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grown a little
insult if one were offered to us. But in the brother, a fine little fellow of about eight.
have them even this slight encouragemeut of their in the last few years ? You were a baby when self-denying honesty ? I beg your pardon, Ber- I last saw you." tram, for speaking so warmly,” added Leonard, Edwin looked incredulous. breaking off as he became aware of the energy “ Was I? I don't remember." of his own words and manner. “I hope that “No, I should suppose not,” said Captain in your case it is only through thoughtlessness, Vivian, laughing. “I am afraid you have forand ignorance of the harm you may do, that gotten me quite, Edwin.” you have so acted to-day.”
“No; Connie told me you would have lots of “Bis dat cito dat !” suggested Mr. Mansfield, Indian stories to tell me," said Edwin, rejoining the circle. “Is that the moral you promptly; "and I haven't forgotten that.” are trying to impress upon him, Leonard ? “Ah, I see! Then if I tell you some stories What is it all about?”
to-morrow, you must promise to take me for “I have heard of that saying being rather your brother,” said Leonard. curiously used, or rather misused,” said Con. “ Arn't you my brother ?” asked Edwin, stance. "Do you know the story, papa ? An looking puzzled. Oxonian had been borrowing two sovereigns “Ask Constance,” he said, smiling. of a companion, and promised to return them "That depends upon yourself,” said Conbefore long in some shape or other. 'I should stance, laughing. “I used to say you were prefer to have them back as nearly as possible just as much my brother as Bertram, except in the shape of the two sovereigns,' said the when you teased me, and blinded my dolls, and lender; ‘and I hope you will not forget the old then I never could acknowledge the relationadage, Bis dat cito dat—he that gives quickly ship.” gives twice. The other immediately gave * And you will acknowledge it now, on conhim back one of the sovereigns, exclaiming, dition that I don't blind any more of your .Then we are quits !!
dolls? I think I may safely promise that, " Very good,” said Leonard, laughing, eh, Edwin P.” " though not exactly what my father meant. “ Connie doesn't play with dolls at all,” reIf every one attempted to pay their debts in turned Edwin, rather indignantly. that fashion, the adage would soon cease to be “So much the better for me. I am the less of any force.”
likely to break through the condition. Yes, I Constance was about to proceed with the am your brother, Edwin. You see, Constance narration of Bertram's parsimony, but to the will let me say so. Rather an important relief of the latter the conversation was here point settled satisfactorily!” he added with a nterrupted by the entrance of his younger smile.
LIVES THAT SPEAK.
VIII.-JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER.
E were enabled to accompany our then fashion of making the standard of ex
sketch of the career of Sir Edwin cellence by which all landscape painters were Landseer, the greatest modern painter to be measured. It was unnatural or impos
of animals, with engravings from two sible for Turner to be an imitator; and after of his most telling paintings, “Dignity and developing a style somewhat analogous to that Impudence," and "The Guard.”* The annexed of Claude, he almost immediately afterwards engraving, from one of the most effective forsook it for one quite peculiar to himselfpaintings of another distinguished artist, justly less vigorous than his earlier style, but more considered the prince of landscape painters,poetic. This was developed after his visit to will be equally. vpreciated by our readers. Italy in 1819. Towards the close of life, he
Joseph Mallord William Turner, was born gave way to a careless facility of style—a loose in London, on the 23rd of April, 1775. His version of that of his maturer taste. The father, William Turner, was a hair-dresser, “Fighting Témeraire,” 1839, marks the line and of sufficient liberality of mind to allow his between the two. son to follow the bent of his genius, so that From the time of his election into the even while a boy he prosecuted at leasure his Academy, Turner appears to have made a large passion for drawing. As early as his sixteenth income from his drawings alone, or at least such year we find him admitted as an exhibitor to a one as to render it a matter of indifference to the Royal Academy. In 1790 he exhibited a him whether he sold his pictures or not. He view of Lambeth Palace, a water-colour not only refused to sell many of them, when drawing. His early efforts were nearly ex- they had been returned from the Academy exclusively water-colour drawings.
hibition unsold, but some he re-purchased at His first oil picture, a “View of the Thames higher prices than those he had received for at Millbank by Moonlight," was exhibited in them as “The Sun rising through Vapour," 1797, and is now in the National Gallery. The the “Blacksmith's Shop," and others. He also style of his early youth was that of Girtin and made an income from the sale of prints, esCozens, who both died while he was still pecially of the celebrated series in brown ink, young-Cozens in 1799, having been deranged known as the “Liber Studiorum,” consisting the last five years of his life; Girtin in 1802. of seventy-one plates. He sold them in the The dry manner of these masters, pioneers in set, in 1820, for fourteen guineas; a single their art, scarcely deserves the title of “water- good proof, now, is worth as much money as colour painting.” The best of their works are the set was then. but flat, tinted, Indian-ink drawings; they In 1812 Turner built a house and gallery in display much spirited handling, but little Queen Anne Street West, which he retained colour, and less chiaroscuro. The imitation of until his death, though he used it only as a these men must have kept Turner back, rather | depository for his pictures during the last than otherwise-enforcing the importance of few years of his life. He resided at this period the early influence of artistic taste by the in a small house in Chelsea, under the assumed supply of first-class models. Turner's true name of Booth; and here he died, on the 19th master was Wilson; many of his earlier oil. of December, 1851, in his seventy-seventh year. pictures are so like Wilson's, that it is difficult, He was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral, where a if not impossible, to distinguish them.
statue has been placed to his memory, for the He appeared as a finished oil-painter in cost of which he made a provision of £1,000 in 1799, when he exhibited his “ Battle of the his will. Nile.” He was elected an Associate of the The portraits of Turner are very rare. Leslie Academy in this year, and a full Academician in the painter says, in his own life, that “ Turner 1802. His early studies of Wilson soon led to was short and stout, had a sturdy sailor-like an independent style; and the same happened walk, and might be taken for the captain of a with his emulation of Claude, whom it was the river steamboat at a first glance.” * Pages 1 and 36. There is much to lament, in connexion witb
Turner's biography, upon which we purposely are the greatest examples; and then his abstain from dwelling; and, probably partly third style, which gradually declined into a owing to his exclusive devotion to his art, he mere extravagant display of contrasts of light, has the character of having been exceedingly colour, and shade, with scarcely a definite form eccentric in his habits, and of an unsocial dis- in any of his compositions. Many of his position.
pictures, however, even at this third period of His property was sworn under £140,000. decline, are works of great genius. The He bequeathed nearly everything to his country noblest of these may be considered the “ Fight-his pictures to the National Gallery, and ing Témeraire tagged to her berth to be his funded property towards the establishment broken up." It is now in the National of an institution for the benefit of decayed Gallery artists. The will, however, was disputed, and Whilst admiring-enthusiastically admiring settled by compromise in 1856: the pictures --the marvellous productions of the illustrious and drawings were awarded to the nation; genius of Turner, and desiring to guard against £20,000 to the Royal Academy, for the benefit any depreciation of the independent and geneof art; and the rest of the property to the rous spirit which he frequently manifested, we next of kin.
cannot but feel that one less' a of his life may About one hundred of his finished pictures, serve to impress upon all, whether gifted with besides some thousands of drawings, are now artistic genius or not, the necessity and the exhibited at the National Gallery. The importance of the most diligent watchfulness pictures comprehend, independent of his imi- and prayerful effort, in order that the character tations of Claude, three styles : his early may be formed, not after the varying standard vigorous manner; his own original brilliant of human example, but after THE ONLY style, of which "Caligula's Bridge," "The Bay PERFECT MODEL. The painter aims at per: of Baiæ," and "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage fection : let the Christian emulate him.
C. A, H. B.
THE OLD HOUSE IN SUNKEN HOLLOW :
A PARABLE FOR THE LITTLE ONES AT “OUR OWN FIRESIDE.”
There was once an old, very old house, stand. there was nothing heard but the hiss of sering in a low hollow. It was at least four thou- pents, or the barking of wild dogs. Instead of sand years old. On looking at it, you could at the well, where pure cool water once gushed once see that it was in ruins. And it was up, there were now little pools of stagnant plain at a glance that it was not time that had water, in which frogs croaked and reptiles ruined it, for the stones in its walls were all as crawled. fresh as if just erected. And yet it was in The place where the house stood was called sad state. The walls were bowing, and the Sunken Hollow-because it had once been a stones lying in all sorts of positions, as if beautiful hill covered with gardens and trees, shaken by some mighty earthquake. The roof and the house had stood on its very summit; was broken in here and there, as if great rocks but by a terrible convulsion it had been dehad fallen on it, and crushed it. The chimneys pressed and depressed, till it became the low were leaning this way and that way, as if disagreeable spot I have been describing. And ready to fall. The windows were covered with yet at a distance, as you looked at the house, dirt, so that it was next to impossible to see it seemed fair and whole, and the grounds through them. The trees that stood around seemed covered with a hazy kind of light, so it, once so shady and ornamental, were now that
you would think it a most beautiful spot. broken and twisted, stripped of leaves, and Many a one, on passing by in the distance, going to decay. All round the house, where had pronounced it the fairest thing he had ever once was a garden, and walks, and fruit, there This was owing to the peculiar light was now nothing but weeds and thistles, briers which hung around it, created by the vapours and thorns. Instead of the song of birds, that rose up from the hollow.