adieu, and never more beheld the black pantaloons and top-boots of Henry/ Fuseli.

Released from the easy trammels of academic rule, I could no longer indulge in the uproarious jollity of a scamper home through the marketbaskets of Covent Garden, or galvanize the legs of comfort-seeking coachmen in the snuggeries of Drury lane, by throwing buckets of cold water amongst them whilst enjoying the steamy and savoury delights of alamode-beef. St Martin's watchhouse no longer opened its inviting arms to receive the disciple of Apelles, nor did the justice, with fair round belly and good capon lin'd," mete out on the morrow the pecuniary mulct for the indulgences of to-day. In fine, I became a steady man, though now only on the threshold of actual life.

The first point to be settled was the precise branch of my profession I should pursue. Could I hesitate? No. Raffaelle won immortality of fame, though he died under forty years of age. I had heard of the "glories of the Sistine Chapel," and remembered the honours that were paid to him after his decease. True, I mused as I passed down the Strand on the labours of Barry at the Adelphi, but asked myself what more, for the creature comforts, could genius require than a pint of porter and a twopenny loaf for dinner. My fancy, as well as myself, answered "nothing" but my memory had been sufficiently treacherous to sink the fact, that I had then but recently dined. My resolution was taken, though I own it did not last long, to volunteer the decoration of the external walls of the London Dock warehouses with subjects illustrative of the commercial maritime grandeur of my country; or, if that should be absurdly declined, to paint the arches beneath the Adelphi with subjects from the Inferno, never recollecting that they are, even at mid-day, as dark as pitch. But no matter, my resolution lasted as long as my reverie, and that was until, in gazing upon the ripened charms of female loveliness which passed, ran against a porter with a load upon his head, and magically, as it were, lost sight of all the world and beheld nothing but the blue serene above me. In a word, I was struggling on my back, to the infinite delight of a dozen ragged boys who surrounded me.

Numberless were the schemes I projected in the "grand style," ever turning up my nose at the idea of painting portraits; but Fate ordained that my life should be passed in the exercise of that branch of art. My consolation then was that Raffaelle, Titian, and our own great Reynolds had done the same. A portrait-painter, therefore, I was destined, little did I once think I should more properly say doomed, to be.

My kind uncle, with and by whom I had been brought up ever since I came to London, now busied himself in procuring for me introductions to painters then in extensive practice. It will suffice, that I recollect in this place the substance of my interviews with two of them. Accompanied by an artistic friend, I waited upon Opie, who, upon being made acquainted with my intended course, only encouraged me by saying, "Very well, young man, try; you don't know what you are about; you are like a young bear-all your sorrows are to begin." Progressing a little further west, I was introduced to the notice of Hoppner, who received me with many marks of politeness. He took us into his painting room, and entered into familiar conversation. He had just completed a portrait of the Stadtholder, and well do I now recollect how fine a picture it was. The exalted original was not famed either for an intellectual expression of countenance, or for the exercise of any great degree of mental vigour. My friend suggested these facts, and expressed his wonder at the painter's success, "Why," said the latter, "I looked at him until I thought he

had some brains, and that is the only way I can account for it." Pointing to another, he continued, "But look there, what do you think of that? "Doan't say "" replied my friend, but really I do not think that so good: as you usually paint." No, to be sure not," was the rejoinder, that is only a pot-boiler." "A what?" exclaimed my friend, in astonishment. "A pot-boiler," said Hoppner, adding, "You don't suppose that I can always afford to paint good ones? If I did, how could I keep the pot boiling ?? Our interview closed with a piece of advice which I found of the greatest value to me in my career, and which I would have every portrait painter who would thrive wrap in the book and volume of his brain,

"Unmixed with baser matter."

"I'll tell you what, sir," said the artist, "when you have to paint a portrait, particularly of a woman, make it handsome enough; your sitter or her friends will find the likeness. Never you forget that." I promised him I would not, and I kept my word.

It is needless to accumulate here the excellent admonitions which were furnished to me by my uncle's practical friends. In due time I started on my own account," and it was not long before I truly found that, like a young bear, my sorrows were all, indeed, to begin.

My studio was furnished with all the requisites of throne, lay figure, skreen, and draperies to make backgrounds, and I only waited with a palpitating heart for the sound of the thundering knock which should announce the arrival of my first sitter. After a sufficient dose of purgatorial expectation, he arrived. He was a country squire of the old school, though a young man. On his entrance he gave me a familiar nod, and asking me how I would" pyeant un," took a comb out of his pocket, and delibe- ** rately smoothed the hair over his forehead in a straight line. This was no very auspicious beginning. He squatted in the arm-chair, just on the edge, and doubled each fist upon his corresponding knee, and stared me full in the face. In vain I tried to screw him into something like attitude -when I moved him he moved altogether-flexibility he had none; his frame was rigid, gaunt, and muscular. Before he arrived, I had fired my imagination with the idea of representing him like Hiero of Syracuse, 1 mounting his high-blooded courser for the race. Alas! I had no true notion of a regular English sporting squire. I had no alternative, so to work I set, and made up my mind to paint the sign of The Fox Hunter,' and in a short time I succeeded.

After he had sat for half an hour, I observed that he became very uneasy and frequently yawned in my face; at last up he jumped, and asked me if I wanted to be always looking at him; at the same time telling me that, when his face was taken by a man in the country, he was allowed to look out of the window, or do just as he liked. I assured him I could not so manage, and at length, with great perseverance, compelled him to sit " quietly each time he came. When the work was completed, he took a miniature from his pocket, and triumphantly asked me whether mine was like "thot." In truth it was not, and I confessed as much, when he flatly told me mine was not like him. I assured him to the contrary; but he said he knew he was right, for the man who painted him before, offered to bet him a dozen of wine that every one at the Green Dragon' would know it This argument was conclusive, so I was obliged to make my own picture as much like the miniature as I could, and, therefore, as proportionately unlike the booby original. When complete he was satisfied; willingly paid me my price, but offered to "stand half-a-guinea more" if

VOL. II.

P

I would put 66 a few more crinkles in the neckcloth." I willingly obliged him, and thus ended the adventure of my first sitter.

One of my most agreeable visitors was a rough, honest-hearted naval captain. All that I did vastly pleased him, until, when nearly finishing the picture, I had begun to throw an incidental shadow across the lower part of the figure. The gallant gentleman saw in a glass that stood opposite what I was about to do, and rushing from his seat, seized my hand, crying out, "Avast there, young gentleman, what are you about? Who the devil ever saw an officer on the quarter-deck with his breeches in that mess? No, no, that won't do." I submitted to my fate, and sent home the portrait with a pair of unpronounceables of unexceptionable whiteness, The grandest commission that ever blessed my hopes was a series of family portraits-father, mother, a daughter just simpering into womanhood, and three as noisy, ugly, wiry-looking lads as any one would not wish to hear, and be anxious not to see. All were progressing with great satisfaction to the affectionate family until, in an unlucky moment, I strengthened the shadow under the nose of Mr Jones: in a moment all was uproar, one and all declaring that "Father never takes snuff, because mother thinks it a nasty, filthy habit." Out, therefore, came the shadow, and of course in, therefore, went the nose. The only objection made to Mrs Jones's "likeness" was, that it did "not look at you; but how the deuce it ever should I could never find out, for the original was wholly incapable of bringing both eyes to bear upon any given object at one and the same time. The portraits of the juvenile male Jones's were, as their mother fondly expressed herself, "the very mottle of them;" but sir," said she, “there is one thing I wish you to alter, I don't like the eyes at all; I have been married to Jones these twenty years, and, as you see, have been a fruitful wife to him; I have, besides these, two babbies at home, and I do assure you, sir, and Jones knows it, I never had a child born in all our marriage days that had a speck in its eye. Please, sir, to oblige me by putting them out." With a groan I submitted, and painting out the lights I had, as I thought, properly introduced into the eyes, sent home the portraits of the young Jones's, every one as blind as a bat. I should not forget, that when I requested to know whether Miss Adeliza would be painted in a high or a low dress, her mother confidentially whispered to me that it was to be a low one, but I must mind and let the portrait be "partic'lar modest about the neck," as it was for a gentleman. Such are samples of the agonies attendant upon the daily labour of a face-painter. It is needless to multiply them. I have, however, deduced a few principles from my long practice that may be of value to the young aspirant after physiognomic honours, as canons of proceeding in search of fame and bread. If he paints for reputation, let him be sure to make his portraits look as old as the parties from whom he paints, because the sitter's friends will say, it is a growing likeness, for the longer he lives the more the picture is like; but if, on the other hand, he paints for the grosser motive of filling his purse, or something else, let his representation be vastly younger than the actual life, because the friends of the party will the sooner want another portrait; but in neither case must he omit the emphatic warning given me at my outset, to paint them handsome enough, and leave them to find the likeness.

IMPROVEMENTS IN THE METROPOLIS.

THE denizen of London who remembers what it was thirty years ago, and contemplates it as it is now, cannot but take pride in the improvements which the unassisted efforts of its citizens have accomplished, those improvements being, in almost every instance, the fruit of private and individual efforts. The foreigner naturally inquires how many of the one thousand millions of our public debt have been expended in the creation of the recent magnificent streets and edifices which everywhere meet his eye, and of which the notations of his former visit give no account; and he learns with surprise, that with the exception of those monstrosities, the Queen's Palace and the national Gallery, scarcely a fraction of that sum has been expended on that account. Perhaps this is not to be regretted. Among the nations of antiquity, both the embellishment and improvements of their cities were effected by the united means of their commonalities. Augustus boasted that he found Rome of brick and that he left it of marble. Had it been constructed of the same material as Babylon it might have been equally sunk in oblivion. The ancient Egyptians lavished their common labour on those gigantic structures which still crowd the banks of the Nile; the united wealth of the Jews was expended in the construction of their Temple; and we owe the sculptures of the Parthenon at Athens--the unrivalled models of Grecian taste-to the united spirit and purse of her communities. In the middle ages public wealth, aided by private devotion, raised the superb temples which still overlook our cities, and form their chiefest ornament, and which Gothic and Arabian genius enriched with a new order perhaps never yet surpassed. Certain, however, it is, that in modern times, when improvements have arisen from the spirit of the people, they never fail to be carried on with greater activity and to more advantage than when they derive their origin either from the Prince or the government. The unfinished designs of Louis the XIVth, of Napoleon, and others in France, are proofs of this; and the same may be said of Petersburg and Berlin-they have generally ended with the monarch who commenced them. All the improvements which within the last few years have taken place in the metropolis have been the result of private enterprise.

The first great difficulty towards rendering London the most beautiful, as it is the most extensive city in the universe, has been overcome. The Chinese notion, which for so many years prevailed, that neither the beauty nor the wealth of our capital could be surpassed, has passed away; the enlightened spirit of the age has dispelled that idiotic conceit, and a beginning of improvement has been made. It is not now as when the first reformation of the streets began, that every nuisance had its advocate; when it was said that for the ease of the horses it was necessary that the midway of the streets should be paved with huge and shapeless blocks of granite, and when posts were defended to the last; when the removal of the signs which choaked up the streets, as is still perhaps in recollection, was regretted as an unwarrantable invasion of the monuments of national taste; and when 'The Cat, the Goose, and the Gridiron,' were considered as part of the greatest efforts of national invention and genius, and Cheapside was compared to the Medicean Gallery for its choice collection of sculptures and paintings. The times are over when, before the citizens

approved a plan, an inquiry was made whether the author was of "the liberty," and if his creed was orthodox; when a design of Palladio's, which Lord Burlington sent for the Mansion House, was rejected, it having been found that this same Palladio was not a "freeman ;" and when å freeman, who had been originally a shipwright, was selected for the architect, who in justice, and out of compliment to the first commercial city, gave the building the appearance of a deep-laden Indiaman, with stern galleries, &c., making the staircases and passages within all ladders and gangways, and the two bulk heads on the roof, fore and aft, somewhat like the windlass and binnacle on the deck of a north country trader.

The alteration in the line and enlargement of the streets in the City, within these last few years, have done much for its improvement. The architecture of the houses in King William street, and the approaches from London Bridge, harmonizing one with the other, and forming as it were part of one architectural design, is hardly equalled by any in the metropolis; and the intended removal of the clump of buildings in Cornhill, by throwing open to view the new Exchange, will, when completed, form a magnificent coup d'œil, and give, from its extent, some dignity to the enigmatical walls and porticos of the Bank. The extended opening to the northern suburbs, continuing from the end of Farringdon street and passing through Clerkenwell, is no doubt required; yet there are other locations, where both the trade and traffic are far more considerable, to which there is no approach except through narrow lanes, or by travelling double the distance which would otherwise be necessary. Two-thirds perhaps of the whole supply of London imported or exported, whether of the necessaries of life or of articles of luxury and wealth, are brought shipboard into the port of London, and are to be found concentrated in those immense basins the East and West India, the London, and the Katherine's docks, the Custom House, and the localities of Tower Hill; yet the only road open is through the piscatory lane of Thames street, or the still more eccentric windings of Bishopsgate and the Minories and we need not say that many voyaging travellers have been lost in the attempt to reach them through the terra incognita of Botolph lane and Crooked hill. Some alteration in this part of the City, to remedy so great an inconvenience, is more imperatively called for than any other that can be mentioned. It is well to build new streets to improve the appearance of the metropolis; but this is a matter of necessity, and we are sure there is no one who has ever navigated the regions we have mentioned but will agree with us. The districts to the eastward of Cornhill are the depositories of the wealth of London. At least half the population which are daily drawn by business or pleasure from the west to the east do necessarily seek that goal; and it shows the anomaly of things, if indeed there is no private reason, that while costly plans are proposed and adopted to make pleasant ways and paths of peace for sheep and oxen, the human biped is still condemned to plod his weary way through the narrow, dirty, tortuous, and antiquated lanes we have mentioned. I 201 s«ib¥ *¥

1.

Looking more westward, within the boundaries of the City, how much might be done, and at what a comparatively trifling expenditure, both for use and beauty. It is a stigma on our national character that the public buildings of our metropolis, celebrated for the correctness of design and the elegance of their architecture, should be in general concealed from public view in narrow streets and densely crowded locations, and that an attempt is hardly ever made to remedy the defect without pecuniary profit being calculated. There is no city in Europe where this gaucherielis so observable as in London. In Paris, in Petersburg, in Berlin, even vin