ings; as the most mild, most just, and most disinterested of women; and I believe that scarcely any one who knew her would have thought this description an exaggerated one. He loved to relate little instances of the sacred love of justice which led her, regardless of the partialities of a parent, to decide even against her own children, when as criminals they appeared before her, and were in the slightest degree culpable; and these stories always ended in recollections of her tender care of him during his feeble childhood, of the gloves and great coat warmed at the winter's fire against he went to school; and while he related them with a glistening eye, and a feeling of grateful affection, I never found the story, though often told, a tedious one, and used to feel the tie that bound me to him strengthened by the narration. This parent so tenderly beloved, was spared the misery of surviving her son, and breathed her last in perfect possession of her faculties and in all the cheering hopes of the pious, in May 1805, at the advanced age of ninety-two.

Mr. Northcote has also mentioned Mr. Opie's READINESS TO FORGIVE INJURIES, and I could bring many instances to confirm this observation. Such indeed was his extreme placability, that it was sometimes with difficulty he could prevent himself from showing he had forgiven an offence, even before the offender could exhibit tokens of contrition; and his anger had always subsided long ere that self-respect which every one ought to preserve, allowed him to prove by his conduct that it had done

so.

A kind word, and an affectionate shake by the hand, had always such power to banish from his mind the remembrance of a wrong committed against him, that I have seen him by such means so totally deprived even of salutary caution, as to be willing to confide again, where he knew his confidence had been unworthily betrayed. Such a power of forgiving and forgetting injuries as this, is, I fear, a rare virtue, though forcibly enjoined by our Saviour's precepts and example: but Mr. Opie's entire FREEDOM FROM VANITY of any kind is a still rarer quality. He was so slow to commend, and panegyric on the works of contemporary artists was so sparingly given by him, that it was natural for some persons to suppose him actuated by the feelings of professional jealousy: but it is more generous, and I am fully convinced more just, to think this sluggishness to praise was merely the result of such a high idea of excellence in his art, as made him not easily satisfied with efforts to obtain it; and surely he who was never led by vanity or conceit, to be contented with his own works, could not be expected to show great indulgence to the works of others.

During the nine years that I was his wife, I never saw him satisfied with any one of his productions, and often, very often

have I seen him entering my sitting-room, and throwing himself in an agony of despondence on the sofa, exclaim, "I am the most stupid of created beings, and I never, never shall be a painter as long as I live."

But while he was thus painfully alive to his own deficiencies, and to those of others, he was equally sensible of the excellencies of his rivals; and it was from him, and his nice and candid discrimination of their respective merits, that I learnt to appreciate the value of an exhibition. He used to study at Somerset House when the pictures were hung up, with more persevering attention and thirst for improvement than was ever exhibited perhaps by the lowest student in the schools; and, on his return, I never heard him expatiate on his own excellencies, but sorrowfully dwell on his own defects, while he often expressed to me his envy of certain powers in art which other painters were masters of, and which he feared he should never be able to obtain. Sometimes he used to relate to me the flattering observations made to him on his own pictures; but as it was to ME ONLY, and in the most simple and careless manner possible, I felt convinced that he did so more to gratify me than himself.

To prove how completely he was above that littleness of mind which leads some men to be jealous even of being supposed under an obligation to those they hold most dear, I shall venture to relate the following circumstance, at the risk of exposing myself to the imputation of vanity, while endeavouring to prove how much that weakness was unknown to Mr. Opie. When Mr. Opie became again a husband, he found it necessary, in order to procure indulgences for a wife whom he loved, to make himself popular as a portrait painter, and in that productive and difficult branch of art, female portraiture. He therefore turned his attention to those points, which he had before been long in the habit of neglecting; and he laboured earnestly to correct certain faults in his portraits, which he had been sometimes too negligent to amend. Hence, his pictures in general soon acquired a degree of grace and softness, to which they had of late years been strangers. In consequence of this, an academician, highly respectable as a man and admirable as an artist, came up to him at the second exhibition after we married, and complimented him on one of his female portraits, saying: "We never saw any thing like this in you before, Opie-this must be owing to your wife." On his return he repeated this conversation to me; and added in the kindest manner, that if his brother artists would but allow that he did improve, he was very willing that they should attribute the improvement to his wife.

Once, and once only, did I see his firm and manly mind at all overset by public applause; and that was on the night when he

first lectured at the Academy. His countenance, when I met I him on his return, told me of his success before I heard it from his companions, Sir F. Bourgeois and Sir W. Beechey, who accompanied him home, and who seemed to enjoy the triumph which they described. The next morning he told me that he had passed a very restless night: "for, indeed," said he, “ I was so elated, that I could not sleep."

It was this freedom from vanity that led him to love and to seek the society of the literary and the learned. As he was no egotist, had no petty wish to be the first man in company, and sought society not in order to shine in it, but to be instructed and amused; he feared not to encounter "the proud man's contumely," if that proud man were really capable of affording him amusement and instruction. He had not received a classical education himself, and he was therefore desirous of profiting by the remarks of those who possessed that advantage; he knew he had not read much, he was therefore honourably ambitious to associate with men who had read more; but such were the powers of his memory, that he remembered all he had read; and Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Cowper, Hudibras, Burke, and Dr. Johnson, he might, to use a familiar expression, be said to know by heart. He knew that he had no pretensions to what is called learning,-though he perfectly understood the French language, and was not wholly ignorant either of Italian or of Latin; but his self-love never shrank from association with learned men. The epithet of pedant applied to a scholar, had no power to frighten him from the society of scholars; for he always sought to see men and things as they were, not as they were said to be besides, his observation had told him that, true as the shadow to the form, some lessening epithet always attaches itself to the highly gifted of both sexes, whether justly, or unjustly, and that the possessors of talents are always called eccentric, conceited, or satirical, while the possessors of learning are prejudged to be arrogant, pedantic, and overbearing.

But where such an imputation was well founded, it was of no importance to Mr. Opie; he was conscious that he aimed at no competition with the learned; while with a manly simplicity, which neither feared contempt, nor courted applause, he has often even in such company, made observations, originating in the native treasures of his own mind, which learning could not teach, and which learning alone could not enable its possessor to appreciate. But, while he sought and valued the society of a Dr. Parr, he shrunk with mingled taste and pride from that of the half-learned,-men whom he denominated word-catchers,-men more eager and more able to detect a fault in grammar, than to admire the original thoughts which such defective language ex

pressed. He felt that amongst persons of that description, he could neither be understood nor valued, and therefore he was at once too proud and too humble to endeavour to please them : while he must also have been conscious that, where he was likely to be judged with candour, and genius was valued before learning, he made all prejudice against his want of birth, of a classi cal education, and of the graces of manner, vanish before the powers of his intellect and the impressive force of his observations. But there was also another class of men with whom he was unwilling to converse. It has been observed of some one,

that he was such an enemy to prejudice, that he might be said to be prejudiced against prejudice; and Mr. Opie was so certain that to some descriptions of clever men he could never be an object of interest, from his want of external polish and classical attainments, that I have often undergone the mortification of observing him remain silent, while flippancy was loquacious; and of seeing the tinsel of well-fashioned, but superficial, fluency, obtain that notice which was more justly due to the sterling, though in the opinion of some perhaps, the rugged ore of his conversation. But certain it is, that the republic of letters and of arts has an aristocratic bias; and many of its members are of such sybarite -habits, such fastidious delicacy, and have such a decided preference for the rich, the polished, and the high-born members of its body, that a man of plain, simple, and unobtrusive manners, depending only on his character and his genius for respect, is not likely to be much the object of their notice.

I do not know whether the following anecdote be a proof of the presence of pride in Mr. Opie, or the absence of vanity,but I shall relate it without further comment: we were one evening in a company consisting chiefly of men who possessed rare mental endowments, and considerable reputation, but who were led by high animal spirits and a consciousness of power to animadvert on their absent acquaintance, whether intellectual or otherwise, with an unsparing and ingenious severity which I have rarely seen equalled, and even the learned, the witty, and the agreeable were set up like so many nine pins only to be bowled down again immediately. As we kept early hours, I knew that we should probably be the first to go away; and I sat in dread of the arrival of twelve o'clock. At length it came, and I received the usual sign from Mr. Opie; but to go, and leave ourselves at the mercy of those who remained, was a trial that I shrank from; and in a whisper I communicated my fears to my husband, and my wish to remain longer in consequence of them. An angry look and a desire expressed aloud that I should get ready to go, was all the answer that I received; and I obeyed him. When we were in the street, he said: "I never in my

life acted from a motive so unworthy as that of fear; and this was a fear so contemptible, that I should have scorned to have acted upon it; and I am really ashamed of you." No wonder -I was ashamed of myself.

That a feeling so unworthy as a fear of this nature had no pow er to influence Mr. Opie, I can bring another instance to prove. Some years ago, a gentleman called on Mr. Opie, from motives of friendship, to inform him that a person, whose name I shall not mention, the editor of some magazine, now no more remembered, was going to publish in his next number a very severe abusive memoir of him, and hinted that it might be advisable for Mr. Opie to take measures to prevent the publication, showing him at the same time a number already published, which contained a similar memoir of an eminent and highly respected actor, and was an alarming proof, as the gentleman thought, of the writer's powers. Mr. Opie perused the memoir; and, returning it to his friend, coolly observed, that if that was all the person could do, he was very welcome to say any thing of him that he chose; but that he never had condescended, nor ever would condescend, under any circumstances whatever, to put a stop, by bribe or menace, to any thing of the kind. For the exact words which he used on this occasion, I will not answer; but I am sure that such was the sentiment which he expressed; and I shall here take the liberty of observing, that while he scorned by bribe or menace, to avert printed calumny against him, he also scorned to obtain, by bribe of any kind, a printed eulogium. For his fame, latterly at least, he was indebted to himself alone :by no puffs, no paragraphs, did he endeavour to obtain public notice; and I have heard him, with virtuous pride declare, that, whether his reputation were great or small, it was self-derived, and he was indebted for it to no exertions but those of his own industry and talents.

Mr. Opie was as free from prejudice on every point, as he was from vanity; I mean that he never espoused an opinion without well weighing both sides of the question, and was not led by his personal preferences or hatreds to prejudge any man, any measures, or any works. For instance :-when Mr. Burke's splendid work on the French Revolution was published, he read it with delight, and imbibed most of the political opinions of its author: but as soon as he heard that a powerful writer had appeared on the other side of the question, he was eager to read what might be said in opposition to Mr. Burke, truth being his only object on all occasions. I think no stronger instance than this can be given of the love of fair inquiry which was a leading feature in Mr. Opie's mind; because, when that celebrated book appeared, it became a sort of religion, and those who professed