most accomplished mind.

THE TOWN OF JOHN KYRLE.

Na rocky eminence overlooking the Wye, stands the town of Ross. Nothing can be more picturesque than its position; it is seen to most advantage from the Hereford Road, from whence our view is taken. The church stands upon an elevated ridge of rock; and the town occupies the rising ground; while behind are wood-crowned hills, as grand in their character and as beautiful as many more celebrated Continental scenes. The view from the walks beside the church and from other parts of the town is singularly fine; and the curve of the Wye, which flows at the base of the hills, is lovely in the extreme. It would be difficult to point out a more fascinating stream; flowing as it does through a rich and well-wooded country, abounding in natural beauties, and over which the eye may rove untired for days,-the prospect is so rich and ever-changing, as it is sun-lit or shadowed by the passing cloud. It is a scene which Turner would have loved, and one that must be studied on the spot to be fully appreciated. The country is Arcadian; the river rapid and clear, forms a curve of the most graceful form, wending its way among the Welsh hills; the prospect has that most perfect union of grandeur and beauty, of pastoral simplicity and mountain sublimity, which, when combined, become the perfection of landscape scenery. But all these advantages-all these beauties-are to be found in various districts of our glorious country. Perhaps it is because the rich valley, the swelling hill, the fertilising river, the smiling village,