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Castle street; but they don't remember that he (Barley) had any knack in drawing. However, by this means sir Isaac furnished his whole room with pictures of his own making, which probably he copied from prints, as well as from life. They mention several of the kings' heads, Dr. Donne, and likewise his master Stokes. Under the picture of king Charles I. he wrote these verses, which I had from Mrs Vincent by memory, who fancies he made them; if that be true, it is most probable he designed the print too, which is common to this day.
A secret art my soul requires to try,
These pictures he made frames to himself, and coloured them over in a workmanlike manner.
Mrs. Vincent is a widow gentlewoman living here, aged 82. Her maiden name was Storey, sister to Dr. Storey, a physician of Buckminster near Colsterworth. Her mother, who was a handsome woman, was second wife to Mr. Clark, the apothecary where sir isaac lodged; so that she lived with him in the same house all the time of his being at Grantham, which was about seven years. Her mother and sir Isaac's mother were intimately acquainted, which was the reason of his lodging at Mr. Clark's. She gave me much of the foregoing account. She says sir Isaac was always a sober, silent, thinking lad, and was never known scarce to play with the boys abroad, at their silly amusements; but would rather choose to be at home, even among the girls, and would frequently make little tables, cupboards, and other utensils for her and her play fellows, to set their babies and trinkets on. She mentions, likewise, a cart he made with four wheels, wherein he would sit, and by turning a windlass about, he could make it carry him around the house where he pleased. Sir Isaac and she being thus brought up together, 'tis said that he entertained a love for her; nor does she deny it: but her portion being not considerable, and he being a fellow of a college, it was incompatible with his fortunes to marry; perhaps his studies 'Tis certain he always had a kindness for her, visited her whenever in the country, in both her husbands' days, and gave her forty shillings, upon a time, whenever it was of service to her. She is a little woman; but we may with ease discern that she has been very handsome.
Mr. Clark tells me that the room where sir Isaac lodged, was his lodging room too when a lad, and that the whole wall was still full of the drawings he had made upon it with charcoal, and so remained till pulled down about sixteen years ago, as I said before. There were birds, beasts, men, ships, and mathematical schemes, and very well designed.
We must understand, all this while, that his mother had left Wolsthorp and lived with her second husband at North Witham. But upon his death, after she had three children by him, she returned to her own house, which likewise, it ought to be remembered, was rebuilt by him. She upon this was for saving expenses as much as she could, and recalled her son Isaac from school, intending to make him serviceable in managing of the farm and country business at Wolsthorp, and I doubt not but she thought it would turn more to his own account, than being a scholar. Accordingly we must suppose him attending to the tillage, grazing, and the like. And they tell us
that he frequently came on Saturdays to Grantham market, with corn and other commodities to sell, and to carry home what necessaries were proper to be bought at a market town for a family; but being young, his mother usually sent a trusty old servant along with him, to put him into the way of business. Their inn was at the Saracen's Head in Westgate, where, as soon as they had set up their horses, Isaac generally left the man to manage the marketings, and retired instantly to Mr. Clark's garret, where he used to lodge, near where lay a parcel of old books of Mr. Clark's, which he enter tained himself with, whilst it was time to go home again; or else he would stop by the way, between home and Grantham, and lie under a hedge studying whilst the man went to town and did the business, and called upon him in his return. No doubt the man made remonstrances of this to his mother. Likewise, when at home, if his mother ordered him into the fields, to look after the sheep, the corn, or upon any other rural employment, it went on very heavily through his manage. His chief delight was to sit under a tree, with a book in his hands, or to busy himself with his knife in cutting wood for models of somewhat or other that struck his fancy: or he would get to a stream and make mill wheels.
DISCOVERY OF A PAINTING BY RAPHAEL.
REPORT has lately convulsed the cognoscenti, by affirming the discovery of twelve pictures of Titian, the Cesars, which, after having been laid aside as mere lumber, in the garret of an ancient mansion, were sold for less than twenty shillings to a country watchmaker, and by him for about 251. to a London dealer. The dealer, however, demands as many hundreds. We have not seen these pictures, nor is the name of the present owner mentioned. We, therefore, can neither vouch for their authenticity, their merit, nor the accuracy of the history stated to the publick. Whether they be originals or copies we cannot tell. But as such discoveries really do occur from time to time, we deem it not improper to caution those who are in possession of old pictures, not to destroy them, without first taking the opinion of some competent judge on their worth. The following incident, which, on account of the wonderful changes attendant on the French revolution, we think very credible, may add weight to our caution.
A painter in Paris discovered, some months ago, in a tinker's shop, an oaken pannel about two feet high, and twenty inches wide, covered with dirt and smoke. Thinking that it might have been originally a picture, he inquired of the tinker what he would take for it. He replied that it had lain more than ten years in his shop, and that he thought of converting it into a table; but if the painter wished for it, he should have it for three livres. The painter paid the money and took it home. On cleaning it he discovered an inscription, with two tickets of printed paper, and at last could read very legibly the following lines:
"This portrait of the Holy Family of our Lord Jesus Christ was painted at Rome in 1514, by Raffaello Sanzio d'Urbino, for our glorious sovereign, the wife of our good king Francis I. by name, who afterwards presented it to the chancellor Duprat in 1516. In the same year the fellow portrait was painted by the same Raffaello for the cardinal de Julius de Medicis."
The printed tickets represent the arms of Duprat cut in wood, with the following Latin inscription:
"Ex supellectibus Ant. Duprat domini Nantralieti, cancel. Fran. Brittan. Mediol. et ordinis regis, regina conjux Francisci prini Francorum regis, istam tabulam SS. Familia Christi, à Raphaele Sanzio, pictore Romano de pictam, Ant. Duprat cancellario, dedit, anno MDXVI.”
"Hæc tabula facta, fuit à Raphaelè Sanzio, pro Reginâ Franc. primi uxore anno MDXIV. Patente D. Arthur a Gouffiero-Boissi, olim principis F. institutore altera tabula, ipsi similis, picta fuit ab eodem Raphaele pro de cardinal. Julio Medicis. Anno MDXVI.”
The above resolves an important question: "Whether great masters copied their works?" They did copy them, it is true (but very seldom) at the instigation of some distinguished personage, and almost always with some difference. The above picture is in high preservation, and is evidently the original of the " Virgin asleep ;" from which the one in the museum Napoleon, formerly belonging to the Medici, was copied by Raphael himself. The most striking difference between the two paintings is, that the nudity of the child is veiled in that painted for the queen, while in that painted for the cardinal the child is quite naked.
This painting was engraved in 1625 by M. de Poilly in a superiour style, and after inspecting the print, we find that the picture in question was the original, and not that of the museum. A good impression costs from forty to fifty livres ; it is known to printsellers by the name of La Vierge au Linge.
The following anecdote is extracted from the Recollections of Felicia L***, by Madame Genlis.
"I HEAR from Lausanne, that Mr. Gibbon has been settled there for some time, and is extremely well received. He is, they tell me, grown so prodigiously fat, that he walks with great difficulty. Yet with this figure, and his strange face, Mr. Gibbon is infinitely gallant, and is failen in love with a beautiful woman, Madame de Crouzas. One day, finding himself with her tête à tête for the first time, and desirous of availing himself of so favourable a moment, he fell suddenly on his knees, and made a declaration of his flame in the most passionate terms. Madame de Crouzas replied in a manner sufficiently repulsive to discourage every temptation to renew the scene, and Mr. Gibbon appeared embarrassed; but he, nevertheless, retained his prostrate attitude; and notwithstanding Madame's repeated invitation to reseat himself on his chair, he was motionless and silent." But, sir," repeated Madame de Crouzas, "rise, I beseech you."-" Alas, Madame," at length answered this unfortunate lover, “ I am not able.” In truth, the corpulency of his person totally impeded the possibility of his recovering his legs without assistance. Madame de Crouzas then rang the bell, and desired the servant to help Mr. Gibbon to rise."
MR. CURRAN, the Irish master of the rolls, was in company with an honourable baronet, in the course of a late session, who distinguished himself, upon one or two occasions, by speeches, whose excellence was not in proportion to their length. It was observed that continued speaking made the voice husky and the mouth parched. "That may be," observed the baronet ; "but for my part, I have spoken three hours together without getting at all thirsty." "But are you quite sure, sir Thomas," demanded the wit," that you did not get dry?"
"THE theatre at Sydney appears to be in a very flourishing state," said a gentleman to John Kemble, speaking of the Botany-Bay theatricals, an account of which appeared in the papers a few months since. "Yes," replied the tragedian, "the performers ought to be all good; for they have been selected, and sent to that situation, by very excellent judges!"
A PUNSTER observing a John Doe running after an author, remarked that it was a new edition of the Pursuits of Literature !
A SIMILE FOR REVIEWERS.
From the Monthly Magazine. By the late Rev. Laurence Sterne. The following exquisite, and hitherto unpublished piece of humour, was written at a time when the Critical Review maintained a secondary rank in literature; but notwithstanding the present degraded and decrepit state of that journal, this piece deserves to be preserved for its own merits, and for the sake of its illustrious author. It will be agreed by every man of sense, honour, and learning, that the Critical Review of the present day is altogether beneath contempt; and its declining sale and credit, during many years past, render it probable that it may soon cease to exist. Charity forbids it, therefore, that so keen a satire should be considered as intended to apply to the publication at a time when it may, for aught I know, be writhing, perhaps, in the agonies of impending dissolution.
YE overseers and reviewers
Enthroned among your peers,
That border on the sky;
Who hear the musick of the spheres:
I thank you for your criticism,
That tastes like rotten fruit preserved in gin. And therefore marvel not that my two ballads,
Which are but like two sallads,
By no means suit,
With your palates.
To speak according to your feelings;
And be upon the catch
How sweet the gale of morning breathes!
On seeing a Picture of Ugolino, "THIS Ugolino? psha!" says Will, "He's painted much too skinny." "Prythee," replied his friend, "be stillYou find fault like a ninny: Were you imprison'd three long days,
With nought your teeth between-o, When on the fourth you go your ways, I'll warrant-You-go-lean-o!"
From the Latin of Naugerius. A WOMAN once as it is sung, Could speak so loud without a tongue, That you could hear her full a mile hence:
A greater wonder I can tell :
I knew a woman very well,
That had a tongue and yet kept silence!
As it is but seldom that we can present our readers with genuine and correct imitations of Oriental poetry, we give sir William Jones's version of an ode of Jami in the Persian form and measure.
Sweet news of my delight he brings; the tuneful bird of night he brings. be led, his captives, through the sky. must ardent flames excite, he brings. he pass'd, and kiss'd the fragrant hem; and jasmine's mantle white, he brings. to some base rival oft is owed; false tales, contrived in spite he brings. since destiny my bliss forbids; to me no ray of light he brings. in vain a childish trouble gives, of heart-sick love-lorn wight, he brings. no guidance can sad Jami find, to thine all-piercing sight he brings.