with such spirit, I was so proud of his presence. Coming out, I saw him in the lobby, and very quietly shook his hand. 'How d'ye do, Sir Walter ?'-'Oh, hoo are ye wall, hoo have you been entertained' (I perceived he did not know me.)- Why, Sir, I don't think quite so well as the rest of the people.'—'Why not? I have been just delighted. It's quite wonderful hoo the devil he gets through it all.'-(Whispering in his ear): 'I am surprised too; but I did it all myself.' Lockhart, Lady Scott, and the children quickly perceived the equivoque, and laughed aloud, which drew all eyes upon me: an invitation for to-morrow followed, which I accepted joyfully. I doubt if the players in Shakspeare's time appreciated his invite as I do an attention from the man who in my mind is second only to him.

Murray has overreached himself—and I continue to oppose. Much I thank him for allowing me to stand alone, and to oppose without compunction.

CHARLES MATHEWS.

CCLXXII.

During Mr. Charles Mathews' (the elder) professional visit to America in the autumn of 1822, a minister of the Dutch Reformed Church took occasion while preaching a sermon on the subject of the yellow-fever, 'Pestilence-a Punishment for Public Sins,' to utter a violent tirade against theatres generally and the evil influence of the great English comedian in particular, as though Mathews were responsible in the month of November for the dreadful scourge which made its first appearance during the previous July. Just before his return to England Mathews wrote this letter with a view to frighten the parson by inferring that he would be adequately and prominently represented in his next English At Home.'

Charles Mathews to the Rev. Paschal Strong.

New York: 1823.

Sir, Ingratitude being in my estimation a crime most heinous and most hateful, I cannot quit the shores of America without expressing my grateful sense of services which you have gratuitously rendered.

Other professors in that school of Satan, that nursery of hell!' as you most appropriately style the theatre, have been, ex necessitate, content to have their merits promulgated through the

medium of the public papers; but mine you have graciously vouchsafed to blazon from the pulpit. You have, as appears in your recently published sermon, declared me to be (what humility tells me I only am in your partial and prejudiced estimation) 'an actor whom God Almighty sent here as a man better qualified than any other in the world to dissipate every serious reflection!'

What man! what woman! what child! could resist the effects of such a description, coming from such a quarter? particularly as you, at the same time, assured the laughter-loving inhabitants of this city that the punishment incident to such a'thirst after dissipation' had been already inflicted by their late calamity,' the pestilence, voracious in its thirst of prey!' and you might have added, thirsty in its hunger for drink. No wonder that the theatre has since been crowded, the manager enriched, and the most sanguine expectations of him whom you have perhaps improperly elevated to the rank of the avenging angel so beautifully described by Addison, completely realized.

For each and all of these results accept, reverend sir, my cordial and grateful thanks. Nor deem me too avaricious of your favours, if I venture to solicit more. As you have expressly averred, in the sermon before me, that God burnt the theatre of New York, to rebuke the devotees of pleasure there resident,' permit me, your humble avenging angel, to inquire, by whom and for what purpose the cathedrals at Rouen and Venice were recently destroyed by fire, and in a manner which more especially implicated the hand of Providence? But beware, most reverend sir, I conjure you, lest your doctrines of special dispensations furnish arguments and arms to the scoffer and atheist.

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One other request, and I have done. You appear too well acquainted with my peculiarities and propensities not to be aware that, when I travel abroad, I am always anxious to collect something original and funny wherewith to entertain my friends and patrons at home.' Now, sir, so little do the American people, in general, differ from their parent stock whom it is my object to amuse, that I have as yet scarcely procured anything in which these qualities are united, except your aforesaid sermon; you will, therefore, infinitely oblige me, if you will, on Sunday next, preach another on the subject of my angelic attributes; in which case, you may rely on my being a most attentive auditor. I hope to

have the opportunity of studying the peculiarities of your style and action. The gracefulness and Christian charity, humility and universal benevolence, which doubtless beam in your expressive countenance, will enable me to produce a picture of prodigious effect, of which all who know the original will acknowledge the likeness to be Strong!

I have sir, the honour to be, most gratefully your obliged, angelic, yellow-fever-producing friend,

C. MATHEWS.

CCLXXIII.

To lovers of John Constable's simple and unaffected artand they are legion-these two specimens, gleaned from the volume of correspondence prepared by his fellow-academician, C. R. Leslie, will be interesting.

John Constable, R.A., to Mr. Dunthorn.

London: May 29, 1802.

My dear Dunthorne,-I hope I have now done with the business that brought me to town with Dr. Fisher. It is sufficient to say that had I accepted the situation offered it would have been a death-blow to all my prospects of perfection in the art I love. For these few weeks past, I believe I have thought more seriously of my profession than at any other time of my life; of that which is the surest way to excellence. I am just returned from a visit to Sir George Beaumont's pictures with a deep conviction of the truth of Sir Joshua Reynolds' observation, that there is no easy way of becoming a good painter. For the last two years I have been running after pictures, and seeking the truth at second hand. I have not endeavoured to represent nature with the same elevation of mind with which I set out, but have rather tried to make my performances look like the work of other men. I am come to a determination to make no idle visits this summer, nor to give up my time to common-place people.

I shall return to Bergholt, where I shall endeavour to get a pure and unaffected manner of representing the scenes that may employ me. There is little or nothing in the exhibition worth looking up to. There is room enough for a natural painter. The great vice of the present day is bravura, an attempt to do something

beyond the truth. Fashion always had, and will have, its day; but truth in all things only will last, and can only have just claims on posterity. I have reaped considerable benefit from exhibiting; it shews me where I am, and in fact tells me what nothing else could.

rest.

CCLXXIV.

Twenty years before this letter was written, Constable, then in his twenty-sixth year, was lectured by West in the following words: Always remember, Sir, that light and shadow never stand still. Whatever object you are painting, keep in mind its prevailing character rather than its accidental appearance. In your skies, for instance, always aim at brightness, although there are states of the atmosphere in which the sky itself is not bright. I do not mean that you are not to paint lowering skies, but even in the darkest effects there should be brightness. Your darks should look like the darks of silver, not of lead or of slate.'

John Constable, R.A., to the Rev. J. Fisher.

Hampstead: October 23, 1821. My dear Fisher,-I am most anxious to get into my London painting-room, for I do not consider myself at work unless I am before a six-foot canvas. I have done a good deal of skying, for I am determined to conquer all difficulties, and that among the And now, talking of skies, it is amusing to us to see how admirably you fight my battles; you certainly take the best possible ground for getting your friend out of a scrape (the example of the old masters). That landscape painter who does not make his skies a very material part of his composition, neglects to avail himself of one of his greatest aids. Sir Joshua Reynolds, speaking of the landscapes of Titian, of Salvator, and of Claude, says: "Even their skies seem to sympathize with their subjects.' I have often been advised to consider my sky as a white sheet thrown behind the objects.' Certainly, if the sky is obtrusive, as mine are, it is bad; but if it is loaded, as mine are not, it is worse; it must and always shall with me make an effectual part of the composition. It will be difficult to name a class of landscape in which the sky is not the key note, the standard of scale, and the chief organ of sentiment. You may conceive then, what a 'white sheet' would do for me, impressed as I

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The

am with these notions, and they cannot be erroneous. sky is the source of light in nature, and governs every thing; even our common observations on the weather of every day are altogether suggested by it. The difficulty of skies in painting is very great, both as to composition and execution; because, with all their brilliancy, they ought not to come forward, or, indeed, be hardly thought of any more than extreme distances are; but this does not apply to phenomena or accidental effects of sky, because they always attract particularly. I may say all this to you, though you do not want to be told that I know very well what I am about, and that my skies have not been neglected, though they have often failed in execution, no doubt, from an over-anxiety about them, which will alone destroy that easy appearance which nature always has in all her movements.

How much I wish I had been with you on your fishing excursion in the New Forest ! What river can it be? But the sound of water escaping from mill-dams &c., willows, old rotten planks, slimy posts, and brickwork, I love such things. Shakespeare could make everything poetical; he tells us of poor Tom's haunts among sheepcotes and mills.

As long as I do paint, I shall never cease to paint such places. They have always been my delight, and I should indeed have been delighted in seeing what you describe, and in your company, the company of a man to whom nature does not spread her volume in vain.' Still I should paint my own places best; painting is with me but another word for feeling, and I associate my careless boyhood' with all that lies on the banks of the Stour; those scenes made me a painter, and I am grateful; that is, I had often thought of pictures of them before I ever touched a pencil, and your picture is the strongest instance of it I can recollect; but I will say no more, for I am a great egotist in whatever relates to painting. Does not the Cathedral look beautiful among the golden foliage? its solitary grey must sparkle in it.

Yours ever

J. C.