The writer's early and long connexion with Stothard — By what circumftance first known to him — A club of oddities of the old fchool — Introduction to the great painter — His willingnefs to assist the young student in Art — Stothard as a critic — His painting-room — Collection of butterflies — His remarks on the harmony of colour feen in them — Fondnels for flowers — Practice of Iketching them — Stothard's countenance expreflive; its general character — Anecdote of his impartiality as a judge of Art.

The circumftance of having been not only intimately acquainted, and for many years, with the great and good man whofe name ftands at the head of thefe pages, but alfo, in early life, having been the wife and widow of his lamented fon Charles, first induced me to throw together a few reminifcences reflecting him. Thefe, I truft, will be found of fome intereft, not only to thofe who perfonally knew him, but to many who were his admirers as an artift, and who feel defirous to learn what they can of the private as well as public life of such eminent perfons as have done honour to their country by the exertion of their genius, their influence, and their moral worth.

In all thefe refpects the name of Stothard deferves veneration; fince he was excellent, not lefs as a man than as a painter: and as my acquaintance with him commenced by a circumftance that evinced a kind and amiable trait in his character, I truft I may be pardoned in relating it here; the more fo, as it will occupy but a brief fpace in my narrative, and will not, I hope, be found tedious to my readers. It may alfo be of fome ufe to the young fludent in art, when he fees with how much good-nature and confideration the really eminent encourage the efforts of induftry, and will condefcend to advife and direct thofe who are anxious to follow a well-regulated courfe in their ftudies and purfuits.

In early youth I had a great fondnefs for drawing, which had never been cultivated by any inftruction; and I attempted to paint a picture (in miniature) without knowing a fingle rule of Art. It is almoft needlefs to fay it was a very wretched performance; but it mowed a love of the Art, and my dear father (who had fome tafte and fkill in the Arts himfelf, though not in heads and figures, to which I inclined) fancied that he faw in my "Madonna and Child" — for such was the ambitious fubject — more than any one elfe could have difcovered, namely, a promife of talent beyond the ordinary run in young perfons who have a wifh to excel in painting. No critic would be very fevere upon a parent for such an error as this.

My dear father viewed my attempt with great fatisfaction; and it so happened that, on the very day I had prefented it finifhed before him, he was going to dine in the neighbourhood of St. James's, at a houfe where he ufed to meet fome acquaintances of the old fchool, who had formed themfelves into a club. This little fociety contained so many oddities, that, had Addifon been living in thefe latter times, he might have found in it many a hint for the richnefs of his humour in his own picture of a club recorded in the Spectator.

One of the members was a gentleman in the army; a Captain Watkins (for my father's club, like his juft named, had a Captain in it), who had the honour of being brother-in-law to Thomas Stothard, the great hiftorical painter; and the fubject of the following reminifcences. This gentleman was of the party on the day to which I have already referred, when my father, who ufually filled the prefident's chair, being feated therein, and inverted with all due honour, after giving the King and the Church, drew from his pocket, with a much higher eulogium than it deferved, my very poor and juvenile performance of the

My father was pleafed with the propofal, and afked the Captain to dinner. He came as invited; the appointment was fpeedily made to wait on Mr. Stothard; and thus, reader, to my father's club was I indebted for my introduction to our great hiftorical painter, at his own houfe in Newman Street; where, for the first time, I faw our Englifh Raphael feated in his painting-room, and bufied over his fine picture of cc Hedlor and Andromache."

"Hamlet. — Methinks I fee him now !

"Horatio. — O ! where, my Lord ?

"Hamlet. — In my mind's eye, Horatio."

So may I fay of Stothard, for well do I remember him at that first meeting. I remember the morning I prepared to go to him; how I looked at my poor picture, this way, that way, in the glafs, out of the glafs; how I tried to look it into fomething much better than it was, before it appeared at the bar of judgment. I carried it in my hand all the way we were rumbling along; it was fhut up in a fmall box, with a Aiding lid, that had been my grandmother's. The box was a piece of family pride, for it had originally belonged to Queen Anne, and was traditionally faid to have been given by her Majefty to my great-aunt; with a little old-fafhioned mirror, covered at the back with chafed filver monkies. I never ihall forget the feeling of trepidation with which I drew out that lid of my grandmother's box, to fhow the picture to Mr. Stothard; for

I can truly fay, that I did not think my performance to be the wonder it had been pronounced to be by the company at my father's club. But Stothard was not the man to difcourage or difhearten any one. In him, I foon found, as in all truly great men, that there was a good-nature about him towards the ftudent which foon difpelled all fear, and made the young afpirant feel perfectly at eafe in his prefence.

He did not expect to meet with great things from little means; he did not criticise on a beginner as he would on a mailer. He considered the attempts of an uneducated artift as attempts only, and eftimated them not for what they were, but for what they indicated the hand that had achieved them might become under a judicious fchooling in art. Stothard, in this refpect, refembled fome great men I could name in literature, who are ever more ready to commend and to encourage than the little critics, thofe I mean who deem themfelves critics, and who often porTefs not one efTential requisite for true criticism; the first qualification for such an office being (as Stothard himfelf has not unfrequently remarked) a thorough acquaintance with the fubjecl: on which the critic is to fit in judgment. To throw a ftone is an eafy thing, but to hit the mark requires a practifed eye, as well as a true hand.

The great artift was in his painting-room when we arrived. That room in which, as a more than ordinary favour, we were permitted to take a peep. The painting-room was tolerably large, it porTefTed the very necefTary advantage of an excellent light, and was so filled with pictures, drawings, portfolios, books, prints, and all the et cetera of a Audio, that there was not, literally, a vacant chair for a visitor, who was favoured by being admitted into the fanctum fanctorum. In fome drawers in the fame apartment there was, beautifully preferved, a moft gorgeous collection of butterflies, collected by Stothard himfelf, in the fields near Norwood and Highgate. Thefe, he faid, were not only beautiful objects in themselves, but that they afforded fine ftudies for the arrange- ment and harmony of colour; for nothing could exceed thofe to be found on the wings of thefe infects. Stothard was a great obferver of the harmony of colour in the order of nature. Flowers were, likewife, favourite objects with him, for the fame reafon; and he generally had his china jars filled with fome moft beautiful nosegays, that he was in the habit of choofing himfelf, and purchafing in Covent Garden market, early in the fpring and fummer mornings. He mowed us fome mafterly fketches in oil, that he had painted haftily, as any choice flower in thefe nofegays had happened to ftrike his fancy. He told me that fketching flowers in this way, from nature, was a good method to acquire facility of pencilling; and, by such advice, I afterwards practifed it in oil.

On first seeing Stothard on that memorable day, I was much struck with the marked and impressive character of his head. The brows, that deeply overshadowed the eyes, were replete with thought. He looked like a man you would expect to find abstracted and often absent in his manner; but there was a gentle and benevolent, as well as intellectual, expression in his countenance, that was exceedingly pleasing. As a whole, his was, strictly speaking, a philosophical head: for it possessed that union of thoughtfulness and repose, which knows how much the passions and feelings of the man are in constant subjection to his reason. His eye was very fine, and the mouth indicated great sweetness of temper — his was a countenance that invited trust, it was so thoroughly expressive of a guileless Simplicity of heart, — and such a heart he possessed! for no man ever more deserved the praise conveyed in that celebrated line —

"In wit a man, simplicity a child !"